The Instagram post started with an apology. “I know this will disappoint many of you,” my friend Sarah wrote beneath a photo of her morning eggs. What followed was a 2,000-word explanation of her “health journey,” complete with blood test results, supplement protocols, and reassurances that she still “totally respected” veganism. The comments section exploded within minutes—some supportive, some betrayed, most asking the same question: “But did you try [insert supplement/food/protocol here]?”
Sarah had been vegan for three years, the kind who made cashew cheese from scratch and knew which wines were filtered with fish bladder. Her feed had been a carefully curated garden of smoothie bowls and chickpea innovations. Now she was writing paragraphs about B12 absorption and amino acid profiles, as if the internet needed another nutrition essay. But something felt off about her explanation. Not dishonest exactly, just incomplete. Like she was giving us the footnotes but not the story.
Over the past year, I’ve watched a parade of former vegans craft similar announcements. They all hit the same notes: health concerns, careful consideration, still caring about animals. The explanations are thoroughly researched, medically justified, defensively airtight. Yet they remind me of breakup texts that list logical reasons while dancing around the actual feelings. The real reasons people abandon veganism are messier, more human, and far more interesting than the sanitized narratives we typically hear.
1. The identity shift was more exhausting than the diet
Sarah’s post mentioned fatigue, but not the kind that shows up in blood work. Being vegan in a non-vegan world means constantly navigating other people’s reactions. Every meal becomes a potential conversation about your choices. Every dinner invitation requires a disclaimer. You become the person who checks restaurant menus in advance, who brings their own food to parties, who fields jokes about protein at every family gathering.
After a while, being “the vegan” becomes your entire personality in others’ eyes. Colleagues forward you articles about quinoa. Relatives buy you cookbooks for every birthday. Dating profiles lead with dietary preferences. The identity consumption is total, and eventually, some people just want to be known for something else.
2. They missed the social ease more than the cheese
Nobody admits this because it sounds shallow, but the social friction of veganism grinds people down. Watch someone try to be vegan at a wedding, a business dinner, a first date at a sushi restaurant. The accommodations, explanations, and gentle assertions add up. “I’m fine with just the side salad” becomes a mantra that starts to feel like self-exile.
Food is how humans connect, and voluntary restriction reads as rejection to many people. Your grandmother thinks you’re insulting her cooking. Your friends stop inviting you to certain restaurants. Travel becomes a complex negotiation with every meal. The ex-vegans who cite health rarely mention how their social health suffered from constant dietary diplomacy.
3. The perfectionism became unsustainable
Veganism attracts conscientious people, and conscientiousness can mutate into perfectionism. Sarah used to spend hours researching whether the vitamin D3 in her supplement was derived from lichen or lanolin. She’d lie awake wondering if her car tires contained animal products. The ethical framework that initially felt clarifying became a prison of endless calculations.
Research on moral perfectionism shows how exhausting it is to maintain rigid ethical standards in a complex world. Ex-vegans often describe relief at no longer scrutinizing every label, no longer feeling guilty about that beer filtered with isinglass they didn’t know about until afterwards. The mental load of perfect adherence becomes heavier than the physical requirements.
4. Their body image issues were driving more than they realized
Here’s what rarely makes it into the “why I’m no longer vegan” posts: how many people use veganism as a socially acceptable form of restriction. It’s easier to say “I don’t eat that” than “I’m afraid of calories.” The health-focused subset of veganism can mask disordered eating patterns, turning every meal into a purity test.
When ex-vegans talk about feeling better after reintroducing animal products, sometimes they’re really talking about feeling better after eating more food, period. The relief isn’t always about the magical properties of salmon—it’s about permission to nourish themselves without the elaborate rules that veganism provided cover for.
5. The economics were unsustainable in ways they couldn’t Instagram
Eating vegan cheaply is possible—rice and beans are plant-based. But the version of veganism that most people attempt, the one with meat substitutes and nut cheeses and exotic superfood powders, is expensive. Sarah’s grocery bills had doubled. Her supplements alone cost $200 monthly. The organic, whole-food, Instagram-worthy version of veganism is a luxury that becomes harder to justify when student loans come due or rent increases.
Ex-vegans rarely lead with money concerns because it feels petty compared to ethical considerations. But financial stress is real stress, and choosing between ethical eating and economic survival isn’t a choice anyone wants to advertise.
6. They were tired of defending other vegans
Every movement has its extremists, but veganism’s are particularly visible online. Sarah found herself constantly disclaiming: “I’m vegan but not THAT kind of vegan.” The colleague who compared dairy to the Holocaust. The friend who brought graphic factory farming videos to dinner parties. The online vegans who told her she deserved her health issues for not doing veganism “right.”
Eventually, the energy required to distance yourself from the movement’s worst ambassadors while maintaining your own commitment becomes untenable. It’s exhausting to simultaneously defend your choices to meat-eaters while defending yourself against purist vegans. Some people exit the entire conversation rather than continue navigating these dual fronts.
7. The anticipated judgment made leaving feel impossible until it didn’t
Sarah rewrote her announcement post seventeen times. She knew exactly what the comments would say before they arrived. The longer someone is publicly vegan, the higher the social cost of changing course. You become invested in the identity, and so does everyone around you. The fear of being seen as weak, uncommitted, or hypocritical keeps people trapped in choices that no longer serve them.
The paradox is that this anticipated judgment often prevents people from making gradual adjustments that might have sustained their veganism. Instead of admitting struggles early, they maintain the facade until complete abandonment feels like the only option. The binary nature of vegan identity—you either are or aren’t—creates these dramatic exits where flexibility might have prevented them.
8. Their values hadn’t actually changed as much as they claimed
Read between the lines of ex-vegan announcements and you’ll notice something: they still believe most of what made them vegan in the first place. They still think factory farming is horrible. They still care about environmental impact. They still love animals. What changed wasn’t their values but their belief in their personal responsibility to perfectly embody those values at every meal.
The shift from “I must personally abstain from all animal products” to “I’ll do my best within my circumstances” feels like moral failure to many ex-vegans, so they overcompensate with detailed explanations about why their choice is medically necessary. It’s easier to cite iron deficiency than to admit you’ve reconsidered the weight of individual consumer choices.
9. The community they’d found was conditional
Vegan communities can be incredibly supportive—until you’re not vegan anymore. Sarah lost friends when she reintroduced eggs. People she’d cooked with, protested with, shared years of meals with suddenly treated her like a traitor. The speed of excommunication shocked her more than any nutrient deficiency.
This conditional acceptance creates a feedback loop where struggling vegans hide their difficulties, receive no support, then face rejection when they finally make changes. The very community that might have helped them find sustainable solutions instead drives them away entirely.
10. They underestimated how much of their veganism was about control
In a chaotic world, dietary rules offer structure. Veganism provides clear boundaries in a landscape of overwhelming food choices. For some, that structure is liberating. For others, it becomes a crutch—a way to feel virtuous and in control when other life areas feel messy.
When ex-vegans talk about feeling “freed” by eating animal products again, they’re often describing release from self-imposed rigidity rather than actual dietary liberation. The control that initially felt empowering had become constraining. Sometimes what looks like dietary failure is actually psychological growth—learning to navigate nuance instead of hiding behind rules.
Final thoughts
Sarah’s Instagram post got 847 comments. Most debated the bioavailability of plant-based iron or shared their own supplement regimens. Almost nobody addressed the twenty-three drafts, the anxiety about disappointing people, the relief mixed with grief she felt posting it. The nutrition science dominated while the human story disappeared.
The real reasons people leave veganism are rarely about discovering the magical properties of bone broth or sudden B12 enlightenment. They’re about identity, community, perfectionism, and the complex negotiations of living according to values in an imperfect world. They’re about learning that sometimes the most ethical choice is accepting your own limitations.
Watching friends navigate these transitions has taught me that the ex-vegan narrative we usually hear—the one focused entirely on health optimization—is a cover story for more vulnerable truths. It’s easier to discuss amino acids than admit you missed belonging. Easier to cite studies than say you were tired of being different. Easier to frame it as a medical necessity than acknowledge you simply changed your mind.
The next time you see one of those “Why I’m No Longer Vegan” posts, read past the nutrition science. The real story is usually hiding between the supplement protocols and recipe modifications—in the exhaustion, the isolation, and the very human desire to sometimes just order off the menu without it becoming a statement about who you are.
What’s Your Plant-Powered Archetype?
Ever wonder what your everyday habits say about your deeper purpose—and how they ripple out to impact the planet?
This 90-second quiz reveals the plant-powered role you’re here to play, and the tiny shift that makes it even more powerful.
12 fun questions. Instant results. Surprisingly accurate.
