Conquering Fear
There are so many reasons to fear. Reasons to quit. Reasons to stay at home. Reasons to panic. And reasons to worry. When we know our limits and have experienced many bouts of uncontrollable pain, fear is a validated option. Fear gives us reason, comfort, and direction. Fear provides answers, solutions, and friendship. Fear helps us to manifest a perfectly controlled bubble where we will know exactly what to eat, what to cook, and where to shop. What products to use and which to never take the risk on. When to avoid or when to gather. Fear promises safety and fear promises expectancy. But does fear promise sustainability and flourishing?
The fear of cross-contamination, a miss labeled package, an ill-prepared meal at a friends house, or a hidden gluten-containing ingredient can shake us. Mess-ups and mistakes always take us ten steps back. Why would we allow ourselves the risk knowing what the outcome may hold? Months of recovery. Days in bed. Missed social gatherings. All at the expense of risk. It would probably be best just to cancel everything and say yes to safety and comfort. Let fear reign and fear lead.
A few years ago, I would have agreed with that above statement. Yes to living in the bounds of fear. There’s no way I would’ve encouraged anyone to let others in on their pain, dig deep into the menus at restaurants to find something we could eat, or try our hand in the kitchen making the foods we crave. A few years ago, as I was insecure and extremely tired to being sick, my bleeding stomach would have halted every decision worth trying. Fear became the loudest voice when I couldn’t find my own. I allowed fear to affirm my path and write my story.
I was underweight, insecure, anxious, and lonely. Extremely cautious about what foods I put in my body and overly sensitive to my schedule revolving around food. I closed off those who interfered with my tightly gripped routine and never took a risky step. The excruciating pain did not have an answer and it certainly did not have a cure. No one knew the deepest depths of my cramped stomach, my incapability to absorb any and all nutrients, my frequent bathroom trips, and my many nights alone crying for sleep to come quickly. I tried, but when no one was left to hear my voice as a stuck record player of pain, I found fear waiting patiently at my doorstep, flowers in hand, and a bag full of tricks.
Fear became all I needed. It enticed me. Fear seemed like the safe option. So I turned down all social gatherings that had to do with food. Church events, late night pizza runs, movie nights, and the obvious dinners around a table or casual lunch dates to break up the day. Fear kept me company and helped me gain a better grip on which foods went in my body. Fear told me I could not be around food I was not allowed to eat or had semi doubts about. There was no risk with fear involved which felt good. It was seemingly awesome because there was never the possibility of a crumb on my plate or a hidden ingredient in a spice mix on my chicken. But with that came a hearty “so long” to friends, family, and relationships because I needed full control. “So long” to restaurants, dinner parties, or grocery stores. But, “so long” to pain.
Fear also restricted my diet. Not the normal restriction of cutting out gluten, but fear removed other foods and ingredients from my diet without a viable explanation. Things like nut butters, bananas, apples, protein bars, or sparking waters. Foods that did not hurt my stomach one bit but had the capability to expertly convince me of pain. I learned how to convince myself with these foods, so my do-not-eat list grew and expanded seemingly everyday.
Ultimately, fear told me food was the problem. If gluten-containing foods caused the pain in my stomach, then all food in come capacity had to be evil. Food had to be cut out. But food was not the problem. It was fear.
When I realized fear was living in my front pocket giving me all my words and thoughts, I needed to break up with fear. I needed to not just get fear out of my pocket, but out of my closet, from under my bed, and hidden in the back of the freezer for a rainy day. Fear needed to lose the spare key and move out.
It may sound cheesy, but I wrote fear a break up letter. I saw the ways fear was controlling my life, and I needed to write fear a letter explaining how it was bringing ruin instead of beauty. I told fear the reasons I hated it, the moments I was led into darkness, and the frustrations with loneliness and unnecessary brokenness. Tears, anger, and hatred all poured into that letter. I put it in an envelop, sealed it, and then took a brave step. I did not burn the letter, but shared it. I gave it to a friend so the breakup would be official. I allowed my friend to help me learn how to live without fear. Just like a normal break up, this friend new the common “date” spots fear and I used to go and the little things fear used to tell me, so she helped me to avoid situations or triggering conversations. She also gave me companionship, reason, and truth. The breakup letter mixed together with friendship ceased fear.
Fear makes sense with our lifestyle. Pain can settle in at any moment. We know what setback feels and we can easily doubt at every turn. Celiac disease can make us feel unseen or misunderstood and even create isolating situations on the daily. However, fear is not an option for us. When we are invited out for dinner to a restaurant we’ve never been before, say yes! Dig deep into the menu, call ahead, and tell a friend. Bring your own treats to gatherings and host your friends in the comfort of your own home. Be in step with friends not fear. Yes, it may be scary, but food is the healer. Food is how we conquer our disease.
I charge you with confidence. Confidence in how celiac disease is a part of your story. Confidence in what you eat. Confidence in the bold, sweet, vibrant flavors. And confidence to make the bread, bake the cookies, and double dip the chips. Fear does not have to be invited.
