I’m Giving Up On Family Dinners. Here’s Why & What We’re Doing Instead.

When family dinners meant more stress in our home, we abandoned them completely. Here’s how we make it work—without losing that critical bonding time. 

There is something about the buildup to dinnertime that releases a distinctly feral energy in our home. One evening, my 3-year-old cruised by the kitchen island, grabbing a fistful of meatloaf out of the pan and hightailing it out of sight, flinging crumbs as she ran. The week before, I returned from the bathroom to find my little one at the counter, head tipped back as she gnawed on the end of a freshly baked loaf of bread. 

I know full-well what you’re thinking: don’t these parents ever feed their kids? And I promise you, we do. But no matter the amount of belly-filling snacks we ply them with, my daughters are ravenous by 5 p.m. To keep the peace, my husband and I have tried a number of setups, often eating earlier and finding ourselves starving by bedtime. 

In the end, the smartest, gentlest solution for all was to give up on shared dinners altogether. Here’s how we make it work—without losing that critical bonding time. 

The Promise of Family Dinners

For years, I’ve been determined to gather around the table nightly—sometimes to the detriment of my mental health. After all, the benefits of shared family meals are plentiful and well-documented, ranging from a stronger bond to a lower instance of substance abuse in kids later on. Pretty serious stuff, right? Of course on the flip side, researchers have yet to produce a study on the effects of chasing your meatloaf-wielding child from room to room. So, there’s that, too. 

Kidding aside, when I stepped back to consider the evening mood in our home, I recognized a pattern setting in: Our nights went downhill at dinnertime, buzzing with anxious energy as we juggled meal prep and hungry children.

When we finally decided to let the idea of shared family dinners go, a feeling of profound relief took hold. My daughters would stick to their early mealtime, and my husband and I would enjoy an easy dinner after they’d gone to bed. No sibling bickering. No picky-eater negotiating. No kids in frustrated tears. 

Forget the Clock

But still, I worried that in choosing the path of least resistance, we were losing something irreplaceable and meaningful—that sacred time together that was built into the end of each day. So, instead of battling one another to get dinner on the table, we opted to try out family breakfast in its place. 

We keep the menus simple, oatmeal, fruit, and coffee—choosing instead to put our energy where it truly matters—each other. 

And as it turns out, there’s nothing particularly magical about dinnertime. Sharing a meal and conversation as a family is just as valuable in the morning as it is at night, hour of the day be damned. Now, on most mornings, my little family gathers sleepy-eyed for breakfast. We keep the menus simple, oatmeal, fruit and coffee—choosing instead to put our energy where it truly matters—each other. 

While swapping shared mealtimes may not be anything new for many, for a rule-follower like me, the idea was nothing short of revolutionary. Ever the internalizer, I realized I often confuse guidance for gospel, forgetting that there is a well of peace in choosing to forge our own paths and decide what’s best for our own families. So if the dinner hour is more stress than connection in your home, take a cue from me: prioritize your own peace and find another pocket of time to share a meal and catch up with your little ones.