Helen and I met a few years after I was diagnosed with coeliac disease. By then, I’d settled into the routine—reading every food label like it was a legal contract, politely declining everything at buffets, and becoming suspicious of anything labelled “gluten-free*” (with the dreaded asterisk). I was managing, sure, but there wasn’t much joy in it.
Then along came Helen.
From the start, she didn’t treat my coeliac disease like a burden or a dietary quirk to tolerate. She threw herself into it—learning the ins and outs, finding safe places for us to eat, and whipping up gluten free meals that actually tasted like real food. (Her lasagne still haunts my dreams in the best way possible.)
But what really makes a difference is her sense of humour. Helen has this incredible ability to make me laugh even when I’m feeling rubbish about missing out. One year, she bought me a pair of baguette-shaped slippers for Christmas. Giant, fluffy loaves on my feet—because if I can’t eat bread, I may as well wear it.
That’s the kind of thing she does. She turns my biggest frustrations into shared jokes. She makes me feel seen, understood, and like I’m not facing this whole coeliac thing on my own.
So, what’s the most positive thing a family member has done for me? Helen showed me that love doesn’t just support you—it learns, adapts, and occasionally buys you novelty baked-goods-themed footwear.
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