Eating low-carb doesn’t have to be expensive or complicated. With just a dozen well-chosen staples in your pantry and fridge, you can create nourishing, delicious meals without running to the shops all the time.
Here are the 12 must-have ingredients I always keep on hand to stay low-carb, healthy, and on budget.
1. Eggs
They’re nature’s protein-packed powerhouse. Scramble, fry, boil, or bake into frittatas, eggs are the foundation of countless low-carb meals.
2. Cauliflower
From mash to pizza crusts to creamy soups, cauliflower is endlessly versatile.
3. Tinned Tuna or Pilchards
Protein-rich and shelf-stable. Mix into salads, lettuce wraps, or quick fishcakes.
4. Olive Oil
Healthy fat for cooking, drizzling, and dressings. A little goes a long way. My personal favourite is the garlic infused olive oil.
5. Leafy Greens (Fresh or Frozen)
Baby spinach, kale, or swiss chard, great for smoothies, omelettes, or quick sautés.
6. Full-Fat Greek Yoghurt
Great as a breakfast base, creamy sauce, or sour cream substitute. Choose unsweetened. I use it constantly for dips, dressings, and desserts.
7. Chia Seeds
Low-carb and high in fibre. Use to thicken smoothies, make overnight puddings, or add crunch to salads or desserts.
8. Cheese (Hard + Soft)
A good source of fat and protein. Keep a firm cheese for grating and a soft one for snacking or topping. Personally, I always have the herb Feta in my fridge. I blend it with yoghurt for dips or dressings, or I sprinkle it over my greens.
9. Herbs & Spices
Coriander, smoked paprika, garlic, basil, and cinnamon are my go-tos. They transform simple meals into something special.
10. Cabbage
Cheap, low-carb, and long-lasting in the fridge. Use in stir-fries, slaws, or as a wrap alternative.
11. Coconut Oil
For sautéing, baking, and fat boosts. I even put a tablespoon of it in my bathwater for silky, gorgeously soft skin.
12. Seeds
Sunflower Seeds or Pumpkin seeds, they’re affordable, nutrient-dense, and versatile (great for snacking, topping salads, or blending into sauces). I toast them for a few minutes in a dry pan and sprinkle with smoked paprika and garlic powder.
This morning, before I’d even opened my eyes, I knew. Not from a calendar reminder or a “you’re due for a flare-up” ping. Just the weight of my own body. Heavy. Cement-heavy. Fire-in-my-veins heavy.
Welcome to the delightful surprise party that is chronic illness. No RSVP needed. You just… wake up in it.
The Flare Days You Don’t See Coming
Some flares sneak up on me. Others kick the door down and announce themselves with full-body spasticity, shooting nerve shocks, and hands that feel like they’ve been beaten with hammers. Today it’s the latter.
My feet and calves are twitching like live wires, and my hands are stiff, aching, and protesting even this act of typing. Vision? Blurry. Pain? Electrical. Plans? Cancelled.
And here’s the kicker: I used to ignore this. I’d push through. Slam a Red Bull, down some coffee, and throw myself into work like I was invincible.
Spoiler: I’m not.
Before Chronic Illness, “Rest” Was an Afterthought
Rest used to mean feeling guilty. Lazy. Weak. I grew up in a culture of “hustle harder” and “push through the pain.” Rest was what you earned once everything else was done, except everything else was never done.
So I’d rest, sure. For twenty minutes. While scrolling. Or I’d lie in bed with my laptop, answering emails like a good little burnout-junkie.
Turns out, that’s not rest. That’s just horizontal productivity.
Now? Rest Is a Ritual
Rest is no longer a break; it’s a boundary. It’s a ceremony.
The bed is made, properly made. Soft, high-quality linen. No scratchy textures. My skin is too sensitive, and my nervous system too fried, for anything but comfort.
Sounds of nature fill the room. Crickets. Forests. Sometimes just silence, blessed and still.
Lavender floats through the air, either from a candle or a diffuser, because my brain needs cues that it’s safe to exhale.
Baths with Epsom salts when I can manage it. Lavender-infused again. Heat is magic. Fun fact: so is Lavender.
And always, always tea. Sometimes a fancy store-bought herbal one, sometimes a wild little blend of whatever’s in the fridge: fresh ginger, honey, lemon, mint, berries. I long for a proper teapot with a built-in infuser. I’ll get it one day, fingers crossed.
There was a moment, a real one, when I realised: rest is not a luxury. It’s not a nap. It’s not working from bed. It’s not multitasking with a heating pad on.
Rest is permission. Permission to shut off. To stop proving yourself. To not be available to everyone all the time.
I finally saw what my body was begging me for: clear boundaries. Not “I’ll just do this one last thing.” Not “It’s fine, I can take that call.” But a full switch-off, emotionally, physically, and mentally.
Friday to Monday. No clients. No guilt.
Just… recovery.
If My Body Could Speak…
It would say:
“You call this rest?! Give me real rest or I’ll force it out of you.”
And honestly? Fair.
Because my body has forced it out of me before. Through flares. Through burnout. Through collapse.
Rest Isn’t Weakness, It’s Wisdom
If you’re living with chronic illness, or even just carrying too much life in your bones, you don’t need permission to rest. But I’ll give it anyway:
Let your rest be lush. Let it be soft. Let it be sacred. Let it be enough.
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If this post helped you feel seen or reminded you to rest, consider buying me a tea. It helps support my work, and keeps this blog alive and well (even when I’m not).
There’s something about autumn that feels like a deep exhale.
Maybe it’s the way the trees let go of their leaves without resistance or how the light softens, casting everything in a golden glow. In Stellenbosch, autumn isn’t just a season; it’s a full-body experience. The streets are lined with trees turning fire red, the vineyards stretch out in amber and gold, and the mountains stand quietly in the distance, cloaked in shifting light.
For those of us navigating trauma recovery, this season offers more than beauty. It mirrors the process of emotional healing: the letting go, the slowing down, the quiet preparation for what comes next.
The Science of Letting Go: Nature’s Blueprint for Recovery
As the days shorten and temperatures drop, trees begin conserving energy. They stop producing chlorophyll, revealing the reds and oranges that were there all along. This isn’t about decay. It’s about wisdom. About trusting the cycle.
Just like the trees, we too need seasons of rest. Healing from trauma or chronic stress requires periods of pulling back—of turning inward, conserving energy, and allowing space for repair.
Letting go doesn’t mean failure. It means preparing the soil for growth.
Grounding Practices Inspired by Autumn
In trauma recovery, grounding practices help bring us back to the present moment, to safety and stability. And autumn is rich with grounding sensory experiences:
Sight: Fire-coloured leaves, long shadows, golden sunsets.
Smell: Earthy moss, fallen leaves, woodsmoke.
Touch: Crisp air on your cheeks, the texture of bark, the crunch of leaves underfoot.
Sound: Wind whispering through the trees, migrating birds, footsteps on gravel.
These sensory cues are more than poetic; they’re therapeutic. They help anchor our nervous systems, soothe our overstimulated minds, and reconnect us with the world.
Stellenbosch in Autumn: A Sanctuary for Mental Health
Stellenbosch is a balm this time of year. The oak-lined streets feel like old friends. The vineyards are dressed in their autumn best. Jonkershoek Nature Reserve offers trails lined with gold and crimson, each step a gentle meditation.
There’s something profoundly healing about walking through this fire-hued landscape. Whether you’re sipping tea on a quiet stoep, journaling beside a vineyard, or watching the light shift through red leaves, autumn in Stellenbosch invites you to slow down. To breathe. To feel.
Even a single mindful walk, a moment of awe, or a pause under a tree can become a healing ritual.
Emotional Healing Through Seasonal Shifts
Autumn gives us permission to change. To soften. To stop performing resilience and simply be.
It reminds us:
That shedding isn’t weakness.
That pausing is productive.
That healing is not linear.
So if you’re feeling the pull to retreat, to reflect, to let go of something you’ve been carrying too long, trust it. The season is holding space for you.
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