THE DIAGNOSIS THAT BROKE & SAVED ME

By the time I finally heard the words celiac disease, I was tired — not just physically, but emotionally. I had been dismissed, misdiagnosed, and made to feel dramatic for so long that even getting an answer didn’t feel like a victory.

I remember sitting in the doctor’s office, staring at the papers, feeling a strange mix of relief and sadness. On one hand, I finally had proof that the pain wasn’t in my head. On the other, I realized this was something I’d have to live with forever. There was no quick fix — only change.

At first, I thought going gluten-free would be simple. I cleaned out my pantry, bought new groceries, and told myself I’d finally feel better. But no one tells you how heavy it is to grieve food, or memories, or convenience. No one tells you how it feels when people roll their eyes at your “restrictions,” or how anxious you get eating anywhere that isn’t your own kitchen.

My family tried to be supportive, but they didn’t really understand what cross-contamination meant. They’d use the same cutting board or toast bread in the same toaster. I’d explain it again and again, and each time I got sick, I’d blame myself for trusting that it was safe.

The social part hurt the most. Friends would invite me to dinner and say, “There’s gluten-free options!” — but the food would come out touching crumbs, sauces, or bread. I learned how to politely say “no” while feeling like an inconvenience. I stopped eating out for a while because it felt easier than risking it.

Then came the emotional crash — the part no one talks about. The anger. The sadness. The loneliness. I wasn’t just changing my diet; I was relearning how to exist in a world that wasn’t built for me.

But with time, I started to find small victories — the meals that didn’t hurt, the brands that felt safe, the people who listened without judgment. I began realizing that healing wasn’t just about avoiding gluten — it was about learning how to trust my body again.

This journey broke me open in ways I didn’t expect. But it also made me softer, more patient, and more determined.
Because once you know what it’s like to be gaslit by your own pain, you never want anyone else to feel that way.

That’s why I share all of this — to make sure no one else has to walk through their diagnosis alone, confused, or scared.
You’re not “too much.” You’re not “picky.” You’re a person learning how to survive in a body that’s finally asking to be heard.