The holiday season is meant to bring people together. Some families fight over politics and religion, others battle over emotional scars, while some can truly and fully function. But what usually brings people together in this discomforting time is food. However, for me, it’s not the possibility of fighting or awkward conversions that drive me away from holiday gatherings, instead it’s the delicious, delicious food. Celiac disease is extremely isolating. Instead of being able to sit around the table breaking bread and over indulging, I am paranoid if whatever I consume will at best keep me locked in the bathroom or at worst have me laid up for days in executing pain.
There have been many times where I’ve isolated myself from social gatherings. I know it doesn’t always come off the best. People have thought I’m rude or a loner, but I’m exhausted after over a decade of explaining what is wrong with me. Even after over a decade of Celiac becoming more of a known disease, people still look at it as a trendy diet or an allergy. I wish they took it as seriously as a peanut or shellfish allergy, but most don’t.
Yesterday, my academy coordinator came in with a gift while I was on the phone. She ran in and dropped off a delicious dessert on my desk. I didn’t have the chance to say anything before she ran away. Part of me was excited because the bakery she bought the cake from makes gluten-free cakes. However, what was in front of me was a moist lemon bundt cake, not the chocolate chip gluten-free option. I immediately became sad. It’s not her fault that she didn’t know I had health issues, but earlier that morning, teachers were gifted with a sweet breakfast of donuts and muffins. I was already sad I couldn’t partake in the treats, and once again, I was unintentionally left out.
I figured I would be used to this by now. Walking into common spaces and seeing food items I can not eat. Most of the time, I just shrug it off and keep going with my life, but this week has been hard.
Yesterday, my floor hosted a Christmas PotLuck Party after the students left campus. I had walked by the menu for the last two weeks. I saw what everyone was bringing, and it looked delicious. However, there was no way in hell I could eat anything being brought. So instead of risking it, I heated my lunch and returned to my classroom to eat. I could have joined everyone, eating my soup, but I was already feeling depressed. The teacher’s break room smelled wonderful, and I wanted to try all the homemade dishes. Teachers were asking me to stay, but I just looked at everything and everyone was eating and it made me sadder. I know it’s stupid, it’s just food, but it’s food I could never eat again.
The day left me in a funk. When I returned home, I was just sad. My husband asked what was wrong. He thought it was because of the emails I was receiving from parents trying to have their students’ grades improved without doing the work. I finally broke down, and I told him my sour mood was for something far more ridiculous. I was upset because again I couldn’t partake in food joy. Honestly, I was more embarrassed because I let food control my mood.
Our evening had just begun. The baby was taking his second nap, and we had to drop off gift bags for baseball members who could not make the holiday party. My husband asked if I wanted to stay home while B slept. The smart thing would have been to stay home. However, I had already isolated myself enough, and I needed to be around my family. B woke up before we ever went into the room to get him, so the guilt of not letting him sleep longer faded away.
After we dropped off the gift bag instead of heading home, my husband headed in the opposite direction.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
My husband turned to me, giving me a big smile. “Well, we’re halfway there, so let’s go get you a cake.”
Instantly, my mood changed.
I don’t know why the idea of buying a cake like a normal person and not having to make an entire box brought me so much joy. It was a moment to feel normal. When we pulled up to the bakery, I breathed a sigh of relief. Even though Google said they were open, I was just worried that they would be closed. I know it was a dumb thought, but I had zero luck throughout the day with food. I held my breath, walking in. The pastry case was nearly empty. When the employee came out from the back, I asked if there were anymore gluten cakes. She smiled and said, “Of course! I was just closing, but I’ll grab you one.”
When I returned to the car, my husband was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I asked him.
“Because I was watching you through the window and you did a happy dance when she brought you out the cake.”