Editor’s Note: All opinion section content reflects the views of the individual author only and does not represent a stance taken by The Collegian or its editorial board.

Last year, like every other first-year, I regarded Colorado State University’s dining hall food with the same respect I would prison slop, not even because the meals were that bad. In fact, CSU’s dining halls serve comparatively better food than other universities across the nation. Regardless, I’d begrudgingly trek to every meal with low morale, sighing and eyeing up the salmon like it’d jumped straight from the sea onto my plate.

But now, less than two months into cooking for myself, I desperately want to go back — not for the dining hall’s food quality and certainly not for its ambiance but for the luxury of not having to cook.

I don’t hate cooking; I tolerate it. There are moments when it’s enjoyable, of course. Executing a recipe rewards hard work, and simmering garlic makes my nose happy. But to say that cooking brings me joy? That would be a lie.

“I got comfortable and complacent with the luxury of dining halls. Despite my complaints about and bitter distaste for some of the food, money and time were never issues that determined what I ate.”

Part of my reluctance in the kitchen simply comes from not knowing what I’m doing.

Here’s a scarily accurate depiction of my most recent 15 texts with my mom: “How do I cook salmon?” “Do I have to let it thaw?” “How long?” “OK, now that it’s thawed, should I keep the skin on?” “OK, I think it’s cooked, but the meat looks kind of funny. Look at the pic I sent.”

But the bulk of my distaste for cooking manifests from laziness. Most days, I don’t want to meal prep, I don’t want to grocery shop and sometimes I don’t even want to use the stove. Despite spending hours scrolling through dinner inspiration on TikTok, I frequently revert to the old Maruchan ramen standby.

Not only is cooking a lot of work, but it’s daunting to learn, especially as a self-diagnosed hypochondriac. I constantly fear my food isn’t cooked all the way, my produce is crawling with bugs or everything in my fridge is expired.

I used to enjoy the idea of making something for myself. I’d get random spurts of creativity, conjuring up elaborate meals even my college self couldn’t dream of. So why does cooking frighten me now? I certainly shouldn’t dread grocery shopping — nonetheless boiling a pot of water.

The culprit is shockingly clear: CSU dining halls.

I got so used to the routine of having food served to me on a platter — literally. I didn’t have to meal plan; I didn’t have to clean my dishes; and I didn’t have to watch my bank account drain after every grocery trip. I got comfortable and complacent with the luxury of dining halls. Despite my complaints about and bitter distaste for some of the food, money and time were never issues that determined what I ate.

Not to mention the danger of having excess meal swipes. Friday nights became snack shopping sprees, and money was no longer an object when I had $30 left to spend on Chex Mix and Topo Chicos. My perception of food and its value became so warped so quickly.

That’s why the transition between last year and this year felt so culinarily daunting. I know many others are in my exact position, so to reaffirm you, our collective cooking panic is completely normal. And although the kitchen still scares me a bit, week by week, I regain my footing and my curiosity to make something new. Who knows — maybe I’ll take up baking next.

Reach Emma Souza at letters@collegian.com or on Twitter @_emmasouza.