You don’t know it’s the bread until the bread becomes a question
Your stomach tightens
Again
Not pain, not sharp
Just a fullness that lingers too long
You blame stress
Or lunch
Or the way you ate too fast
But it keeps happening
The bloating, the fog, the weight behind your eyes
You cut back on snacks
You drink more water
Still
Something feels off
And you start wondering
If it’s something inside what you trust most
Something inside what you trust most
You scroll past a headline
“Could Gluten Be the Problem?”
You don’t click it
Not yet
But the word stays with you
Gluten
It sounds soft
Harmless
Like something in a kitchen, not a diagnosis
You say it out loud once
It feels strange in your mouth
You don’t know what it means yet
Just that you’ve heard it from someone
Who said they felt better without it
You’ve heard it from someone
You try one day without bread
No pasta, no cereal
You feel lighter
But that could be anything
Maybe it’s placebo
Maybe it’s nothing
You give it a week
No change
Then another week
Still tired
Still bloated
You give up
Then you try again a month later
And everything feels quieter
Everything feels quieter
You start reading ingredients
You never used to
Now you search for wheat
Rye
Barley
Names you barely thought about before
You realize it’s in sauces
Dressings
Candy
The tiny parts of food you never questioned
Now you do
Now you read twice
Shopping takes longer
Meals feel like puzzles
You wonder if it’s worth it
Meals feel like puzzles
People start asking why
You don’t have a diagnosis
Not yet
You haven’t seen anyone
You just feel better this way
And that’s enough
But not always easy to explain
They roll their eyes
Say it’s a trend
Say it’s just marketing
You laugh it off
But it stings
Because your body knows something they don’t
Your body knows something they don’t
You finally book the appointment
You try to explain
The symptoms aren’t loud
They’re slow
They stretch across days
Weeks
A kind of quiet discomfort
The doctor nods
Runs some tests
Maybe blood
Maybe biopsy
Maybe just more waiting
You go home wondering if it was a waste
But part of you hopes it wasn’t
Part of you hopes it wasn’t
They say it might be sensitivity
Or intolerance
Or celiac
Words you’re still learning
But they all share something
An instruction to listen differently
To stop eating what hurts you
Even if you grew up loving it
Even if it’s at every table
Even if it feels like a loss
You learn to grieve food
Without calling it dramatic
You learn to grieve food
You start to cook more
Not because you love it
But because it’s safer
Fewer surprises
Fewer labels to decode
Fewer explanations
Your kitchen becomes quieter
You measure more
You swap flour
You try new grains
Rice, quinoa, oats—if certified
You learn what your body says yes to
And you begin trusting it
You begin trusting it
You miss the texture of bread
Real bread
The stretch of gluten
You try replacements
Some are better
Some crumble before you even taste them
You stop chasing exact replicas
You start finding new favorites
Not as substitutes
But as something else
Different, not lesser
And that shift feels important
Different, not lesser
Eating out becomes a strategy
You check menus
Call ahead
You ask waiters questions
That feel awkward but necessary
You don’t like the attention
But you like feeling okay after a meal
Sometimes they forget
Sometimes you take the risk
Sometimes you pay for it later
The headache
The fatigue
The way your body reminds you what you swallowed
The way your body reminds you
You meet others like you
Online, in waiting rooms, in accidental conversations
You trade recipes
Tips
Grievances
Laughs
It feels good not to explain
To speak in shared discomfort
And shared relief
To know you’re not imagining it
To be reminded
That food is both fuel and language
And your body has learned to speak
Food is both fuel and language
You stop saying “I can’t eat that”
You start saying “I don’t”
It feels more like a choice
Less like restriction
More like power
Less like punishment
Some days it still feels hard
Some days it feels freeing
But all of it is you learning
To live gently
To live honestly
Inside your own needs
To live inside your own needs
You’re not chasing perfect
You’re just listening better
Reading more
Pausing before swallowing
Not because of fear
But because of care
And that’s the part people miss
That it’s not about fear of food
It’s about respect
For what your body knows
What it’s tried to tell you
Over and over
Until you finally listened