Dear Gluten, It’s Not Me—It’s You: A Breakup Letter

Gluten, we need to talk. No, don’t roll your eyes – I know you saw this coming.

We’ve had a good run, haven’t we? You were there for all the big moments: late-night pizzas, crusty baguettes on romantic picnics, that one time I tried to make homemade bread and created a yeasty doorstop instead. Oh, the memories. But like all toxic relationships, it started with love… and ended in bloating, stomach pain, and quite possibly questioning the existence of my intestines.

So here it is.

We’re done.
Finished.
Kaput.

Never, ever, ever getting back together (not even if someone offers me garlic bread with cheese).

I used to think I couldn’t live without you. That I’d just be a shell of a man, tragically nibbling on rice cakes while weeping softly into a kale smoothie. But guess what? I’m thriving.

Well… “thriving” might be a stretch. I’m slightly less miserable, significantly less gassy, and my toilet and I are no longer in a codependent relationship. So yeah, thriving.

You, Gluten, are the gaslighting ex of the food world. You sneak into things where you’re not wanted. Soy sauce? Why are you even there? Gravy? Biscuits? Lip balm?! I can’t trust you. And honestly, I shouldn’t have to hire a private investigator every time I want a snack.

Let’s be honest – you never supported me. Quite literally. My immune system sees you and goes full John Wick. I spent years thinking I was just “a bit tired,” “a bit foggy,” or “probably dying of something mysterious,” when really… it was you. All along. You sneaky little strand of protein, you.

And while I’m here, let’s get one thing straight: your gluten-free doppelgängers are actually kind of great.

I mean, yes, some early attempts tasted like cardboard that had lost the will to live. But now? There are brownies. There is pasta (that doesn’t disintegrate or weld itself to the pan). There is bread that doesn’t double as a blunt-force weapon.

I’ve even got a whole blog about life without you. It’s called The GF Table. GF = Gluten-Free. Not Girlfriend.

So this is my official breakup letter.
No tears. No drama.
Just a man, standing in front of a loaf of sourdough, saying, “I deserve better.”

Goodbye, Gluten.
Please don’t write back.