Even as a kid growing up in a small central Ohio town in the 1970s and 1980s, vegetarianism was not a distant or foreign concept in our house. My parents were Buddhist hippies, and they ate vegetarian from time to time. Once a year, Khenpo Karthar Rinpoche and his interpreter would stay with us while my parents were practicing their religion.

My father briefly befriended a family from India who dressed in traditional clothing. They were sadly bullied for being different and were not in the neighborhood for long, at least not that I remember. Small Midwestern town, after all. Still, I was regularly exposed to different lifestyles, philosophies, and religions. Food choices were no different.

Some of my favorite foods were vegetarian: fried green tomatoes, macaroni and cheese, spanakopita, and spinach lasagna. One of my favorites, lentils and rice, was even vegan (even though I didn’t know it then).

As an adult, I went back and forth for years between being vegetarian and eating a standard American diet. That back and forth was not because it was easier, or because I particularly loved the taste of meat. It was more about the reasons I became vegetarian in the first place. Often, it was to be rebellious after a relationship ended, to be different, or for some other superficial reason. It was never about the animals.

Fast forward to the spring and summer of 2009. I was living in Cincinnati and commuting 45 miles north on Interstate 75 to Dayton for work. One sunny morning, I headed north like I did every weekday. It was a gorgeous day. Sunny, a slight breeze, and the perfect temperature for driving with the windows down. Halfway into my drive, an accident brought traffic to a complete standstill. I came to a stop next to a transport truck packed full of cows. With my windows down, I could hear them crying and see them as they tried to push their snouts through the slats. I could smell their fear and excrement. I began to cry and I did not stop until I finally made it to work. I sat in my car in the parking lot for a good ten minutes while I composed myself.

The most significant part is that I did not go vegan right then and there. I did not even return to being vegetarian. But the seed was planted. I never stopped thinking about those cows.

After that, I noticed those transport trucks everywhere. Sometimes they were empty. Other times, they carried cows or pigs. Occasionally, I would see a truck packed with chickens. Sometimes, while eating meat, my mind would snap back to those trucks. Animals filled to the brim, bound to become one of my next meals. The empty ones were, and still are, even worse in some ways.

It started to hit me in smaller moments. I would be eating chicken and see a feather still attached. I was eating a living being. I would be eating a pork chop and feel it again. I was eating a pig who did not want to die. Eventually, I stopped eating meat and became vegetarian again.

I still ate dairy products, though. Because cheese.

By the following year, I came across an article reporting on Mercy For Animals undercover video footage of abuse at an Ohio dairy farm. I began to seek out more information. Some of the first websites I found were Farm Sanctuary, Animal Outlook, and Free From Harm. That was when my paradigm shift happened, and I became vegan for life.

In September of 2010, I took part in Farm Sanctuary’s Walk for Farm Animals. The shirt I bought that day is well worn now, but I still wear it around the house from time to time.

Do I wish I had become vegan sooner, or at least stuck with vegetarianism instead of switching back and forth? Of course. Even so, my journey had to happen as it did in order to create a lasting change and a real commitment to live a compassionate, vegan lifestyle.