Extreme Veganism, Public Shame, and Why I Started Eating Meat After 20 Years
Email shaming me for eating meat—again.
Today, I got another email.
It wasn’t the first. It won’t be the last.
“ I’m honestly disappointed. Your recipes aren’t even vegetarian, let alone vegan. If someone says they felt unwell on a vegan diet, it’s likely because they weren’t doing it properly—there’s overwhelming evidence that a well-planned vegan diet supports excellent health. And promoting a so-called “food hero” who supports or ignores animal suffering is deeply problematic. It’s not just unethical—it goes against the core values of Judaism, which calls on us to prevent tsa’ar ba’alei chayim (the suffering of living beings). I expected better.”
That sentence hit hard. I felt a familiar mix of sadness and anger rise in me. Sadness that someone could question my integrity so easily. Anger that, after all the care and thought I’ve poured into my choices, someone could still assume I was betraying my values because of what I now eat.
So today, I want to tell you the whole story. Not because I owe anyone an explanation. But because I know I’m not the only one navigating the emotional, physical, and relational strain of leaving behind a diet that was once a moral identity.
20 Years of Veganism
For most of my adult life, I was vegetarian or vegan. I made that choice because I cared deeply—about animals, the environment, and my own health. It gave me structure, purpose, and a powerful sense of alignment with my values. My family and I ate a mostly whole-food, plant-based diet. It gave us clarity, energy, nutrition, and moral certitude.
But over time, something shifted. I began to feel not right in my body—and increasingly uneasy in my mind.
In June 2021, I stopped eating exclusively vegan. That felt like a scandalous confession. Even writing it now still stirs discomfort. But I share it because I know I’m not alone. Many people struggle in silence when their bodies start asking for something that contradicts the food rules they’ve built their lives around.
I didn’t stop being vegan because I stopped caring. I stopped being vegan because my body was no longer thriving—despite my best efforts to “do it right.”
The Symptoms I Couldn’t Ignore
Here are some of the physical signs that started to appear during my final two years of exclusive veganism:
Hair loss
Brittle, ridged nails
Constant bloating and irregular digestion
Fatigue, dizziness, and frequent headaches
An unrelenting feeling of hunger + nausea
I tried everything. I tweaked, supplemented, restricted, refined. I did the dance so many of us do—convinced that if I could just find the “perfect” version of the diet, I would feel better and stay aligned with my ethics.
But the truth was, no matter how carefully I managed it, I wasn’t feeling well. My body was asking for something more.
And so, I began to introduce very small amounts of organic, kosher meat, eggs, and dairy—intentionally, thoughtfully, and slowly.
The Emotional Cost of a Perfect Diet
The transition wasn’t just physical—it was emotional. For years, my strict veganism created interpersonal strain, and I got used to it. I accepted that bringing my own food or declining dishes was part of the commitment. But the emotional toll shifted when I started questioning whether I still could or should continue.
Veganism had become more than a way of eating—it had become a symbol. Leaving it behind meant risking judgment, shame, and the loss of a community I once felt part of. I now understand that shame is one of the main reasons people stay in eating frameworks that no longer serve them.
Was I Just Doing It Wrong?
I’ve asked myself this question countless times.
Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough. Maybe I misunderstood the science. Maybe I lacked discipline or failed to balance my nutrients correctly. That’s possible. But here’s the thing: even if it was my fault, I still wasn’t okay. And I still deserve to care for my body in the way it needs to be cared for now.
The pursuit of a “perfect” vegan diet had become its own kind of trap. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get it “right” enough to feel well. I was living in constant tension between moral clarity and physical depletion.
What I Want to Say to the Person Who Wrote That Email
I know your email came from a place of deep conviction. I understand why you care so much. I used to believe exactly what you do. And I still believe in minimizing harm, in making ethical choices, and in the Jewish value of tsa’ar ba’alei chayim—preventing the suffering of living beings.
But I also believe in refu’at ha’guf—healing the body. And I believe that the body does not lie.
What’s painful isn’t your belief. It’s the shaming. The assumption that someone else’s dietary change is a betrayal rather than an act of self-trust. That someone’s choice to listen to their body means they’ve stopped caring about animals or the planet.
When we use food to measure someone’s morality, we lose something vital: compassion.
A Request for Nuance
This space—my writing, my kitchen, my work—is not about prescribing a “right” way to eat. It’s about making room for nourishment in all its dimensions: physical, emotional, spiritual.
If you’re thriving on a vegan or vegetarian diet, I honor that. I support that. If you’re not, and you’re afraid to say so out loud, I hope this post gives you permission to begin asking new questions.
We are allowed to evolve. We are allowed to change. We are allowed to care deeply about animals and care for our own bodies.
May our conversations about food be rooted in compassion—not just for the world, but also for each other.
To our health & Inspiration
Kenden
Look, I respect other people’s food choices as their own, but the idea that veganism provides enough bio-available protein (and the idea that we need “way less protein than we think” in the first place) is just mythical. If you want to build muscle for strong bones and longevity, a high protein diet paired with good exercise that includes weight training would look like a gram of protein per pound of body weight per day. Animal protein is has more bioavailability than plant. Most people aren’t going to hit even close to those goals being vegan, and it’s infuriating when they insist it can be done long-term for EVERYONE. Yes, we should care about where our food comes from and make good choices. But I am so tired of veganism masquerading as a healthy choice for the human body— it often isn’t, and we are called to take good care of ourselves first and foremost.
I’m writing to follow up on the comment I previously left, expressing disappointment that your blog no longer promotes a fully vegan approach. I want to explain more deeply where I’m coming from.
When I saw the title Jewish Food Hero, I felt inspired. To me, a “hero” is someone who makes courageous choices for the betterment of humanity, who aligns actions with compassion and justice. Veganism is exactly that—it is a path that promotes healing, minimizes harm, and offers a solution to many of the ethical and health crises we face today.
As a long-time healthcare provider, and with a spouse in medicine as well, I see every day the damage caused by animal-based diets: chronic disease, inflammation, suffering. And yet, what’s even more troubling is that the suffering of the animals themselves is hidden from us—kept out of sight by a powerful and often corrupt system. This concealment exists even within our own religious community, where some go to great lengths to avoid confronting the ethical implications of eating animals, despite our faith’s foundational values like tza’ar ba’alei chayim.
If a rabbi is not vegan, can he truly embody the holiness he teaches? If a healthcare provider is not promoting a plant-based diet, can they truly call themselves a healer? And if we take on the mantle of “hero,” then doesn’t that mean standing up for the voiceless and the vulnerable—human or not?
I understand that you may have had health challenges with a vegan diet. That’s valid. But the answer isn’t returning to animal products—it’s exploring why the vegan diet didn’t work, especially when history shows us that the world’s greatest civilizations, from the Roman Empire to ancient China, thrived on diets that were overwhelmingly plant-based.
I say this with respect and hope. You’ve created a powerful platform. You’ve influenced many. I believe your voice could be even more powerful by returning to a truly compassionate, plant-based message—one that honors both Jewish values and universal ethics.