Hospitality can make struggling look a lot like competence.

You learn quickly that the job still needs doing whether you are having a good day or not. The prep does not disappear because you slept badly. Service does not wait until everyone in the kitchen feels calm, rested and emotionally available.

So you learn to function.

You solve the problem in front of you, then the next. Somebody calls in sick, something is missing from the delivery, a table has waited too long. You adapt, keep moving and get the food out.

Some of the things I value most about myself were strengthened by kitchens. I can think when things go wrong, make decisions quickly and reduce a messy problem to the next thing that needs doing.

Over the years I have noticed that putting my chef hat on changes something in me. It sounds ridiculous out loud, because the hat is not doing anything magical. But a version of me arrives with it.

The room becomes easier to read.

What needs doing? What is running low? What can wait?

The problems have edges.

Kitchens are stressful, but many kitchen problems are beautifully clear compared with the rest of life. A ticket is late or it is not. The delivery is wrong. Somebody needs help. There is usually something you can do.

Outside work, things are rarely that tidy.

You cannot always fix worry by moving faster. Family life does not come with tickets telling you which problem comes first. Money does not stop being frightening because you have written a prep list. You cannot solve somebody you love being unhappy by treating it like service.

The chef version of me is useful because he knows what to do with pressure.

The harder lesson has been recognising that he does not always know when his shift has finished.

You can leave work and still be there in your head.

You are thinking about tomorrow’s delivery while making dinner. Replaying something that went wrong while somebody tells you about their day. Your body has gone home, but part of you is still scanning for the next problem.

And you can do all that while appearing perfectly functional.

You still go back the next day. You still answer questions, make decisions and get the food out.

We get so used to measuring ourselves by whether we can perform that we start using performance as evidence that we must be all right.

If I am still turning up, I must be coping.

If I am still coping, it cannot be that bad.

Except people can carry a lot and remain very good at their jobs.

Sometimes that is exactly why nobody notices.

There is an obvious version of struggling that most of us recognise: somebody cannot come to work, breaks down or visibly stops functioning.

But there are quieter versions.

The person who is still reliable but shorter with everyone. The person who is excellent during service and empty afterwards. The person who answers “fine” because technically they are managing everything expected of them.

None of those things automatically mean somebody is unwell. Sometimes work is busy, difficult periods pass and resilience gets us through. Hospitality will always involve pressure.

The problem comes when coping becomes the only measurement we use.

Coping tells you that you are still managing to keep going.

It does not necessarily tell you what keeping going is costing you.

Not just, “Can you do the shift?”

Maybe also, “What is the shift taking out of you?”

And not waiting until somebody can no longer perform before deciding that what they are carrying deserves attention.

There is strength in getting through difficult periods.

There is also strength in noticing when a difficult period has quietly become normal life.

I still value the version of me that appears when the chef hat goes on. Kitchens have needed him plenty of times.

I am learning that putting that version on is only half the skill.

At some point, you also need to know when to let him clock off.

Author bio

Stuart Taylor-Roberts is a chef, writer and the person behind Chef Stu. He has spent most of his working life in hospitality and writes about work, pressure, identity, family and the slightly messy business of trying to change parts of your life while the rest of it keeps happening around you. His first book, One Fight At A Time: Rebuilding Yourself While Carrying Real Life, is currently moving through the publishing process. More at chefstu.co.uk.