A gluten-free perspective on what real freedom tastes like

For some people, freedom is political. For others, it’s philosophical.
For me? Freedom is being able to walk into a café and ask, “Is this gluten free?” without being met with blank stares, a nervous laugh, or the dreaded “It should be…”

Freedom is eating without fear.
It’s a slice of gluten-free pizza that doesn’t crumble into sawdust.
It’s a dinner invite where someone actually read the label.

Freedom is not needing a backup snack in your coat pocket “just in case.”
It’s trusting the menu—or at least knowing the chef won’t say “Don’t worry, we use spelt!”

Freedom is saying no without guilt.
Saying yes without regret.
And maybe, just maybe, finding a gluten-free doughnut that doesn’t taste like a damp sponge pretending to be cake.

I didn’t choose coeliac disease, but I did choose to take control of it.
And that’s my kind of freedom: Living fully, eating bravely, and refusing to apologise for needing something different.

Also, not having explosive stomach issues every time I eat? Yeah. That’s the kind of liberty I can get behind.