About two years back, I made the decision to stop cooking for my family. This shift may have aligned with the onset of the pandemic when my partner took charge of grocery shopping and began ordering everything online. However, I suspect this change began even earlier.
And honestly? It’s been quite liberating.
Well, perhaps not for my kids. Occasionally, they ask, “What’s for lunch or dinner?” and I stare at them blankly, as if to say, “Why are you asking me?” Your father is right here! Besides, you’re capable of preparing a handful of meals yourself! The pantry is stocked—go find something to eat!
Eventually, they gaze at me with a hint of sadness and manage to figure something out.
Look at them, exercising their problem-solving skills at such a young age! I’m so proud.
A Bit of Context
Before you jump to conclusions (I know you’re already judging and probably crafting a hate email—please, get in line), let me share some background. I’m married, I speak two languages, and I homeschool four kids aged 4 to 11. Both my partner and I work from home. We grew up in families where our mothers prepared dinner every night; while his family dined in front of the TV, ours gathered around a proper dinner table.
As for our current meal dynamics, the kids are responsible for their own breakfasts. Honestly, I’m unsure about their lunch habits. Do the older ones make their own meals? Are they munching on goldfish crackers all day? Does my partner handle dinner? I think they must eat together and watch TV—though I can’t say I care much.
It’s simply not my concern.
No, really, it’s not.
Before you argue that I should feed my children (which I understand), why is it never considered that perhaps it’s my partner’s responsibility to feed them now?
I spent a decade feeding these ungrateful beings. I’m done. I detest everything about meals—from planning to shopping to cooking to cleaning up. Since my midlife crisis three years ago, I hardly do anything I dislike, let alone detest.
You might wonder, even if I’m not cooking for my kids, I must still be eating, right? WRONG! I’m not entirely sure what I consume either! I scavenge and throw together some meager meals—truthfully, I think it has always been this way.
If you asked how I managed during and after college, I might struggle to respond. I often ate out. Not because I lack culinary skills—I’m a decent cook—but because I just don’t care to do it.
Why bother cooking when the kids complain about whatever I make? Yes, yes, some argue you shouldn’t cook for compliments alone, but they’re doing just fine. Sure, their bones might be a bit fragile, but how else could we support the vitamin and supplement industry? It’ll all work out. They don’t have scurvy, and they get plenty of sun, so no rickets risk!
Look at me, doing the bare minimum.
Why the judgment on my choices?
Part of me feels like a terrible mother. What parent doesn’t provide food for their children? (Except, I do provide food—they just need to prepare it themselves.) Surely, I’m harming my four kids in some way—food is essential, right? Family meals are supposed to be crucial for building strong relationships and fostering healthy children, or so the experts claim. But why must it come at the expense of my happiness?
Yes, my children and partner deserve happiness too, but as far as I know, they seem quite content. They lead enjoyable lives, indulging in play, learning, and spending time at the park. I’m sure my kids or partner would appreciate it if I cooked at least one meal a day, but hey, we all have our desires.
Sometimes, when I pause to reflect (like now), I feel a twinge of guilt. Society has certainly placed an enormous burden on mothers, insisting they must feed their children three times a day. It’s exhausting, you know?
But why?
Why does motherhood demand so much sacrifice? Why is it acceptable for mothers to feel the need to rely on substances just to make it through the day?
Why aren’t fathers held to the same standards regarding healthy meals, a tidy home, and spending every moment with their kids? Didn’t they contribute to bringing those children into the world too?
Let me clarify. I’m not suggesting that I couldn’t be a bit more engaged in my children’s eating habits. However, many fathers sit down for dinner, and no one ever says, “Maybe you should be more involved with your kids’ nutrition.”
Maybe I’m simply done with the emotional strain of feeding and caring for children. Perhaps I’ve taught my kids a limited repertoire of meals so I wouldn’t have to cook. Maybe my partner is finally learning to cook and manage the emotional and physical demands of feeding our large family.
And who knows, maybe I’ll never have to cook again unless I genuinely want to.
Further Reading
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To summarize, I ceased cooking for my family two years ago, and while my kids occasionally ask about meals, they are adapting and learning to fend for themselves. This decision has brought me a sense of freedom, even if it comes with a hint of guilt. I question societal expectations of mothers and wonder why the burden of meal preparation tends to fall solely on us.