Two weeks ago, I was invited to a baby shower. It felt special to be included, because the mom-to-be was the daughter of a longtime friend of mine. She’s a sweet young woman I’ve known since she was a child, and when I got the invitation, I wanted to do something meaningful for her celebration. I offered to cook. Not just a dish or two—no, I volunteered to make food for fifty people. At the time, it seemed like the perfect way to show my love and support.
The day before the party, I worked myself to the bone. I started early in the morning, chopping, stirring, baking, and mixing. I made pasta salads, casseroles, little sandwiches, trays of fruit, and even two big cakes. My kitchen looked like a storm had rolled through, but it smelled like heaven. I didn’t even sit down until the sun went down. My feet ached, my back was sore, but I kept telling myself it would all be worth it when I saw the smiles at the party.
That night, after I finally finished cleaning the last dish, I sat down to rest. My phone buzzed. It was a message from the mom-to-be. I smiled, expecting her to be thanking me again. But instead, the message nearly knocked the breath out of me. She said, “I’m so sorry, but I’m going to have to uninvite you. I still want you to cook for the shower though.”
At first, I thought maybe I was reading it wrong. I read it again, slower. No, I hadn’t misunderstood. She really had uninvited me, but still wanted me to bring all the food I had spent the whole day making. My hands started shaking, and I could feel tears prickling in my eyes. I didn’t know whether to laugh, cry, or scream.
I asked her why, thinking maybe it was a mistake, maybe some kind of misunderstanding. She replied that they were “keeping it small” and that it was “family only.” But somehow, my food was still welcome, even though I wasn’t. I stared at my phone, trying to wrap my head around the logic.
I thought about all those hours in the kitchen, all the money I’d spent on ingredients, all the love I’d poured into every dish. And now I was being told I wasn’t good enough to sit at the table with everyone else? My heart hurt. I felt humiliated, like I had been used.
That night I barely slept. I kept tossing and turning, replaying her words in my head. I remembered when she was a little girl, coming over to my house for cookies after school. I remembered helping her pick out her prom dress years later, laughing together in the store’s dressing room. I had always been there for her, and this was how she treated me?
The next morning, I decided I couldn’t just go along with it. I messaged her back and said, “I’m sorry, but I can’t deliver food for a party I’m not allowed to attend. That doesn’t feel right to me.” I told her I wished her all the best, but I wouldn’t be dropping off the trays.
She didn’t reply for hours. When she finally did, her message was short and cold: “Okay. I’ll figure it out then.” No thank you, no apology, nothing. Just like that, I went from being the one she counted on to someone who didn’t matter.
For a while, I sat in my kitchen and just stared at the mountain of food I had prepared. I thought about throwing it all away. But then I had an idea. I packed it into smaller containers and called a few neighbors. Soon enough, I had friends and neighbors coming over, leaving with plates full of casseroles, pasta salad, and cake. Some stayed to eat with me, and before I knew it, I was sitting around my table, laughing and chatting, sharing all the food I had made with people who were genuinely happy to be there.
And you know what? It turned into one of the best evenings I’ve had in a long time. There was no fancy baby shower, no decorations, no big event—but there was warmth, kindness, and gratitude. That felt like a real celebration to me.
Since then, I’ve thought a lot about what happened. Sometimes life gives us little wake-up calls. It hurts when people we care about don’t value us the way we thought they did. But it also shows us where our energy and love really belong. I realized that my kindness shouldn’t be taken for granted. I deserve to be surrounded by people who appreciate not just what I do, but who I am.
And as for that baby shower? Well, I wasn’t there, but I still sent the new mom my well wishes. Because no matter what, a new life coming into the world is a blessing. But I’ve also decided that my days of cooking for fifty people who don’t want me around are over. From now on, my time, energy, and love will go to people who invite me to the table—and keep me there.
