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When I was a freshman in college, I stopped eating meat as part of a semester-long project. I read a book called The Intermediate Man in which the author says that we should not ask someone else to do something that we would not do for ourselves. In my project, I applied the concept to food. If I am not willing to raise a cow, butcher it, and cook the parts, then it’s not ethical for me to eat the final product. I am, however, willing to grow plants, pollinate them, prepare their fruits, and cook those, so they are okay to eat.
The result of this project was that I was an ovo-lacto vegetarian for ten years. I liked being a vegetarian. Eventually, my doctor suggested that I was overweight because of a lack of “good quality protein,” and I allowed him to convince me that I needed to join the world of the omnivore. (I weigh more now than I did then!) Then I became pregnant, and he reiterated the importance of eating meat.
I know, deep in my soul, that eating meat is wrong for me. It’s like a poison. But… it’s easier to eat it then to not eat it. I’m a vegetarian at heart, and I feel like a fraud.
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