Sometimes You've Gotta Be Rude

Just a friendly holiday reminder to all of you gluten free folks out there:

Sometimes you've gotta be rude.

This is especially true for those of you who are newly diagnosed, who are heading into the gluten-laden holidays with a new set of dietary restrictions.

I don't advocate for being rude just for the sake of rudeness, but sometimes you will have to put your foot down when it comes to what you will and won't eat.

For those of us who'd nearly rather die than hurt someone's feelings, this can be a challenge. But from one gluten-free eater to another, remember: what you put in your body is your choice. Be your own advocate.

If you let people know in advance of your dietary restrictions, and offer to bring your own food or a dish to share that's safe, all will usually be well. But some people will try to force you to eat things you shouldn't. Don't let them.

Be gentle, kind, and firm. If that doesn't work, be stringent and firm. It doesn't matter if Aunt Martha will shed a tear or two if you don't try "just a bite" of her famous Christmas Shortbread. It's okay if you ruffle some feathers by turning down Cousin Jack's special turkey stuffing. It's your health, after all.

A few stories to inspire you to be firm, not flexible:

One month into my diagnosis, I was invited for dessert at a friend's house. All of the gluten was finally out of my system, and I felt amazing. But she had made chocolate lava cake. I love chocolate lava cake. I didn't want to be rude or cause a scene. So I ate it, without saying a word.

The friend who had invited me didn't even know I couldn't have gluten - I had just learned it myself. I should have explained. She wouldn't have minded. She probably would have served me a lovely scoop of ice cream and that would have been the end of it.

Instead, afraid of being seen as rude, I ate the cake. Every crumb of it.

Within half an hour, I was holed up in her bathroom before finally sheepishly excusing myself to go home where I could writhe on my own bathroom floor. Did this cause more of a scene than just saying, "No thank you?" Yes. Yes it did.

Six months later, I was offered communion bread at church. I knew I shouldn't take it, much less eat it. But it would have been awkward to explain. There was no time. I didn't want anyone to think I wasn't a Christian.

I grew up in an evangelical tradition where the only reason for not partaking in the Lord's Supper was some huge unconfessed sin in your life. I certainly didn't want people thinking I had that going on, so I ate it. And there went the next two days of my life.

Nine months into my diagnosis, I had finally learned. There was no reason to give in and eat gluten. Not the possibility of seeming rude. Not potential awkwardness. Not even causing a scene. It was So. Not. Worth. It. I would be polite and kind and firm at first, and if that didn't work, I'd put my foot down.

My resolve was tested at a fancy dinner the week before my seminary's final exams. I was seated at a table in our dining hall. It was decorated to the hilt and our table laden with china and cloth napkins. This was a special awards dinner for the outgoing students, and the seminary truly went all out.

I had emailed the dinner's organizers earlier in the week, letting them know that I would be attending but only having beverages, due to my new dietary restrictions. The chance of cross contamination in a dining hall unused to cooking gluten free is pretty high, and I couldn't risk it that close to exams. I never heard back from the organizers, so I went to dinner with some trepidation.

Soon a server came over and asked what I'd like to eat. I said I'd like lemonade only, since I had serious "food allergies" (I find it's sometimes more helpful to say "allergies" than to say "intolerance," since everyone knows what an allergy is and it automatically puts them on high alert. "Intolerance" can sound like, 'I'm a picky, fussy eater who doesn't really like bread, but nothing bad would happen if I ate some.')

She raised an eyebrow at me. I smiled and said, "But thank you anyway!" in hopes that she would take the hint and leave me alone.

She stood there, staring.

"I am just here to enjoy the fellowship," I said. "I ate before I came."

She cleared her throat in disbelief.

The following conversation then ensued.

Her: (grumpily) Well, what is it you're allergic to?
Me: I'm just not going to eat. Really, I'm fine. I ate before I came tonight.
Her: Well, what about salad? (The salad was covered in dressing - something that often contains gluten.)
Me: No, I'm afraid not.
Her: Are you sure?
Me: Yes, I am. I'm sorry. I'm just here for the fellowship.
Her: (suspiciously) What is it you're allergic to, exactly?
Me: I just - I'm just not eating. (Explaining gluten is always difficult, and if you just say "wheat," people think they can avoid handing you a loaf of bread and you'll be fine, when, in reality, gluten lurks in everything from spices to fillers to flavorings.)
Her: (firmly) Well, can we make you something special?
Me: No, I just - I can't. I'm sorry. I'm sure it's all very good.
Her: Do you want dessert? Can you have chocolate? (At this point we're starting to cause a scene. She is escalating in volume and people at other tables are glancing up at us with raised eyebrows)
Me: No. Really, I'm fine.
Her: Well, I 'm going to give you a place-setting and a napkin. Is that okay? (Said in a tone of disbelief, as if I'll certainly give in soon.)
Me: Um, sure. That's fine. Thank you. (This is all just so weird, and she will not stop!)
Her: Are you sure I can't get you anything at all?
Me: No, really. Thank you.
Her: Anything at all?
Me: No, really. I'm fine. I got really sick earlier this week and I don't want to risk getting sick again.
Her: Oh, right. Especially here.

Aaaaand... scene.

It was one of the most awkward encounters of my life.

Yet I didn't get sick. I made it through my final exams and lived to tell the tale. And that server? I never saw her again. A few moments of awkwardness was worth it for my health, my sanity, and my exams.

Take heart, friends. You won't be the only one pressured to try something you shouldn't. And as your friends and family become more comfortable with your diagnosis, they will surprise you with wonderful acts of gluten free hospitality.

Just remember: it's okay to say "No, thank you." It's okay to bring your own little Ziploc full of gluten free cookies. It's okay to ask to borrow the microwave to heat up your premade lunch. It is okay to be firm in your resolve.

Celiac disease is an illness. Gluten intolerance is serious. It's your body and your health.

What's your best story of having to say "No, thank you" at a difficult moment? Did you ever give in and wish you hadn't? Did you ever say, "No" and wish you'd said "Yes" instead?

Photos borrowed from Commercial Appeal,  La Petite Boule, Pulpit Bytes, and Best Green Home Tips.