Learning to cook again: rebuilding executive function

This is a composite story, drawn from common experiences shared in the schizophrenia community. It does not depict a real individual.

I am 26, I live in Boston, and for two years after my first psychotic episode I could not cook. I do not mean I did not feel like cooking. I mean I would stand in the kitchen with a recipe in front of me and could not figure out which step came after which. The eggs would burn while I was reading the instructions for the toast.

What cognitive symptoms actually felt like

Before my episode I had cooked for myself comfortably for years. I was not a chef, but I could make a stir-fry, follow a recipe, hold the timing of three things in my head at once. After my episode and the hospitalisation that followed, I came home to a kitchen I no longer knew how to use.

Reading a recipe felt like trying to read a foreign language. I could understand each step in isolation but I could not hold the whole sequence in my head. I could not estimate how long anything would take. I would forget that I had put rice on. I would lose track of where I was in the recipe and have to start over. Twice in the first month after discharge I burned things badly enough to set off the smoke alarm.

This is not an unusual experience. The cognitive symptoms of schizophrenia — problems with attention, working memory, planning, and executive function — are well documented and often the most disabling part of the illness in the long term, even when positive symptoms are well controlled.

The years I gave up

For about a year I survived on frozen meals, sandwiches, and takeout. My parents helped financially. I felt embarrassed about it but I also did not have the cognitive bandwidth to figure out a different solution. The takeout decisions themselves were sometimes hard. I would stare at the menu and not be able to choose.

The shame of not being able to cook was, honestly, worse than the practical problem. I had been a competent adult. Now I could not assemble a meal. The gap between who I had been and who I was now was largest in these small, ordinary things.

The occupational therapist who helped

The turning point was being referred to an occupational therapist through my outpatient program. Until then I had only seen psychiatrists and therapists. The occupational therapist worked specifically on the day-to-day tasks that cognitive symptoms made hard. She was the first clinician who asked me concrete questions about my kitchen.

She came to my apartment for the first session. She watched me try to make scrambled eggs. She did not judge or comment. After I was done she asked what felt hard. I started crying because no one had ever asked me that.

Together we built a plan. It was unglamorous and it worked.

The plan

Step one: one meal, made many times

For the first month, I made the same meal every weekday — scrambled eggs and toast. The point was repetition. The fewer decisions, the better. I learned the timing of my own stove. I learned how long bread takes in my toaster. I made the same meal until I could do it without thinking.

Step two: written checklists, not recipes

The OT helped me reformat recipes into vertical checklists with check boxes. Each step was on its own line. There was a clear visual cue for what I had done and what came next. This was a shift away from paragraphs of instructions, which my brain could no longer process well.

Step three: timers, multiple timers

I bought three kitchen timers. I named them in my head — one for the stovetop, one for the oven, one for the rice cooker. If I started something I set a timer immediately. I no longer trusted my own attention to remember.

Step four: prep before cooking

I learned the chef's habit of getting all my ingredients chopped, measured, and arranged before I turned anything on. This was crucial. It moved decision-making out of the moment of cooking, when my attention was already loaded.

Step five: one new recipe a week, not a day

The OT was firm about pacing. I wanted to add five new recipes a week. She said one. She was right. The frustration of failure had been part of why I had given up the first time. Slow progress that I could absorb was infinitely better than fast progress that overwhelmed me.

What came back with it

After three months I could make breakfast for myself reliably. After six months I could make a simple dinner — pasta with vegetables, rice and beans, a basic stir-fry. After a year I could host a friend for a meal.

What I did not expect was how much the ability to cook spilled into other areas of my life. The cognitive practice — sequencing, attention, working memory, planning — transferred. I started being able to follow longer instructions at work. I could plan my week. I could keep track of multiple appointments without writing each one down three times.

This was not unique to me. There is good evidence that cognitive remediation — structured exercises that target attention, working memory, and executive function — improves real-world functioning in people with schizophrenia. NIMH-supported research has been clear on this for years. The kitchen turned out to be one of the best cognitive remediation environments I had access to.

What helps me cook now

• I keep my kitchen simple. I have fewer pans, fewer tools, fewer ingredients on the shelf at any one time. Less to choose from.
• I prep on Sundays. Vegetables chopped, rice cooked, proteins portioned. Weekday cooking becomes assembly, not creation.
• I still use checklists. Even for recipes I have made dozens of times. The checklist takes nothing from me and it removes a lot of small failures.
• I time everything. No exceptions. The moment something goes on heat, a timer starts.
• I cook tired-friendly meals on tired days. A baked potato counts as dinner. So does scrambled eggs at 7 pm.
• I have a "this is fine" list of failsafe meals that I can make when my cognition is not great. They are the same five meals. I never run out of the ingredients for them.

For others working with cognitive symptoms

• Ask your care team about an occupational therapy referral. This is one of the most underused services in mental health care.
• Ask about cognitive remediation programs. Many community mental health centres now offer them.
• Pick one daily-living task and work on it for months, not weeks.
• Use external aids without shame. Timers, checklists, and reminder apps are not crutches. They are scaffolding.
• Sleep, exercise, and consistent medication all measurably improve cognitive symptoms over time.
• Be patient with yourself. The brain rebuilds, but it does not rebuild on a schedule.

The first dinner party I hosted after I learned to cook again was for my parents. I made a roast chicken, a pan of vegetables, and a salad. The whole meal took me four hours from start to finish. That would have been an embarrassment to me before my illness. After it, it was the most concrete evidence I had that I was getting somewhere. We ate it slowly. My mother cried a little. We did not talk about why.

This article is for educational purposes only and is not medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always consult a qualified mental health professional. If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 in the US, or your local emergency number.