Ever find yourself staring blankly at the fridge at 7 PM, wondering how “What’s for dinner?” turned into a full-time job? You’re not alone. Between planning, shopping, cooking, and cleaning up, feeding yourself and others can feel like running a tiny, chaotic restaurant without the Michelin stars or the paycheck. This article dives into the mental load behind meals, why it often falls on women’s shoulders, and some real-life survival strategies to keep your sanity (and your appetite) intact. Because cooking and eating should be about living, not just ticking boxes on an exhausting to-do list.
“What are we having for dinner tonight?”
A simple question. One that shouldn’t send you spiraling into existential dread but somehow does. Because after a full day of working, stressing, pretending to be a functioning adult, you’re supposed to become a meal-planning wizard too ? So you stand in front of your fridge, slowly dying inside, until you inevitably surrender to the emergency pizza in the freezer (very healthy, thank you for asking).
This, my friends, is the glorious reality of meal-related mental load. It’s that invisible, relentless brain clutter where food isn’t just food : it’s decisions, logistics, guilt, budget constraints, and cultural baggage.
So here’s a big, greasy, cheesy salute to every person who’s quietly keeping everyone fed while juggling five thousand other things. You are the unsung heroes of the fridge. The guardians of the grocery list. The stomach whisperers of the household.
This article isn’t here to shame anyone for skipping vegetables or ordering takeout three nights in a row. It’s here to talk about what really goes into feeding ourselves and others. The exhaustion, the pressure, the weird emotional tangle of wanting to eat well while also just wanting to not think for five minutes. Let’s unpack it all with no guilt, no food snobbery, just a little honesty, and maybe a frozen pizza or two.
Beyond the Plate :
The real deal behind cooking
Cooking isn’t just throwing things in a pot and hoping for magic like a carefree forest witch. Behind every meal (yes, even that sad reheated rice you had for lunch), there’s an invisible operation in motion. Someone had to think about it. Plan it. Shop for it. Prep it. Cook it. Clean it. Repeat. Forever and ever and ever…
Feeding yourself (or others) is not a one-and-done situation. It’s an endless loop of logistics. A second job you didn’t ask for, and one that doesn’t pay in anything but crumbs. Especially if you’re trying to follow a specific diet, or keep up with some Pinterest-worthy version of “balanced meals.” Suddenly your week is built around defrosting chicken at the right time and figuring out how not to waste that one wrinkly vegetable in the back of the fridge.
And let’s not pretend everyone has the time or energy to do all that. When I was a student, I used to wake up at 5 a.m. and get home at 8 p.m., five days a week, completely wrecked. Cooking wasn’t just “a task,” it was a mountain. I had to prep everything in advance with a tiny budget, and the only time I had to shop was Saturday. That was it. So no, I wasn’t delicately layering mason jar salads like a lifestyle influencer. I was surviving. And I know I’m far from the only one, so many of us live this same story, juggling long hours, small budgets, and sheer exhaustion, making the idea of “perfect” meals feel like a cruel joke.
Then there’s the mental calculus of it all : What do we have? What can I make? Will I (or everyone) eat it? Does it fit the budget? What about leftovers? Who ate all the cheese and didn’t put it on the list?!
So no, cooking isn’t just cooking. It’s cognitive load, and it’s real. You’re not just feeding mouths. You’re managing expectations, moods, food preferences, and expiration dates. It’s like running a restaurant kitchen, except you’re alone, unpaid, and you need to create a very specific menu for each guest.
The Unequal Load :
Why women still run the kitchen
I don’t know if many of you will share my point of view but cooking is and should be considered a basic life skill. Like brushing your teeth or doing your laundry, every human should know how to feed themselves without setting the kitchen on fire. And yet, walk into most family gatherings and look around. Who’s prepping the food, setting the table, keeping track of what’s in the oven, and making sure everyone’s fed before they themselves sit down (if they do at all)? I’ll bet what’s left on my pocket it’s the women.
Because despite all our supposed progress, the role of “meal provider” is still largely gendered. It’s baked into the way many households operate, handed down from mothers to daughters. The woman feeds, the man…grills once a year and calls it even.
There’s this persistent fantasy of “the woman who nourishes”, the generous, glowing domestic goddess who creates comfort from scratch while smiling modestly and never burning out. Reality, however, looks more like a woman juggling work, life, and mental gymnastics while also trying to figure out what to do with half a head of cabbage and exactly three euros.
And let’s not forget the unspoken expectations: Feed everyone well. Make it healthy. Don’t waste anything. Keep it cheap. Make it look good. And for God’s sake, smile while you do it.
Because cooking isn’t just cooking. It’s managing nutrition (everyone should get their vitamins, right?), emotions (little Timmy won’t eat if the food is touching), schedules (one person gets home at 6, the other at 9, and someone else has dance at 7:15), leftovers (which no one wants, but no one wants to throw away either), and egos (because someone in the house still insists on having their meals served in a certain way).
And the kicker? You’re supposed to do all of that with a serene smile and a Pinterest-worthy plate. After all, “There’s no spectacle on earth more appealing than that of a woman making dinner for someone she loves.”(-Thomas Wolfe). The moment you admit it’s hard, or ask for help, or God forbid complain, you’re “making a fuss.” The work is expected to be invisible. If it looks too much like actual effort, people start acting like you’re dramatic, or somehow failing at something that’s supposed to come naturally.
But guess what? Feeding people is real work. Constant, messy, mental-load-heavy work. And it deserves a hell of a lot more respect than it usually gets.
From Pleasure to Pressure :
When cooking & food loses its spark
All that mental juggling eventually bleeds into how you relate to food. Decision fatigue sets in when even choosing between rice or pasta feels like overthinking a major life move. You stand in front of the pantry, hoping dinner will assemble itself so you can stop making yet another choice.
Slowly, the relationship shifts. Food stops being pleasure, creativity, or comfort. It becomes another box to tick. I got to the point where I ate because I had to, not because I wanted to. There was no savoring, no enjoyment. Meals became checkpoints to survive the day.
Spontaneity? That went out the window. My version of being “spontaneous” was either a last-minute rework of leftovers or giving in and eating out just to skip the cooking and the cleanup. But soon I would realise that it wasn’t in fact freedom, it was avoidance.
And then the guilt shows up like clockwork : You didn’t plan well. You wasted food. You spent money you didn’t mean to. You served frozen pizza again.
You’re exhausted, but still somehow blaming yourself for not being the at-home version of Gordon Ramsay that society quietly hinted you should be.
The thing meant to nourish you can quietly become the thing that drains you.
Survival Strategies for the Hangry :
Tested and approved
That being said, let’s focus now on how we can change this feeling. And the first step is to remind yourself that not every meal needs a Michelin star. Sometimes dinner is toast and scrambled eggs, and that’s not failure. You don’t need to trace the ancestral lineage of a beetroot to learn how to use it. Sometimes, “it’s edible” is a perfectly valid win. So, let me share a few tips I’ve picked up on my very long (and very much ongoing) journey with nutrition because let’s be real, you can’t overhaul a lifetime of habits overnight. Yeah, I tried that. It did not work.
The Holy Grail : the Lists. Grocery lists, meal ideas, freezable batch-cook menus (thank you, internet). There’s no shame in outsourcing brain space. Once it’s on the list, it’s out of your brain, no more mental gymnastics trying to remember if you still need rice or if you dreamed it. You just read it, and poof, one less thing to stress about.
Personally, I like having a digital one (a list for what I already have & a list for what I need to buy). It keeps me sane, organized, and slightly less likely to buy too much for the fifth week in a row.
Pivot meals are gold. Cook once, eat two or three times. Roast a chicken on Sunday and ride that bird until Tuesday? Sure. But if you’re veggie, same idea applies, cook a big batch of lentil dhal or roasted veggie couscous, and suddenly you’ve got lunch, dinner, and maybe a weirdly satisfying leftover wrap situation.
That said, it can get boring fast if your rotation only includes three dishes and a half-burnt omelet. When every meal starts to feel like a sad rerun, motivation tanks. So whether you’re winging it or meal-prepping like a pro, it helps to diversify. Learn one new dish, try a new spice, swap rice for bulgur, whatever keeps your taste buds from filing a formal complaint. And remember to find your rhythm because not every dinner needs to be a brand-new symphony, leftovers are jazz, baby.
Take the shortcuts. Canned beans? Frozen veg? Welcome to the team. You are not less of a person because you didn’t soak your chickpeas for 12 hours under a full moon.
In fact, these shortcuts are one of the smartest ways to sneak more variety into your routine. They last longer (unlike that poor vegetable that died heroically in the back of the fridge), they’re ready when you are, and on chaotic days, they save your life. A bag of frozen stir-fry veggies + some rice = dinner. No chopping, no peeling, no emotional breakdown required.
Collaborate without turning into a project manager. Ask for help. Swap recipes. Share the load. Host a potluck with a theme. Feeding people should feel like a community, not a solo performance.
Because yes, food is fuel to the body but it’s also stories, laughs, experiments gone wrong, and that weird thing your friend brought that turned out to be amazing. Sharing a meal isn’t just about efficiency, it’s about connection. Around the table, even the simplest dish becomes something more than just dinner. It becomes a moment, and those moments feed more than just your stomach.
And no, you don’t need a fancy restaurant or a Pinterest-perfect dinner party to make it special. A couple of grandma-approved recipes, a pot of something simmering, and people you like? That’s the good stuff. That’s the kind of meal that sticks, not to your hips, but to your memories.
And finally, build your routine slowly. Add one new dish or ingredient at a time. No need to reinvent your entire kitchen overnight. Build a toolbox, not a five-star restaurant (you’re feeding humans, not food critics).
One little trick that can make a big difference? Keep a food journal. Nothing fancy, just a notebook or a notes app where you jot down recipes you’ve liked, what worked (or didn’t), and little tweaks to try next time. It helps track your progress and makes it easier to improvise later, especially when life throws you into a new routine and you have to rethink everything. The good news? Your core meals, the ones you’ve tested and loved, will still be there, ready to jump back into action when needed.
In the end, cooking isn’t supposed to feel like a performance review. It’s not about producing the perfect meal, three times a day, seven days a week, with a smile and matching plates. It’s about staying alive, yes, but also staying well. And you can’t do that if you’re constantly on the edge of burnout because every dinner feels like a deadline.
Organization is a great tool, as long as it stays in the toolbox. If it starts running the show, it stops helping. The goal isn’t to control every bite or plan your life down to the last grain of rice. The goal is to live, to enjoy, to take the pressure off where you can.
So here’s to the simple meals. The slightly overcooked pasta. The third day of leftover. The bread and cheese dinner on a Tuesday night. Here’s to the messy tables, the shared laughter, and the “good enough” that feeds your body and lets your mind rest.
Bon appétit !
Leave a Reply