I’ve been living with celiac disease for almost 20 years now, and you’d think by this point I’d be completely used to it. I’ve got the gluten free routines, the safe cookware, the travel snacks, the whole checklist. But here’s the truth I don’t always admit out loud: I still hate bringing my own food to events. I still cry sometimes. And it still hurts when celiac makes me feel left out.
The Work Trip I Didn’t Take
Recently, I was invited on a work trip. On the surface, it sounded great — team dinners, bonding, new experiences. But the second I got the invite, my stomach sank. I knew what it would really look like for me: either sitting through meals I couldn’t eat, or sneaking back to my hotel room with my own food. And honestly? I couldn’t face that kind of isolation again. So I declined. Just like that, another opportunity slipped away because of celiac disease.
It Doesn’t Get Easier
People sometimes assume that after so many years, this lifestyle just becomes second nature. And sure, I know the rules. I know what I can and can’t eat, and I’ve mastered the logistics. But knowing how to survive gluten free doesn’t erase the ache of missing out. It doesn’t make it less isolating when everyone else is celebrating around a table you can’t join.
The Grief That Stays
Almost two decades later, I still grieve the simple things. I grieve being able to say “yes” to dinner invitations without hesitation. I grieve not having to think about cross-contamination every second. And on days like that work trip, I grieve the version of me that could just belong, fully, without this invisible wall between me and everyone else.
You’re Not Alone
If you’ve ever felt the same, I want you to know you’re not weak for crying. You’re not failing because you still hate packing your own meals. Living gluten free with celiac isn’t just about food — it’s about constant reminders of what you can’t do. And sometimes, that weight is just heavy. Even after 20 years. Especially after 20 years.
I wish I could wrap this up with a neat bow and say it gets easier. But the real truth? It’s okay to admit it doesn’t. It’s okay to hate it sometimes. And it’s okay to still grieve — even as you keep surviving, one safe meal at a time.
