It started with a lemon pound cake.
Not just any lemon pound cake—my lemon pound cake. I’d perfected the recipe over years, tweaking the ratio of sugar to lemon juice until it had just the right balance of sweetness and tang. It was my go-to dessert for family gatherings, and people always asked for the recipe. I never gave it out.
So when my mom called one Saturday to ask if she could bring “a dessert everyone will love” to the church potluck, I offered to make one for her. She said she’d pick it up the next day.
The Potluck Reveal
Sunday after service, I stopped by the fellowship hall to help set up. I was arranging plates of cookies when I heard a woman near the dessert table exclaim, “Margaret, this cake is amazing! I need your recipe.”
Margaret is my mom.
She laughed modestly and said, “Oh, it’s just something I whip up now and then. I’ve been making it for years.”
I froze. Not only had she taken my cake without a word about where it came from—she’d taken credit for it.
The Sting
I know it sounds small, but cooking has always been my creative outlet. That recipe wasn’t just flour and sugar—it was years of trial, error, and love. Hearing her brush it off like it was hers felt like someone taking a piece of my identity.
Worse, it wasn’t the first time she’d claimed credit for something I’d done—just the first time it stung this much.
Talking to Her
After the potluck, I waited until we were in the car. “Mom, I couldn’t help noticing you told people the cake was yours.”
She waved a hand. “Oh, come on. Does it really matter? You’re my daughter—it’s practically the same thing.”
“No, it’s not,” I said firmly. “I worked hard on that recipe. It means something to me. You can bring it to church anytime, but at least tell people it’s mine.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re making too big a deal out of this.”
But to me, it was a big deal.
Why It Hurt
It wasn’t about public recognition for the sake of ego—it was about honesty. When someone pours themselves into something creative, whether it’s a cake, a painting, or a story, that work is tied to who they are. Taking credit erases that connection.
I realized my mom saw it differently. To her, it was just dessert. To me, it was a little piece of my soul.
Finding a Way Forward
The next time a church event came around, she asked if she could bring the cake again. I said yes—on one condition: “If anyone asks, you tell them it’s mine.”
She laughed, but agreed. And sure enough, when people complimented it, she said, “Thank you, it’s my daughter’s recipe—she’s the real baker.” Hearing her say that out loud made the sting of the previous incident fade, just a little.
Lessons Learned
This experience taught me to be upfront about my boundaries. My mom isn’t malicious—she just doesn’t attach the same emotional weight to certain things that I do. If I don’t communicate what matters to me, I can’t expect her to know.
Moving Forward
Now, when I give her one of my dishes to bring somewhere, I attach a little card that says “Recipe by [My Name]” so there’s no confusion. It’s a small thing, but it keeps us both happy—and keeps my work tied to my name.
Final Thought
Credit matters, especially when it comes to something you’ve put love and effort into. Whether it’s food, art, or ideas, your work is part of your story—and no one else should claim it as theirs.
