If I had to sum myself up in one word, it would be resilient.
Living with coeliac disease has definitely toughened me up more than I ever thought I could be. It’s not just about dodging gluten—it’s surviving the emotional wreckage of watching other people inhale warm bread baskets while you sit there pretending that the sad lettuce and tomato you ordered were exactly what you wanted. Resilience is also getting through the awkward moment when the waiter swears a dish is gluten-free, and then casually adds that it’s cooked in the same fryer as the onion rings. Should I just go ahead and book myself a hospital bed now, or wait until the stomach cramps start?
Dining out? Ha, that’s always an adventure. You know the drill: you ask, “Is this gluten-free?” and get that deer-in-headlights look from the server, followed by, “It should be…?” Should be? If I had a pound for every time I heard that, I’d be able to buy gluten-free pizza that actually tastes like pizza. Meanwhile, I’m mentally mapping out the nearest bathroom and wondering if I’ll need to fake an emergency exit before dessert.
And then there’s the fun part where you discover, after you’ve eaten half of it, that the tiny “may contain gluten” warning was sneakily tucked under the packaging flap. Excellent. Guess I’ll be spending the next 24 hours conducting a one-person science experiment on the limits of human suffering. I’ll try to enjoy the Netflix binge while clutching a hot water bottle like it’s a life raft.
But, wait! The real test of resilience comes at family gatherings. “Oh, I made it gluten-free!” they say confidently, only for you to spot a rogue breadcrumb buried deep in the dip. “It’s just a tiny bit!” Yeah, and the Titanic just hit a little piece of ice—how did that turn out? Then there’s always that one relative who insists that “back in my day, no one was allergic to bread.” Sure, and back in your day, people also thought smoking was good for you, and asbestos made lovely wall décor.
It’s not just the physical side that tests your resilience—it’s the mental gymnastics, too. After years of awkward social encounters and mastering the art of reading food labels at the speed of light, I’ve developed what I like to call gluten-free superpowers. I can sniff out hidden wheat from across the room. I know which brands are safe, which restaurants to avoid like the plague, and which so-called “gluten-free” products are actually trying to kill me. And when I do find something safe and actually tasty (looking at you, Barilla gluten-free spaghetti), I’m doing a happy dance in the middle of the store not caring about the funny stares I get from other shoppers.
Let’s not pretend there haven’t been some total disasters, though. Like the time I trusted a soy sauce bottle that said “gluten-free” but was as safe as diving into a pool of sharks while wearing a meat suit. Or the gluten-free bread that had the same consistency as insulation foam. But hey, resilience is all about bouncing back—even after you’ve been glutened and spent a solid 24 hours questioning every life choice you’ve ever made. It’s about finding the humour in it all—like realising gluten-free pizza bases are basically edible coasters, but eating them anyway because it’s pizza, and we’re all about that.
In the end, resilience isn’t about being perfect. It’s about laughing at the absurdity of it all. It’s about knowing that, yes, gluten-free croissants might taste like laminated cardboard, but at least your digestive system isn’t trying to sabotage you (most of the time). It’s about accepting that some days you’ll eat a gluten-free cake so dry it could absorb floodwater, and other days, you’ll find a gluten-free product so good, you’ll consider writing fan mail to the manufacturer.
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