Why I Secretly Hate Meal Prep But Do It Anyway

A Sunday Habit That Feels Like a Chore

I know meal prep is supposed to be this empowering ritual. You carve out a few hours on Sunday, fill your fridge with neatly stacked glass containers, and magically coast through the week like a woman who has it all together. That’s the fantasy. In reality? It makes me want to scream into a head of lettuce.

Every Sunday afternoon, I find myself glaring at a pile of vegetables like they betrayed me. The chopping, the portioning, the repetitive seasoning—it starts to feel less like a helpful routine and more like homework I assigned myself. And yet, I keep doing it. Week after week. Because as much as I roll my eyes at the process, I’ve learned that meal prep doesn’t have to look like the internet tells you it should. It just has to work for you.

And that’s where the twist comes in.

The Burnout No One Talks About

There was a time I loved meal prep. Back when it was new and I was convinced it would solve all my weekday chaos. I followed color-coded plans, made three proteins, two grains, a rainbow of veggies.

But somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like support and started feeling like pressure. The kind of pressure that whispers, “If you don’t spend your Sunday prepping quinoa, you clearly don’t care about your life.”

I never said it out loud, but I began to resent it. The rigidity. The rules. The way it stole hours from my weekend and left me standing in the kitchen long after I wanted to be on the couch. But I kept doing it, silently, because the alternative was scrambling on Tuesday night with an empty fridge and a tired brain.

So I stopped trying to do it the right way. And I started doing it my way.

How I Meal Prep Now (With No Rules)

Now my “meal prep” looks more like ingredient prep. I don’t portion meals into containers or assign Tuesday to lentil soup. I just stock my fridge with building blocks—things I know I’ll actually reach for when I’m tired or busy or hangry.

I roast a tray of sweet potatoes and red onions. I boil a dozen eggs. I wash and spin lettuce so it’s ready for a five-minute salad. I cook one big protein—usually chicken thighs or tofu—and store it plain so I can season it differently each night. That’s it. No matching lids. No guilt if I skip a step.

This kind of prep gives me room to cook on impulse during the week without starting from scratch. I can make a grain bowl, a wrap, or a quick stir-fry in ten minutes flat. It’s not picture-perfect, but it’s functional. And it doesn’t make me dread my own kitchen.

The Mental Load Shifted

What changed everything for me was realizing I don’t need to be in control of every detail. I used to treat meal prep like a performance. Now, it feels more like a conversation with my future self. I’m not trying to impress anyone—I’m just giving Tuesday-me a little kindness. A little relief.

Sometimes that kindness is a jar of pre-chopped onions. Sometimes it’s cookie dough in the fridge. I don’t care what the wellness blog says—it counts.

And here’s the twist: once I dropped the pressure, I started enjoying the ritual again. Not every time. Not perfectly. But enough. I might listen to a podcast while chopping or pour myself a glass of wine and turn on a movie in the background. I’ve learned to fold life into the prep, instead of pausing life for it.

What Meal Prep Actually Means to Me Now

It means having options that don’t feel rigid. It means being able to cook with creativity on busy nights. It means eating real food more often—without being trapped by a plan. Most of all, it means reclaiming time in a way that still feels flexible and human.

I still secretly hate the idea of meal prep as a perfect system. But I love the part where I open the fridge on a hectic Wednesday and see cooked rice, roasted veggies, and something I can turn into a meal without thinking too hard. That moment feels like self-respect. Like I’ve taken care of someone important—me.

And sometimes, that’s the only win I need.

Final Thoughts

Meal prep doesn’t have to be Instagram-worthy to be worthwhile. If you’re tired of forcing yourself to fit into someone else’s structure, maybe it’s time to rewrite the rules. Prep a little. Make it messy. Make it yours.

I still roll my eyes on Sunday afternoons—but I do it anyway. Not because it’s perfect. Because it helps. Because it frees up space in my week to focus on things that actually matter. And because showing up for yourself, in your own way, is always worth it.