After years of striving for dietary perfection, I learned that flexibility might actually be the most sustainable path forward.
I sat across from my nutritionist last spring, expecting the usual conversation about iron levels and B12 supplements. Instead, she said something that caught me completely off guard: "Avery, I think your rigid approach to veganism might be working against you."
My first instinct was defensiveness. I'd been vegan for nearly a decade. I'd read the books, watched the documentaries, built my entire lifestyle around this choice.
But as she walked me through my bloodwork and talked about the stress I'd been putting on my body and mind, I realized she wasn't attacking my values. She was asking me to examine my relationship with perfection.
The perfectionism trap I didn't see coming
Here's what I've learned about myself: I don't do anything halfway. When I left finance at 36, I didn't just take a break. I completely reinvented my life.
When I started running trails, I wasn't content with casual jogs. I needed to hit 25 miles a week minimum. And when I went vegan after reading about factory farming, I became meticulous about every ingredient, every label, every restaurant menu.
That meticulousness served me well for years. But somewhere along the way, it crossed a line. I was declining dinner invitations because I couldn't verify the restaurant's cooking oil.
I was experiencing genuine anxiety about accidentally consuming something non-vegan. The ethical choice I'd made from a place of compassion had become another arena for my achievement-oriented brain to demand perfection.
What the research actually says about sustainable eating
My nutritionist pointed me toward some fascinating research. Studies suggest that dietary flexibility is associated with better long-term adherence to plant-based eating patterns.
In other words, people who allow themselves occasional grace tend to stick with their values longer than those who demand absolute perfection.
This made me think about all the people I've watched try veganism and quit within months because they "failed" once. They ate a piece of birthday cake at a party, felt like hypocrites, and abandoned the whole thing. What if that all-or-nothing thinking is actually the enemy of progress?
The shift I made (and what it looks like in practice)
I still eat a plant-based diet about 95% of the time. My kitchen is fully vegan. My grocery shopping hasn't changed. But I've stopped treating accidental slip-ups like moral failures.
When I'm traveling and my only option is a dish that might have been cooked with butter, I eat it and move on. When my mother-in-law makes her special soup and I'm not sure about the broth, I have a bowl and thank her for the love she put into it.
Does this make me "not a real vegan"? Maybe by some definitions. But I've come to believe that my impact on animal welfare and the environment is measured in years and decades of choices, not in whether I interrogated a server about cross-contamination.
Releasing the identity attachment
The hardest part of this shift wasn't the dietary changes. It was examining why I'd become so attached to the label in the first place. During my years in finance, I watched colleagues make fear-driven decisions during the 2008 crisis. I saw how identity attachment to being "the smart one" or "the successful one" led people to double down on failing strategies rather than adapt.
Was I doing the same thing with veganism? Had "vegan" become so central to my identity that I was prioritizing the label over the actual goals of reducing harm and living sustainably? These are uncomfortable questions, but they're worth sitting with.
What I tell people now
When friends ask me about going vegan, I no longer hand them a rulebook. Instead, I ask them questions. What draws you to plant-based eating? What feels sustainable for your life right now? What would it look like to make progress without demanding perfection?
I think about the research from Harvard Health showing that well-planned plant-based diets offer significant health benefits. The key phrase there is "well-planned," and I'd add "well-sustained." A flexible approach you can maintain for decades will always outweigh a rigid approach you abandon after six months.
Final thoughts
My nutritionist didn't tell me to stop being vegan. She told me to stop being a perfectionist about it. There's a meaningful difference. I still believe deeply in the ethics of plant-based eating.
I still feel that familiar pang when I think about factory farming. But I've learned to hold those values with open hands rather than a white-knuckled grip.
If you're struggling with dietary perfectionism, I'd gently ask: Is your approach bringing you closer to your values, or is it becoming another way to prove something to yourself? Sometimes the most compassionate choice we can make is extending that compassion inward.
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