The Culture of Abuse

It doesn’t matter how sharp your knife is when you’re too broken to hold it.

That’s where it starts. Day one. The moment you walk into the kitchen for the first time, green as hell, looking for belonging. You don’t know it yet, but you’re about to be baptized by flame and steel. Not the romantic version. Not the one you see on cooking shows. The brutal one. The one no one talks about until long after the burns have scarred over.

I remember those nights. The chef barking, “Move with urgency! Move with purpose! No excuses!”

I remember burning the tips of my fingers because I refused to slow down.

I remember the sting of being called worthless when the ticket times weren’t met.

I remember hauling ass, trying to carry a load meant for two, praying no one noticed how tired I was.

It doesn’t matter if you’re exhausted. You don’t ask for water. You don’t ask for rest. You don’t ask for help. You just keep going. You swallow the hurt, the anger, the fatigue, the fear, and you call it strength. You call it paying your dues.

That’s how this industry was built. Not on mastery. Not on discipline. Not even on passion. But on silence and sacrifice. You’re taught that your best will never be good enough. You’re taught that pain earns respect.

I worked under chefs who would scald your hand to prove a point. Owner after owner who treated staff like disposable parts. Line cooks would often brutalize prep cooks, making every shift feel like hazing. “If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen” wasn’t just a saying. It was a threat.

And the worst part? We accepted it. We passed it down like a family recipe. We called it a rite of passage.

Here’s the truth: this industry doesn’t have to be this way. The flame can refine you, not destroy you. The knife can shape, not scar. The shift can be a teacher, not a death march.

But first, we have to call it what it is.

This is abuse. This is trauma. This is brokenness disguised as belonging.

If this story sounds too familiar, you’re not alone. We can’t fix what we don’t acknowledge. We can’t save ourselves until we save each other.

If you’ve lived this, if you’re living this right now, I want you to know this:

You are worth more than the scars.

More than the burns.

More than the sleepless nights and shaking hands.

More than the “you’re not good enough” thrown across the line.

The days of accepting cruelty as a rite of passage must end.

The days of silence must end.

If this spoke to you, if you’ve lived this, if you’ve felt this in your bones, share it. Speak it aloud. Let this be the crack in the armor that lets the light in. We can’t fix what we don’t acknowledge. Let’s rewrite the rules. Let’s do better. Together.

#justonelife

This is just the first cut.

More to come.