The first month was easy. I felt enlightened. I ate vegetables, made soups, and read articles about the benefits. The second month was harder. I started to miss it—not the taste, but the ritual. Sunday dinners with my parents, where meat was always on the table. Barbecues at the country house. The chicken I used to cook using my grandmother’s recipe.

I made it through the third month on sheer stubbornness. Then I realized: I’m not a vegetarian. I’m just someone who set out to prove a point. And that path wasn't true to who I am.

I went back to eating meat. Not because I’m weak, but because I’m honest. I love food—all kinds of it. Meat, fish, vegetables, fruit. I don’t want to give up what I enjoy for the sake of an idea I don’t fully believe in.

That said, I do eat less of it now. Not every day like I used to; I eat more fish and vegetables. Simply because I listened to my body—and it doesn't ask for as much as I used to give it.

To me, that’s the mature approach. Avoiding extremes. Not choosing between "all" or "nothing," but listening to yourself. I’m not a vegetarian. I’m not a die-hard meat-eater. I’m just Yana—someone who eats what makes her feel alive, without feeling guilty about a steak *or* a salad.

Have you ever given something up for the sake of an idea? Or did you know right away that it wasn't for you?

Yana