Satire

How Opening Up About My Gluten Intolerance Gave Me Confidence…

To bore the shit out of everyone I meet.

The first thing I did after my WebMD diagnosis was talk to my family and friends. Discussing details about my intestinal symptoms was embarrassing, but everyone’s support and concern encouraged me to keep sharing. Pretty soon, I was steering every conversation to rice flour muffin recipes, flatulence, or both.

That’s when I had what Oprah calls an “aha” moment.

That’s when I had what Oprah calls an “aha” moment. Yes, gluten intolerance restricts my diet and makes eating a hassle, but it’s also a conversation starter, albeit a conversation only I want to have. Most importantly, it’s an opportunity: an opportunity to bore the shit out of everyone I meet.

I admire people who don’t want to be defined by a disease, but that’s not me. My struggle is my truth. I owe it to the world to share, and the world owes it to me to shut its bread hole and endure my incessant babble about chickpea pasta.

Early on, I had an evangelical zeal. When people didn’t ask follow-up questions or subtly tried to change the topic, it stung. I can’t say when exactly, but at some point, I stopped caring. Now that moment when their smiles freeze and their eyes dart around frantically doesn’t bother me at all. It’s when I know I’m in my groove.

As every boring American knows, cell phones make it increasingly difficult to force conversations on people. You have to get creative. I’ve found that people at work, particularly those whose livelihoods depend on tips, are the easiest to hold hostage.

When a waitress introduces herself, I introduce her to the world of celiac disease. (Psst — I don’t actually have celiac disease, but no one takes intolerance seriously.) If she thinks pointing to the little GF on the menu is getting her out of this conversation, she’s sorely mistaken.

If people can’t cater to my diet, they can at least listen while I yammer on about it. And these days, there is no detail of my wellness journey so inane or tedious I won’t crowbar it into a conversation. In fact, it gets easier every time.

When I look back on my life before gluten intolerance, it seems such a sad, lonely place. I was trapped by the social norms that dictate how long you can talk, to whom, and about what.

I didn’t have the confidence to look in a stranger’s grocery cart and say, “Shoot! I wish I could eat that.”

I wouldn’t have continued looking through their cart, cataloging all the things I can and cannot eat, flaunting my encyclopedic knowledge of a subject about which they showed no interest.

And before my diagnosis, I might have felt pressured to eat whatever was served at a party. I wouldn’t have taken the initiative to drag the host over to the table, point to every dish, and ask if it had gluten.

If we finally found something that didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked right before putting it in my mouth, “Was this cooked in an oven with wheat?” When the host said, “maybe,” I wouldn’t have slumped down with a crestfallen face and said, “It’s okay. I ate before I came.”

The old me would never do that. In fact, the old me would have been horrified, but not now. Now I’m free, free as a bird eating millet, which by the way, is gluten-free.

Originally posted on Points In Case.