I was around 6 when I found out. I was shopping through the aisles of a local grocery store with my mom when I saw the plastic wrapped, bloodied mound. “Mom, what is that?” I remember asking. She told me the truth. It was steak, she said. From an animal. That had been living.

I will never forget that feeling. I had been eating what had been a living animal, roaming around an imaginary farm (which I later found was actually a cramped factory where the animals were injected with hormones). But after a while, I forgot about it as the “meat,” I had cringed at as it hid behind hamburger buns and happy meal boxes. But something was missing.

When I was 13 I took the plunge. I would be a vegetarian, I thought. I would buy cartons of soymilk, dodge McDonald’s chicken nuggets, and save the cute little cows I envisioned that I had contributed in slaughtering.

My family rolled their eyes as I loaded on carbs. I had no idea what I was doing. My “phase,” morphed into me, a protein-deprived preteen, living on soymilk and cosmic brownies. I hadn’t realized how limited vegetarian options can be, as I struggled to scarf down spinach salads while salivating over my dad’s giant steak. I didn’t know that people often roll their eyes at vegetarians. And so one day, I waved my flag and began eating my mom’s meals again. The phase didn’t last long.

But yet, something was missing. I felt incomplete.

When I went to college, I purchased blocks of tofu and veggie burgers. Mostly, I did the “vegetarian,” thing in the only way I knew how: munching on boxes of Lucky Charms and jars of peanut butter. One day I went on a date and felt insecure about saying I was a vegetarian and ordered sesame chicken. I had yet again proved that my vegetarianism was just a front-and that the lifestyle is hard to stick to.

Vegetarians: you are stronger than most people may think. The options are limited, the reactions to vegetarianism can be judgmental. I commend you guys, and hopefully one day I will join you (permanently!).