It was 2013.
I was sitting in my room when I saw the confirmation results. An email. I had just turned 26.
Okay, so I have Celiac disease.
I had never heard of this disease before. Autoimmune…what?? And how was it even possible that I had something this severe going on while I was out here eating everything under the sun? My favorite food is literally baked anything.
Was it really that big of a deal? I mean, I only have severe pain every couple of meals, but it feels a bit like getting stabbed in my side–not exactly fun to endure. Then there’s the fatigue. Sure I’m anemic and started to look a bit yellow lately. Plus, all the added bathroom stops.
Alright, it’s a problem.
Blood tests, check. Endoscopy done. Doctors and more doctors to get this result. Also, is it hereditary?? Yeah, I can’t get into that right now.
If clarity is a good thing, then why do I feel so crummy and alone?
I’ve been the same size my entire life. Skinny. Smhhh. Goodbye, skinny mini.
I wonder if I care about myself enough to make the change and go full-send into the gluten-free lifestyle. I wish I could do it for myself. My doctor said that if I didn’t commit to this change, this disease could kill me. Feels a bit strong, but I'm not sure I want to test it. I do care enough about the people in my life to commit to doing it for them. I know they want me to try. One day at a time.
Okay, I want to take the first step and believe my health is worth it.
I've gained 25 pounds in six weeks. I’m depressed. What a feeling—to not have control over your body. I still feel sluggish and don't recognize myself in the mirror. None of my clothes fit right anymore. SO MANY CHANGES. Family and friends are still supportive, but I'm struggling to receive their kindness. I had other plans at 26 than buying all new pants and a toaster.
I need to commit to this for me, too. I don't know how to get there today. Maybe I eat everything with a gluten-free label since I don’t know what’s okay and what’s not. Perhaps I’ll get a book on Celiac disease. I have no idea how to do this.
Then, six months in.
One might call it my "aha" moment. There wasn’t anything extraordinary about this day. I chalk it up to faith, divine timing, and moments of clarity. Feeling sorry for myself all the time? Not the life I want to live anymore.
Acceptance is a beautiful moment of clarity.
So, I pulled myself up from the couch and realized—I am of able body and mind. I can transform my life with the new lifestyle requirements. And it can be fun!
It is possible to move forward, learn, grow, evolve. Closing my eyes now, I can still remember the bravery of that woman who said, “It’s time to move.”
Fast forward to 2025.
Nearly 12 years later.
Reflecting today. I see a lot of posts about people who don’t have the support of family members. When I got diagnosed, my mother came down and changed out some essential appliances and tools—toaster, strainers, pots, etc.
The strength and kindness I received from others forced me to look inward. Candidly, I wouldn’t have progressed in my journey without it. My words will always fall short when it comes to the gratitude I have for my family and friends and their support.
It’s been a wild ride trying to accept body changes. My faith deepened, and I’ve reframed my opinions on strength. Turns out it's not as complex as I thought, but please don’t ask me to do it all again.
If you just got your diagnosis, I’m rooting for you.
Self-compassion and support are your main lifelines.
I’m still learning to let myself off the hook when it doesn’t go all as planned.
And things don't go as planned A LOT.
But what’s the alternative? We don’t show up to celebrations or dinners?
Naw. We have to be open to putting ourselves out there.
Rarely am I in a situation where there isn't anything available to eat, and more often than not, I’m the person laughing with friends and making memories. Let’s be open to putting ourselves out there and know that there are good people who want to support us and see us succeed.
Give your body time to bounce back.
And be kind to yourself.
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