I became a pescatarian when I was 16. At the time, I wasn’t aware of any other vegetarians or pescatarians in my family or peer group, but it seemed like an obvious choice for me.
It was the 1980s and BSE – the spread of which would soon result in a national crisis – had recently appeared in the UK. Emerging evidence and research indicated that eating meat could be detrimental to a person’s health. That, added to the horrific smell that wafted from the nearby tannery in Yarm and an abattoir just up the road in Stockton-on-Tees, was enough to convince me that eschewing meat was the right call.
It seems hard to imagine now, but my decision was regarded as extremely strange by my loved ones, a definite sign of audacious insurrection. Nonconformity wasn’t something that was especially valued in a lower-middle-class family in the north-east of England at that time. People would have generally preferred it if I did as I was told. As a result of my unfathomable dietary preferences, mealtimes garnered a groundhog-day quality, peppered with endless, slightly hostile questions about what I would or wouldn’t eat.
“You’ll eat a bit of turkey at Christmas, surely?” family would say.
“No, I won’t,” I’d reply, again.
“But turkey is Christmas.”
“Turkey is poultry.”
“This seems like a fad. Put some meat on her plate.”
And so it went. But even when I was served meat, I ate around it. I stuck to my guns.
To me, taking a decision on what I wanted to put in my body seemed perfectly reasonable and straightforward; after all, it was my body. I was often asked if the self-denial was an effort to stay slim or to draw attention to myself. Food preferences are a privilege of the well fed, so some felt I was moralising – it seemed that my personal choices made others feel worse about themselves. I remember friends discussing whether my assumed limitations in the kitchen would lower my social attractiveness (“a man needs a wife who can cook meat”). Many thought that I must be that thing dreaded in women: politically aware. And they were right – I was.
My pescatarianism led to greater activism as I became informed about bigger health and environmental issues. I was soon found protesting outside Boots, waving a placard that insisted on “beauty without cruelty”. I read Linda McCartney’s 1984 interview in the Vegetarian Society magazine and started to listen to the Beatles just because George Harrison and Paul McCartney were committed vegetarians. I was not trying to threaten anyone’s moral identity. I just didn’t like the idea of eating flesh.
I politely declined meat at least twice a day for years. Once my parents accepted I was serious, I still had to convince boyfriends’ mothers, waiting staff at restaurants, almost everyone I met in Italy (where I spent a year in my early 20s) and absolutely everyone I met in Botswana (where I spent two years in my mid-20s). When I went to university, in 1987, the vegetarians were made to sit at another table (“for ease”); clearly, we were seen as oddities. When I suffered a slipped disc, one doctor went so far as to suggest the cause was the lack of meat in my diet.
Looking back, I see how I was shaped by these challenges. I had grown up as a people-pleaser, excessively obedient, seeking approval from others as a measure of my own self-worth. I feigned interest in other people’s hobbies, I overcommitted my time and I took the blame for things that weren’t my responsibility in a constant quest to keep the peace and make everyone feel cheerful. Developing a preference for how I wanted to live my life and protect my body taught me to establish boundaries. Often, it was simply swapping a lamb chop for a slice of halloumi, but it was great practice for the big stuff. Every time breakfast, lunch and dinner were served, I got better at saying no – something women, in particular, are not necessarily very good at.
Learning to articulate what made me feel comfortable, valued and happy gave me confidence that lasted well into my adult life. Over the years, I have had the courage to ask for promotions and pay rises; I have asked people to leave and to stay; I have apologised and asked for apologies; I have found seats at many tables. Speaking up and speaking out for what you believe in takes practice.
Being a pescatarian is now considered uncontroversial. Even so, I am grateful for the baptism of fire that I endured as an “oddball”. These days, I celebrate any level of eccentricity or even obtuseness – it keeps people interested and interesting.