Joanne L. Molinaro (이선영)

I believe more than ever before that the stories of women need to be shared. I don’t just mean the big ones--the one about the woman CEO, the female entrepreneur, the high-powered woman in the board room. I mean the small stories. The one about the woman who almost perished from a miscarriage. The one about the woman who had to bury her baby daughter. The one about the woman who told her parents “I’ll be your son” only because she didn’t want to lose her mom. These tiny, intimate stories show how much the lives of women have been threatened. How much they’ve sacrificed over countless generations. And how power can be achieved when we confront those things that would devalue us. The stories of my grandmother, my mother, and even me: they braid together to form a rope. One that I use every single day to climb out of self-doubt, self-reproach, and into the bright light of worth. My grandmother was worthy of life. My mother was worthy of leadership. I am worthy, period. —- Also, this apple cheddar grilled cheese was outstanding. And you are worthy of it. If you agree and want the recipe, comment “cheese” below. <3 #EasyRecipes #storytime #vegangrilledcheese #sandwiches

Earlier this week, I woke up after a night of “sleep” consisting of 45-minute naps between around 12 trips to the bathroom. Putting my workout clothes on was a workout, in and of itself. I walked downstairs to feed my dog, each step weighed down by a fatigue I couldn’t even describe. . The idea of hitting the treadmill and then “heavy lifting,” as prescribed to women who are going through what I’m going through—it made me want to cry. The idea of chugging the protein shake for breakfast—also prescribed to women who are going through what I’m going through—it made me want to barf. In the end, I did neither. Instead, I plopped down on the couch with my dog and played “catch my slipper” with her for 30 minutes before diving into my workday, feeling a little bit like a failure. . There is some part of me saying, “Oh STFU and snap out of it, you whiney weak little girl.” That part of me warns me against talking about perimenopause, about airing my stained laundry for all to see. Because it’s shameful. Not the airing, mind you. But the literal audacity of BEING a woman. Of BEING. . I was at a conference earlier this year, chatting with other women about this lovely stage in life, and one quipped, “No, you should talk about it. Because it’s not like we can skip it. We all have to go through it.” And yet… I continue to wonder why I am so ill-prepared for this non-skippable chapter. . I go back to something my aesthetician once told me. It was the day I’d decided to get a divorce. She waxed my eyebrows, my underarms, and even down there, because, of course, that’s what we’re told, right? That this is what it means to BE a woman—pluck all the hairs that otherwise grow out of our bodies. Afterwards, shrugging into my blouse, she asked me, “Is everything all right, dear?” I turned around, crumpled into her arms, and started sobbing. And she whispered to me, “We are women. We are strong. We are women. We are fierce.” And, to all my strong, fierce sisters, I promise to share the recipe for this divine “Biscoff Misu” in the days to come. <3 #wearewomen #perimenosquad #cookingstorytime #desserts

I’m not going to lie—I struggle with my body in all sorts of frustrating ways, but cellulite is NOT something I lose sleep over. I know there’s really nothing I can do about it—I might as well try wishing away grey hairs on my head. If anything, my “nasty cellulite” is a reminder of everything my body has been through and how grateful I should be for how hard it continues to work for me, how consistently it shows up for me. It’s so easy for us, as women, to view our bodies as an adversary, to feel betrayed by our bodies, especially as we age. But you know how it is—the moment someone comes after our bodies? Well, there’s nothing that’ll stop us, cellulite and all. So, to all my fellow “nasty women,” stay strong. Stay ferocious. Stay nasty. #wearewomen #Running #longdistancerunning

I hate running but… #Running #longdistancerunner #marathontraining

#stitch with @JAE KIM

I recently made banana bread at my mom’s house and was about to throw away the peel when she was like “NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” And I thought she was going to show me how to kimchify banana peel, but instead, she showed me how to use the banana peels to make banana water for her plants! #plantlife #gardeninghacks #plants #nowaste

Happiest birthday to my husband, Anthony (@Anthony Molinaro )! I am so grateful that I get to spend my life with you and will do everything in my power to make it as long as possible, including making hi-protein, hi-fiber dishes that you will love. <3<3<3 #pumpkinseason #lovestory #curry

My mom’s korean bbq sauce recipe! #koreanbbqsauce #koreanfood #vegan #EasyRecipe

Here’s everything I made for Korean Thanksgiving! Happy Chuseok!! #koreanfood #chuseok2024 #vegan

Devoured this book by @tembilock and was so thrilled to find so many recipes at the back! I’d never made pesto with almonds before and this turned out amazing. I have enough to make at least 4 more meals in the fridge, now! If you’ve never made pesto before, it’s pretty simple: place raw almonds, garlic, and olive oil in the food processor to make a paste. Then add fresh basil, tomato, salt, pepper, and more olive oil until you achieve a lovely green paste. You’ll have plenty of pesto for pasta, toast, and even as a yummy dip for pita chips! When incorporating into a pasta, add a little olive oil to a pan and cook up some shallot (if you want), add your cooked pasta, and add a few tablespoons of the pesto. Stir vigorously over low heat, adding a couple ladlefuls of pasta water to achieve a truly creamy, dreamy sauce. Grate a little vegan parm over the top, add a crack of black pepper, and a drizzle of EVOO! Mangiamo! #EasyRecipes #pesto #pastarecipe #vegan

I used to think that grief was a short, intense chapter in a person’s life—one that began when someone died and ended after a reasonable, and proper period of sadness. I’ve since learned that grief doesn’t ever end. There’s no point at which you turn the page and find it blank, empty of the words that prove your love was real, as real as the weight you once carried in your arms, as real as the book that documents that love. It just… changes. It loosens the grip it has on your chest, your shoulders, your neck, your tongue, and you find a way to step forward. These days, I feel my grief like a heavy blanket, draped over my head, wrapped around my waist. It’s worn, frayed around the edges, familiar. Even comforting, at times. Grief has turned into, not a friend, but something more intimate. A teacher. A mentor. One that prods me with the finality of death to fear it, yes, fear the agony of it, while also revering its opposite: life, joy, love, and even the ache of it all, the exacting toll of keeping this book open. I tell myself I am not a coward for fearing the end of it. It motivates me to develop recipes that will keep my husband alive a little longer. It nudges me out the door for a long walk in the sunshine or an even longer run along the beach. It reminds me that the things we take for granted are the things we will miss most when our loved ones disappear into a mystery we cannot solve. Life is short. Seize not the day, but seize love. #dogs #dogmom