The Battle I Fought in Secret

It started with a tight-lipped smile and a subtle shrug at dinner parties when someone would inevitably ask me the dreaded question: “Why don’t you eat cheese?” Now, before you stop reading, this isn’t an article about lactose intolerance. No, this is about the internal identity crisis I faced over cheesecake. Yes, cheesecake—a dessert so universally adored it’s practically a global ambassador for comfort food.

Coming clean about why I didn’t “do” cheesecake was never an option. After all, from the diners of Brooklyn to the avant-garde patisseries of Berlin, I grew up knowing that cheesecake held court not just as dessert but as a symbol of communal joy: shared bites, candlelit celebrations, indulgent weekends. To reject it felt almost…treasonous. But beneath my careful veneer of casual avoidance was a story of personal struggle, self-acceptance, and yes, a fair dose of self-exploration.

This is the story of me, cheesecake, and the silent battle I finally decided to stop waging. Spoiler: it’s not about food—it’s about authenticity.

The Silent Struggle: Cheesecake as a Metaphor

Cheesecake wasn’t really the problem, of course. It all started at a birthday party in eighth grade. The cake came out, candles blazing, its creamy surface glistening under the fluorescent lights of a Brooklyn brownstone kitchen. I took one bite and, reader, I hated it. There was something profoundly unsettling about its texture—too wet for cake, too dry for pudding, caught in some strange dessert limbo. But this, apparently, was blasphemy. “What do you mean you don’t like cheesecake?!” my friends recoiled. I froze, sensing the kind of societal judgment usually reserved for kids who didn’t watch Saturday morning cartoons.

From that moment, I learned to fake it—a polite forkful here, an exaggerated “mmm” there. By adulthood, I could mime cheesecake appreciation like an Oscar-worthy performance.

But this secret wasn’t just about cheesecake. It mirrored how often we suppress minor “unpopular opinions” about ourselves for the sake of fitting in. It’s not limited to food preferences, either. How many of us have pretended to like that trendy indie band, that auteur film we didn’t understand, or that book we couldn’t finish, just to seem like we’re in on something? We nod, we smile, we blend into the crowd until we forget where the performance ends and our real selves begin.

Why Breaking the Cheesecake Code Felt Impossible

Here’s the bizarre part: rejecting cheesecake became terrifyingly symbolic. Much like dating in New York City. Stay with me here. Cheesecake is to dessert menus what “adventurous yet grounded” is to dating profiles—it’s uncontroversial, universally appealing, and always feels safe to like. Imagine being the person who stands up in that sea of agreeability and says, “Actually, I prefer brownies.” You risk being pushed out of the cool crowd and branded with an invisible scarlet letter that reads, difficult.

In dating, I found myself playing the same dangerous game. Pretend to like beer at brewery dates—even though I don’t drink it. Feign enthusiasm for hiking, when the last time I “hiked,” I was wearing a blazer and walking uphill in Hong Kong. I didn’t realize how often I’d traded authenticity for approval. Sure, it starts small, but soon you find yourself in relationships based on a version of yourself that isn’t even you. Exhausting, right?

The Cheesecake Breakup: Learning to Be Myself

My “coming out” moment, if you will, happened during brunch with an old friend back in Brooklyn. We’d ordered dessert—a trio of mini cheesecakes, because nothing says New York quite like “artisanal pastry flights.” As the waiter set the plate down, I took a deep breath and blurted, “You know, I’ve never actually liked cheesecake. Ever.”

My friend laughed, not in mockery but in relief. “Oh my God, me neither! I thought I was the only one!” she said, practically collapsing over her espresso. And suddenly, it clicked: how many of us are walking around, silently waging these harmless battles in total isolation? I guarantee there’s someone out there pretending they love oysters or understand NFTs. We aren’t alone—we’re just too scared to be real about it.

This isn’t just about cheesecake (or oysters or bad dates). It’s about freeing ourselves from unnecessary performances. Being honest about what we like, what we don’t, and who we really are spares us the exhaustion of living inauthentically.

Takeaways for Your Own Cheesecake (or Whatever It Is)

You might not be fighting the cheesecake battle, but I bet there’s something similar in your life—the thing you convince yourself to tolerate because you’re worried about upsetting the perceived status quo. It could be saying “yes” to plans you don’t want to attend, keeping quiet about values you hold, or staying in relationships that don’t really feel right. Here’s how to start breaking free:

  1. Call Yourself Out
    If you’re pretending to like something for appearances, ask yourself: why? Would your life really crumble if you admitted the truth? More often than not, your answer will be “no.”

  2. Find Someone You Trust
    Start small. Share your secret with someone who gets you. It feels lighter when you know someone else understands, whether they agree or not. Bonus: you might find they’ve been hiding their own fake cheesecake opinions too.

  3. Practice Honesty in Safe Spaces
    A low-stakes scenario is best for practicing. Don’t wait for the big wedding cheesecake reveal; try asserting your preferences somewhere casual. Don’t be surprised if it feels surprisingly empowering.

  4. Embrace the Ripple Effect
    Once you’re honest in one area of life, it gets easier to apply to others. When I stopped faking cheesecake love, I also stopped pretending to enjoy rooftop parties (enough, NYC!) and started saying “no” to dates that didn’t feel aligned. Authenticity begets authenticity.

Let Cheesecake (Or Something Else) Liberate You

By grounding this small battle, I was able to take back parts of myself I’d been shelving for years. I started realizing that anyone worth having in your life won’t care if you like cheesecake—or craft beer or hiking or whatever the equivalent is for you. They’ll just be happy that you have the courage to own it.

So, no, I’ll never be a connoisseur of New York cheesecake. But I’ve learned to take my desserts (and my relationships) exactly how I like them: no apologies, no pretending, and absolutely no compromise. Life’s too short for anything less. Cheers to that. (With a brownie. Or tiramisu. Never cheesecake.)