Story and photo by Katlynn Mullins
Yes, I’m vegan.
My holidays look like every other college kid’s — only with more relatives having an opinion on my diet.
My grandmother asks about my love life, and my mother warns me not to talk politics at the dinner table. My aunt gossips with me while my brother and grandfather watch football. My stepdad lingers wherever the dog is sleeping.
Two years ago, at Thanksgiving, there were vegetarian options. My brother hadn’t eaten meat for 11 years, and my grandmother thought I followed the same path, not realizing I didn’t eat any animal products.
She was upset. I’m not sure if it was about my diet or that she didn’t know, but I said it wasn’t a big deal. I ate the shepherd’s pie covered in cheese and mashed potatoes made with butter because, at that point, it really wasn’t.
Three years before, I only ate a roll, one serving of mashed potatoes and a spoonful of baked beans that I didn’t finish.
I’ve never been diagnosed with an eating disorder, and I won’t say I had one, but I lost 30 pounds and ate with my cousins because they wouldn’t ask questions.
I was right, and nobody said a word.
Fast forward to 2017, when I had been in therapy and was doing really well. My plate was full and I appreciated food again. Eating dairy wasn’t a big deal.
I kept it minimal, though. With time, my body became lactose intolerant, so I refused the butter for my rolls. I learned what Hell was like that day.
“VEGAN? What do you mean VEGAN?” My family questioned. “Can’t you just be vegetarian like your brother?”
Meanwhile, I was eating chocolate pie.
Last year, I stayed at my parents’ house. My mom was out of town and my roommate — who was also vegan — ate dinner with me and my stepdad. He was OK with a vegan Thanksgiving.
No, I didn’t make a shitty grocery store roast. The table wasn’t filled with broccoli and carrots.
I made chili and chocolate pie. There was macaroni and cheese and mashed potatoes, baked beans, corn and green bean casserole. I baked cookies at Christmas and munched on potato chips and bread at parties. Sometimes, my friends and family will make me something or ask what snacks they could get.
After two years, I know where to find vegan foods in the grocery store. I’ve memorized recipes and know which “weird” ingredients I prefer to use in baking. (Aquafaba, anyone?) I’m still learning, but I get to play with my food and experiment with flax eggs and silken tofu.
It’s different, and I feel better knowing where it came from.
Since last year, my stepdad has gone vegan and my stepsister, dairy-free. As the normalcy of dietary restrictions grows, so do options during holidays.
In April, I wrote an op-ed about eating “whatever I want.” At that point, I teetered a line between vegetarian and vegan. I’m still not perfect, but I’m becoming more OK with the fact that I don’t eat everything offered to me.
If I want it that much, I’ll make it at home or find an alternative.
Admittedly, I’ve eaten donuts in the office at work. I’ve said “yes” to cookies that friends have offered me. Even two years later, I’m not perfect and don’t know that I ever will be.
But there was a time when I ate no cookies. Something about limiting myself feels wrong.
If I don’t want any this year, I won’t eat them. But maybe it’s time I ask my grandmother for all her recipes.
Those cookies could use a dairy-free update.
