Macaroni & Cheese
reflections on
mental health, wellness, and leadership
by Dr. Victoria Ranade
Hi there, and welcome to my little corner of the internet! :)
When I was in sixth grade, I ran a newspaper advice column called Macaroni and Cheese. Fellow students would write in with their questions, and I'd offer my sixth-grader advice—sometimes serious, sometimes a little silly. The name Macaroni and Cheese felt perfect because it was warm, familiar, and a little bit cheesy, just like the advice I shared.
Now, I'm bringing Macaroni and Cheese back—but with a grown-up twist. This monthly feature is a space for thoughtful reflection on topics like mental health, wellness, and leadership. Just like the original column, my hope is to offer something useful, grounded, and maybe even a little comforting along the way. My hope is that these words serve as a reminder that you're never alone—and that a little comfort and care can go a long way. Because life is hard, and we've got to be there for one another. :)
Best,
Dr. Victoria Ranade
Spirituality: A Different Kind of Self-Care – Nurturing Your Inner World
Mar 13
Written By Dr. Victoria Ranade
As a clinical psychologist trained in evidence-based therapies, I built a career helping people heal, guided by treatments grounded in science and research. But for years, I carried a secret—one I feared would change the way people saw me, one I worried they might judge.
Here it is: I am a deeply spiritual person.
It wasn’t always something I had words for. It was something I felt within me—something that carried me through the chaos of my childhood. I grew up in a home where constant arguments filled the air and silence felt safer than speaking. My father’s moods controlled the energy in the room, shifting like the weather, unpredictable and heavy, and my mother had her own burdens to bear. Safety, for me, meant closing my bedroom door, learning to make myself small and unseen.
When you grow up in a home like that—where the very people meant to guide you are lost in their own wounds—you’re forced to find your own True North.
I didn’t just live my childhood—I survived it. And survival demanded more than my body and mind. It required something deeper—a presence within me, steady and wise, compassionate and kind. It was a real force I relied on to survive, as real as the force of gravity. It was my spirit.
And it saved me.
My spirit steadied me when the world felt unsafe. It gave me courage when words threatened to define me. It reminded me that I was more than my circumstances.
Over time, it became my source of hope, my North Star, and the quiet voice guiding me forward when nothing else made sense.