About two years ago, I decided to stop cooking for my family. This shift probably happened around the onset of the pandemic when I stopped going grocery shopping, and my partner took over by ordering everything online. However, I suspect this change was brewing long before that.
It’s been quite liberating. Well, perhaps not for the kids. Occasionally, they’ll ask me what’s for lunch or dinner, and I just stare blankly, wondering why they’re asking me. Their father is right here! Plus, they know how to prepare a few meals! Our pantry is stocked! They can certainly find something to eat on their own!
Eventually, they look at me with a hint of sadness and manage to figure it out. Look at them, utilizing their problem-solving skills at such a young age! I’m so proud.
A Bit of Background
Before you jump to conclusions (and I know many of you are already judging me and reading this just to criticize — but hey, queue up), let me provide some background. I’m married, bilingual, and homeschooling my four kids (aged 4.5 to 11.5 years). Both my partner and I work from home, and we both grew up in households where our mothers prepared dinner nightly. His family often ate in front of the TV, while mine prioritized dining at the table.
As for our current meal dynamic, the kids make their own breakfasts — and honestly, I’m not even sure what they eat for lunch. Do the older ones handle it? Do they snack on goldfish crackers all day? Does my partner take care of dinner? I imagine they must eat together and watch TV during mealtime — but truthfully, I have no clue, and I don’t particularly care.
It’s not my concern.
And before you jump in with the argument that I should be responsible for feeding my children (which I can somewhat understand), why doesn’t anyone consider that maybe it’s my partner’s turn to handle the meals now?
I spent a decade feeding these ungrateful humans — I’m done. I absolutely detest everything related to meals, from planning to shopping to cooking to even eating. After my midlife crisis three years ago, I’ve made it a point to avoid doing things I dislike, and cooking is definitely one of them.
You might be wondering, if I’m not cooking for my kids, surely I’m eating something, right? WRONG! I’m not even sure what I eat! I tend to scavenge and throw together some sad meals — and honestly, this has probably always been my way.
If you asked me how I managed during and after college, I couldn’t give you a clear answer. I relied heavily on takeout. It’s not that I can’t cook; I’m quite capable — I just have no desire to do so.
Why bother cooking when the kids complain about whatever I make? Sure, you might argue that feeding children shouldn’t be about seeking affirmation, but they manage to eat just fine. And yes, their bones might be a bit weak, but at least we’re keeping the vitamin and supplement industry alive! It’ll all work out. They’re not suffering from scurvy and get plenty of sunshine, so no risk of rickets!
Look at me, doing the bare minimum!
Why the judgment directed at me?
Sometimes I feel like a terrible mother. What parent doesn’t provide food for their children? (Except, to clarify, I do provide food — they just have to prepare it themselves!) Surely I must be harming my four children in some way — food is essential, right? Family meals at the dinner table are supposedly the cornerstone of healthy relationships and kids, or so the experts claim — but why must it come at the cost of my happiness?
Yes, my children and partner should also be happy — but they seem to be doing just fine. They enjoy a privileged life, playing all day, learning a bit, and spending plenty of time outdoors. While my kids or partner might appreciate if I cooked at least one meal daily again, we all have our wants.
When I take a moment to reflect (like now), guilt creeps in. Society has ingrained in us that mothers should feed their children at least three times a day. It’s overwhelming, don’t you think?
But why?
Why does motherhood demand that moms engage in activities they despise? Why must it always center around self-sacrifice? Why is it acceptable for mothers to feel the need to drink just to get through the day?
Why isn’t there the same pressure on dads regarding organic meals, a spotless home, and spending every single moment with the kids? Didn’t they contribute to bringing those kids into the world, too?
Look, I’m not saying I couldn’t afford to be slightly more involved in my children’s nutrition and meal prep. (But, conveniently, many fathers only sit down for dinner, and no one questions, “Hey, maybe you should be more invested in your kids’ nutrition.”)
Perhaps I’m just done with the emotional burden of feeding my children. Maybe I’ve taught them how to cook a limited menu so that I can step back. Maybe my partner is finally stepping up and navigating the emotional and physical demands of feeding a family of six.
And maybe, just maybe, I’ll never have to cook again unless I genuinely want to.
If you’re interested in more insights like this, check out one of our other posts for more engaging content.
Summary:
In this article, Clara James reflects on her decision to stop cooking for her family two years ago, primarily due to the pandemic and a growing desire to escape the burdens of meal preparation. While she acknowledges the societal expectations of motherhood, she emphasizes the importance of involving her partner in family meals and allowing her children to develop their own cooking skills. Clara embraces her choice, prioritizing her happiness over traditional parenting roles, and questions why mothers often bear the brunt of domestic responsibilities.
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