13- What People Think I Eat vs. Reality (A Short Story Featuring Brenda and Debbie)

The moment people hear I eat carnivore, something changes. Not the conversation, the atmosphere.

There’s a pause. A look. The kind of silence where you can almost hear someone mentally Googling.

No one asks questions yet. First, they imagine things.

And then Brenda steps forward.

Brenda means well. She always does. Brenda once read half an article in 2018 and has been emotionally invested ever since.

“So… what do you eat?”

What Brenda thinks I eat is fairly intense. Raw liver. Obviously. Ribeye for breakfast, lunch, and some sort of emotionally charged dinner. No seasoning. Or maybe too much. A fridge that looks like a butcher shop lost a fight.

In Brenda’s version, every meal is dramatic. A statement. Possibly a cry for help. Reality, unfortunately for Brenda, is deeply uninteresting.

I eat simple meals.
Repetitive meals.
Meals that don’t require a blender, a supplement schedule, or a personal brand.

Most days, my food decisions take about five seconds. This deeply concerns Brenda.

“But don’t you miss… variety?”
“Isn’t that really restrictive?”
“I could never.”

Which is fascinating, because Brenda eats five different things that make her feel terrible, but one thing that makes you feel good? Suspicious.

What Brenda thinks carnivore feels like: Constant willpower, white-knuckling birthdays, whispering “no” to cake while staring into the middle distance.

What it actually feels like: Fewer decisions, less mental noise, eating and moving on with your life. No labels. No negotiations. No internal committee meetings.

Just when Brenda is trying to recover from the idea of eating the same thing twice in a row, Debbie enters the conversation.

Debbie doesn’t imagine what I eat. Debbie imagines what will inevitably go wrong.

“But isn’t that dangerous?”
“I read it’s bad for your arteries.”
“My neighbor’s cousin tried something like that and now can’t digest air.”

Debbie has concerns.
Debbie always does.

And honestly? I get it. Because if you Google “carnivore diet” in the Netherlands, according to the experts, you’ll be dead by Friday.

Slipped arteries.
Instant heart failure.
A very short, meat-filled goodbye.

But if you Google the same thing in the U.S., the tone is… different. There are good stories. There are bad stories. There’s nuance. People talk about what worked. What didn’t. What helped. What didn’t last.

Not everyone agrees, and that’s fine, but at least no one declares you clinically deceased after three steaks.

So yes, I understand the panic.
I understand Brenda’s concern.
I understand Debbie’s urgency.

Especially if your reference point is a Google search that reads like a public health horror novel. Meanwhile, Debbie is tired. Bloated. A bit “off.” But that’s unrelated.

The funny part is that neither Brenda nor Debbie seems particularly alarmed by feeling bad every day. That’s normal. Manageable. Something you just work around.

But eating simply?
That’s where the red flags go up.

Yes, sometimes carnivore is boring. But boring isn’t the enemy. Feeling terrible is. So no, I don’t eat like a caveman in a documentary. I’m not fighting urges. I’m not deprived. I just eat. Then I go live my life. And somehow, that’s the part that makes Brenda uncomfortable, and gives Debbie something new to worry about.

Turns out the real danger isn’t the meat. It’s eating without drama.