I became a pescatarian when I was 16. At the time, I didn’t know anyone else in my family or among my friends who was vegetarian or pescatarian, but it felt like the right choice for me.
It was the 1980s, and BSE—which would soon become a national crisis—had just emerged in the UK. New research was suggesting that eating meat might be bad for your health. That, combined with the awful smell from a nearby tannery in Yarm and a slaughterhouse just up the road in Stockton-on-Tees, convinced me that giving up meat was the way to go.
Looking back, it’s hard to believe how strange my decision seemed to everyone around me. In my lower-middle-class family in northeast England at that time, nonconformity wasn’t exactly encouraged. People preferred it when you did as you were told. Because of my unusual eating habits, mealtimes started to feel repetitive, filled with endless, slightly hostile questions about what I would or wouldn’t eat.
“You’ll have a bit of turkey at Christmas, won’t you?” my family would ask.
“No, I won’t,” I’d reply, again and again.
“But turkey is Christmas.”
“Turkey is poultry.”
“This seems like a phase. Just put some meat on her plate.”
And so it went. Even when meat was served to me, I’d eat around it. I stuck to my decision.
To me, choosing what I put into my body felt perfectly reasonable—after all, it was my body. People often asked if I was doing it to stay thin or to get attention. Some felt I was being moralistic, as if my personal choices made them question their own. I remember friends wondering whether my limited cooking skills would make me less attractive as a partner—“a man needs a wife who can cook meat.” Many assumed I must be that dreaded thing in a woman: politically aware. And they were right—I was.
My pescatarianism led me to become more active in causes related to health and the environment. I soon found myself protesting outside Boots with a sign that read “beauty without cruelty.” I read Linda McCartney’s 1984 interview in the Vegetarian Society magazine and even started listening to the Beatles because George Harrison and Paul McCartney were vegetarians. I wasn’t trying to challenge anyone’s beliefs; I just didn’t like the idea of eating flesh.
For years, I politely turned down meat at least twice a day. Even after my parents accepted I was serious, I still had to explain myself to boyfriends’ mothers, restaurant staff, nearly everyone I met in Italy (where I spent a year in my early twenties), and absolutely everyone in Botswana (where I lived for two years in my mid-twenties). When I went to university in 1987, vegetarians were made to sit at a separate table “for convenience”—we were clearly seen as odd. Once, when I had a slipped disc, a doctor even suggested it was because I didn’t eat meat.
Looking back, I realize how these challenges shaped me. I had always been a people-pleaser, overly obedient and seeking approval from others to feel good about myself. I pretended to be interested in other people’s hobbies, overcommitted my time, and took blame for things that weren’t my fault.I was always trying to keep the peace and make everyone happy. But learning what I wanted for my own life and how to take care of myself taught me to set boundaries. Sometimes it was as simple as choosing halloumi over a lamb chop, but it was good practice for bigger decisions. With every meal—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—I got better at saying no, something women in particular often struggle with.
Learning to express what made me feel comfortable, valued, and happy gave me confidence that has stayed with me into adulthood. Over the years, I’ve had the courage to ask for promotions and pay raises, to tell people when to leave or stay, to apologize and ask for apologies, and to find my place in many situations. Speaking up for what you believe in takes practice.
Being a pescatarian is hardly controversial these days, but I’m still grateful for the trial by fire I went through as an “oddball.” Now, I appreciate all kinds of eccentricity—even stubbornness—because it keeps people engaged and interesting.
Our Beautiful Mess by Adele Parks is published on 28 August (HarperCollins, £16.99). To support the Guardian, order your copy at guardianbookshop.com. Delivery charges may apply.
Frequently Asked Questions
Of course Here is a list of FAQs about the topic written in a natural conversational tone
General Beginner Questions
Q Why did you stop eating meat at 16
A I realized my personal values didnt align with eating animals anymore It was a decision based on ethics and a growing awareness
Q What does it mean to learn how to say no in this context
A It means gaining the confidence to politely decline food or social pressure that goes against your personal choices even when it feels awkward
Q Was it difficult to stop
A At first yes It was a big change and I had to learn a lot about nutrition and how to navigate social situations like family dinners
Q What did you eat instead
A I explored a lot of new foods like beans lentils tofu nuts and vegetables It opened up a whole new world of cooking for me
Q Did you feel any different after you stopped
A Personally I felt lighter and had more energy but the biggest change was a stronger sense of integrity and selfconfidence
Practical Social Questions
Q How do you handle family gatherings or dinners where meat is the main dish
A I offer to bring a vegetarian dish to share eat the side dishes or simply eat beforehand The key is communicating my needs politely in advance
Q Whats the best way to respond when people question or criticize your choice
A I keep my answers simple and nonconfrontational A simple Its a personal choice that works for me is often enough I dont feel the need to justify it to everyone
Q Werent your parents worried about you getting enough protein
A Yes thats a common concern I did my research and was able to show them all the plantbased sources of protein like beans and quinoa that I was eating
Q Do you ever miss the taste of meat
A Occasionally but not really My taste buds changed and I discovered so many other delicious flavors that I dont feel like Im missing out
Advanced Reflective Questions
Q How did this single decision teach you a bigger lesson about setting boundaries
A By sticking to this one clear boundary I practiced asserting
