When I started eating chicken again, I thought I had found something that made my fitness routine easier. I liked my meals, I could stick to them, and eating well felt less like a daily negotiation with myself. I didn’t expect it to become a negotiation over my marriage.
My wife and I are both 31, both from Indian households where our families don’t eat meat, and now living in the United States. I’ve eaten meat on and off over the years. She knew that when we got married, although I wasn’t eating it at the time.
What we never discussed was whether staying vegetarian was a condition of being together. I understood her discomfort with meat. I hadn’t understood that my eating it could mean she wouldn’t want to stay married to me.
We’ve been living apart for logistical reasons. During that stretch, I started eating chicken again. When I told her, she said she wouldn’t come back if I intended to keep being someone who eats meat.
My first instinct was to work out the practical details. I could eat it outside the house. We could use separate utensils. If there were meat at home, I would keep it discreet. She would never have to eat it, and I offered to prepare meals for both of us.
Those offers haven’t changed her position. To her, this is a fundamental difference in values. Separate pans don’t resolve that.
I don’t want to dismiss what she grew up with or make her uncomfortable in her own home. But I also thought there was room in a marriage for different plates at the same table. Giving up food I enjoy feels different when the alternative is losing my wife.
I’m willing to make arrangements, change routines, and do the extra cooking. What worries me is agreeing because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t. We never settled this before we married. Now we’re living apart, and whether we live together again seems to depend on what I agree to stop eating.
