Sauerkraut

On resistance, good stress, and learning to trust yourself.

And also about the quiet power of doing hard things—long enough for them to become joyful.

I honestly don’t remember the first time I ate sauerkraut. It’s entirely possible I managed to avoid it until I decided to eat it intentionally.

I do remember that in my mom’s rotating, standard dinner fare, one meal included sauerkraut—one I was not made to eat. It may have been Thursdays. Pork chops, mashed potatoes, applesauce, and a small iceberg lettuce salad with Italian Seasons packaged dressing. The kind that came with a carafe marked with lines so you knew exactly how much oil, vinegar, and water to add. It was always my job to make the salad dressing.

Mind you, my parents were both raised during the Depression era, and you ate what you were served. Or else. Perhaps they were wise enough not to serve me sauerkraut. It smelled awful. I was quite happy with the arrangement.

I don’t think I encountered sauerkraut again until I was well into adulthood and had kids of my own. My daughter was in a youth group for girls, and each year they raised funds by running a snack bar at a large, annual model railroad fair—well attended by older, white, middle-aged men who loved hot dogs, potato chips, and sauerkraut.

I may have missed my calling. I’ve been an accountant much longer than I ever planned. Not that I planned it at all. I think I should have been in marketing. I just get ideas. They pop into my head and tumble out of my mouth before I even know what hit me.

The best-selling item at our snack bar was a hot dog smothered in chili and topped with sauerkraut. The menu called it something lame, like Hot Dog with Chili and Sauerkraut. This was a fair attended by train freaks! Why weren’t we calling it a Train Wreck? Right? Genius. I admit it.

At this fair, every year, there was a new girl in the group. It was tradition—believe it or not, not one I inspired—that the “new girl” had to take a bite of sauerkraut. If she didn’t immediately spit it out, but actually swallowed it, well… she was “cool.” Or whatever.

Sounds like hazing, doesn’t it? Now that we’re all trauma-informed, I feel a little guilty about any part I may have played in that. Except for naming the Train Wreck.

Two decades later, I had still managed not to eat sauerkraut.

I knew all the amazing health benefits. I would brew and drink gallons of kombucha. And kefir. I ate tubs of plain, bacteria-rich yogurt. I spent more than I should on my daily probiotic supplement.

Then I read a book.

Actually, I take that back. I followed a new and mildly annoying habit of mine: I bought the book, listened to the audiobook, and then—because it was that good—I read it after listening to it.

Good Stress by Jeff Krasno.

As Jeff would say, I bought a “dusty old scroll,” but I also enjoyed the lilt of his voice. Highly recommend.

There were several “good stressors” in the book that I swore—swore—I would never do. Let me age too fast and die too young! I will never:

• take a cold shower
  
  

• eat sauerkraut for breakfast
  
  

Both of which Jeff does, recommends, and swears by.

Nope.
Not a chance.

So… let me tell you how that’s going.

Two of my favorite parts of my morning routine now include finishing my very hot shower with two minutes of ice-cold water. On the days I skip it, I feel incomplete. Out of sorts. Not quite right.

And the first bite of my breakfast?
A cold, slimy, stinky hunk of sauerkraut.

But it is—
I can’t believe I’m saying this—
delicious.

Of course, I had to experiment. Please note: while cold showers are close to free, quality, organic kraut most definitely is not.

I’ve sampled flavors. Plain cabbage kraut—the one I most associate with my lifelong avoidance—still isn’t my cup of tea. Last week’s jar was golden beet kraut, and it was pretty good. This week, I’m working through a kraut made from seven kinds of carrots, and it’s excellent. Next week, another fifteen-dollar jar of craft kraut awaits.

You may be asking yourself: why?

Well, beyond all the reasons Jeff Krasno lays out so clearly, there’s this:

Sometimes the satisfaction of doing hard things—things you resist, but know are good for you, scientifically proven good for you—and integrating them so fully into your life that things feel off when you don’t do them…

That gives you hope.
And self-efficacy.

I can do things that are good for me that I never thought I would do.

That opens a door.
Maybe several doors.

If I can take a cold shower and eat sauerkraut for breakfast, maybe I can go to the gym twice a week. Maybe I can walk after dinner. Maybe I can do a five-minute mobility routine before lunch.

Maybe I can replace soda with sparkling water. Sugary snacks with fruit. Wine with herbal tea. Cocktails with mocktails.

Maybe I can change the numbers on my midlife lab report. Maybe I can change the numbers on my DEXA scan—or at least keep them stable. Maybe I can live independently, longer.

Or maybe—just maybe—like Jeff Krasno dreams in his book, my healthspan and lifespan will end on the same day, at 120 years old, asleep beside the person I love, after a hike and a home-prepared meal… and yes, an exquisite bottle of wine saved for a truly special occasion.

If you’re in a season of life where you’re trying to make small, meaningful changes—without shame, perfection, or punishment—this is the kind of conversation we’re having inside Whole Woman Joy Circle.

We talk about joy not as indulgence, but as a practice. As a form of resilience. As nourishment.

If that feels familiar, you’re welcome to come sit with us

Explore Whole Woman Joy Circle