At Mama's insistence, Brianna and I went to marriage counseling. Two sessions at Greater Grace Temple with a counselor named Pastor Mitchell. The first session was introductions and ground rules and the question that opened everything: "What do you love about each other?" Brianna answered first. She said, "He is the most devoted father I have ever seen. And his cooking — he taught himself to cook, and it changed him, and watching him change was the most impressive thing I have witnessed in our marriage." I said, "She is braver than me. She walks away from things that do not work. I stay and suffer. She leaves and searches. I admire that, even when it costs us."
Pastor Mitchell asked what we wanted. Brianna said, "To know if this marriage is where I am supposed to be." I said, "To know if I can make it somewhere she wants to stay." The counselor wrote notes. The session ended. We drove home in silence — not angry silence, thoughtful silence. The kind of silence that comes from hearing yourself say true things to a stranger.
The second session was harder. Pastor Mitchell asked about intimacy. The answer, from both of us, was: absent. Not physically — we still share a bed — but emotionally. The intimacy of knowing what someone is thinking, of finishing their sentences, of reaching for their hand without looking. That intimacy has eroded, replaced by the functional cooperation of co-parenting, which is productive but not warm. We are business partners running the business of a family. The business is succeeding. The partnership is failing.
We did not go back for a third session. The counselor asked about childhood, and the question hung in the air like smoke, and neither of us wanted to walk through it. Counseling requires courage. We had enough for two sessions. Two sessions of truth is more than many couples manage. But it was not enough.
I made Mama's chicken soup that week. The healing soup. The soup I make when everything is broken. I made it and I ate it and I felt nothing except the warmth, which is something. Warmth is always something.
Mama’s chicken soup is the recipe I turn to when I have no more words left — after two sessions of truth with a stranger, after the silence on the drive home, after realizing that warmth is sometimes the only thing left to offer yourself. This crockpot version is the one I make because it asks almost nothing of you while it gives you everything back: the smell filling the house, the slow build of something good happening even when nothing else is. You don’t have to feel it working. It works anyway.
Homemade Crockpot Chicken Noodle Soup
Prep Time: 15 min | Cook Time: 7 hrs | Total Time: 7 hrs 15 min | Servings: 6
Ingredients
- 1 1/2 lbs boneless, skinless chicken breasts
- 3 medium carrots, peeled and sliced into rounds
- 3 stalks celery, sliced
- 1 medium yellow onion, diced
- 3 cloves garlic, minced
- 6 cups low-sodium chicken broth
- 1 cup water
- 1 tsp dried thyme
- 1 tsp dried parsley
- 1/2 tsp dried rosemary
- 1/2 tsp black pepper
- 3/4 tsp salt, or to taste
- 2 cups wide egg noodles, uncooked
- 1 tbsp fresh parsley, chopped (for garnish)
Instructions
- Layer the base. Place the chicken breasts in the bottom of the crockpot. Add the carrots, celery, onion, and garlic on top and around the chicken.
- Add liquid and seasoning. Pour in the chicken broth and water. Stir in the thyme, dried parsley, rosemary, salt, and black pepper.
- Slow cook. Cover and cook on LOW for 6–7 hours or on HIGH for 3–4 hours, until the chicken is cooked through and the vegetables are tender.
- Shred the chicken. Remove the chicken breasts and use two forks to shred them into bite-sized pieces. Return the shredded chicken to the crockpot.
- Add noodles. Stir in the egg noodles. Cover and cook on HIGH for an additional 15–20 minutes, until the noodles are tender but not mushy.
- Taste and serve. Adjust salt and pepper as needed. Ladle into bowls and top with fresh chopped parsley.
Nutrition (per serving)
Calories: 265 | Protein: 28g | Fat: 5g | Carbs: 24g | Fiber: 2g | Sodium: 620mg
About the cook who shared this
DeShawn Carter
Week 190 of DeShawn’s 30-year story
· Detroit, Michigan
DeShawn is a thirty-six-year-old single dad, auto plant worker, and a man who didn't learn to cook until his wife left and his five-year-old asked, "Daddy, can you cook something?" He called his mama, who came over with two bags of groceries and spent six months teaching him the basics. Now he's the dad at the cookout who brings the ribs, the guy at the plant whose leftover gumbo starts fights, and living proof that it's never too late to learn.