Updated: December 30, 2023
Originally Published: August 2, 2011
I can still taste that soft pretzel, its crunchy, salty exterior calling to me. I promised myself it would just be one, but somehow, within moments, the entire bag vanished. What was wrong with me? How could I let my cravings get the better of me?
Not long ago, my fifteen-year-old daughter, Mia, received a diagnosis of Celiac Disease, an autoimmune disorder that wreaks havoc on the digestive system when gluten — found in wheat, rye, and barley — is consumed. After months of her unexplained sickness, discovering the cause and the simple solution of a gluten-free diet brought us immense relief.
When her doctor advised that our household should also adopt a gluten-free lifestyle to prevent cross-contamination and support Mia, we didn’t hesitate. After all, as parents, we often sacrifice for our children, and I had navigated three pregnancies without missing a beat when it came to giving up sushi, caffeine, or wine (in moderation, of course).
My husband was on board with the change, hopeful he might feel better without the carbs, while my younger daughters rallied behind the plan. They quickly realized they could still enjoy many of their favorite dishes, such as steak, baked potatoes, nachos, and ice cream.
In those initial weeks, we dined like royalty. My skilled husband prepared naturally gluten-free meals, including enchiladas, barbecued ribs, and stir-fried rice. He soon experimented with gluten-free pastas and flours, and we were pleasantly surprised by how good they tasted. “Wow, this tastes almost like the real thing!” we would exclaim.
I was diligent about maintaining our gluten-free commitment, even when I was out of the house or at work. After all, Mia didn’t have the option of choosing when to stick to her diet, so I felt it was only fair that I do the same.
But then came the insatiable hunger. No matter how much gluten-free food I consumed, it never felt sufficient. As I lay in bed at night, my belly ached with a longing for something warm, comforting, and doughy — perhaps bread? Eating gluten-free felt akin to dining in an alternate universe; the food appeared quite similar initially, but after a few bites, the texture and taste grew off-putting. Frankly, at six dollars for a bag of gluten-free pasta or cookies, who could afford to eat enough to feel satisfied?
Though we claimed the gluten-free alternatives were decent, they weren’t truly satisfactory. Our hunger colored our perception. It was as if we had been stranded on a deserted island and, after months of eating only insects, were finally presented with these alternatives — they were “good” by that standard.
I kept my frustrations about the gluten-free lifestyle to myself, but soon realized I wasn’t alone. I noticed my eight-year-old daughter, Lily, suddenly accepting unusual invitations. “Wait, you want to go to Danny’s T-ball game?” I asked.
“Yeah, but Abby said we’d get pizza after. I’m sorry, Mom, but I really need some gluten right now,” Lily confessed.
Then I caught my eighteen-year-old, Sophie, missing dinner five nights in a row. “Why are your study groups always at dinner time? Are you going house-hopping for gluten?” I inquired, half-jokingly.
“No, no, of course not,” she replied, looking down. “All right, fine, yes! That gluten-free food is like eating air. I’m starving all the time!” she admitted.
Clearly, my daughters and I shared more than just our physical traits; we were all bread lovers struggling with our cravings.
At work, I finally succumbed and indulged in those tempting pretzels. I wouldn’t have done it had gluten-free options been available. As I relished each crunchy bite, I wished I could pair them with a hearty stout. It felt like my gateway drug to gluten.
However, the pleasure quickly shifted to guilt. How could I, a mother trying to support her daughter’s health, give in so easily to my cravings? Was I really that addicted to gluten?
As I waited in line at a nearby burger joint, I debated confessing to Mia about my pretzel indulgence. When I went to order a “protein burger” wrapped in lettuce instead of a bun, she asked why I didn’t just order a regular burger.
“Because we’re gluten-free now, and I want to be supportive. Wouldn’t that bother you?” I asked.
“It doesn’t bother me when others eat gluten in front of me. In fact, I think it’s annoying when they don’t eat it because of me,” she replied.
“Really? You’re not just saying that so you can write about how terrible I am later?”
“No, I’m not you,” she shot back.
Ouch. Well, I ordered the burger, bun and all, and wow, it was delicious. As I savored every bite, I admired Mia for how well she had adjusted to her diagnosis and the gluten-free lifestyle. Here she was, generously encouraging me to enjoy my meal.
If she turned out this incredible, maybe I wasn’t such a bad mother after all. Or maybe that was just the gluten talking.
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In summary, while going gluten-free was meant to support my daughter’s health, it revealed some difficult truths about cravings and personal sacrifices. As a family, we navigated the challenges together, and I learned that sometimes it’s okay to indulge, even if it means straying from the diet for a moment.