CHRONIC MIGRAINES

Photo by Kyle Head on Unsplash

I'm dreading the return to normal — the best part of the pandemic? I didn't have to eat out EVER.

But socializing is starting to normalize, and I won't be able to stay home forever. The thing is, there isn't anything I struggle with more than an invitation to dine. Doesn't matter if it is an outdoor BBQ, a potluck, or a lunch date, my heart stutterers, my breath becomes shallow, and my mind races to remember what excuse I haven't yet used yet.

Then the guilt hits me.

It isn't easy to ask someone out, and it takes energy and time to organize social events… how can I snub someone who makes the effort?

Having off-kilter food sensitivity means every conversation regarding a social event centers around food, and by extension, it feels like it becomes all about me. I can come off as neurotic at best and self-absorbed at the worst. You become that "gluten-free, corn-is-in-everything-free human." I have wondered if anyone remembers me as anything else.

I am not my food sensitivities, yet they overwhelm and define me.

Early on, I would put up and shut up, but the cost was too high. A week or two of migraines for a bite of pie, just to be polite, was too much. Plus, it creates a slippery slope — you bent the rules once, so of course, you will again. And the subtext, "well, it must not be that important."

Not a judgment, just a reality check.

I've met folks who choose a gluten-free, anti-inflammatory, or (put your favorite diet trend here) for general health reasons. And that is fine, but for those of us whose health is negatively impacted or if what we are avoiding can kill us, this isn't a choice, and it can be difficult for new people who meet us to know the difference.

"Gracious Boundaries" doesn't have to be an oxymoron

I've picked up a few tricks and some awesome crucial conversational* tactics that I thought I'd share. After reading the comments from my post about being on an Anti-Inflammatory diet for the last 10 years, it felt like a topic that needed some air.

So here it goes — my methods for navigating eating out.

As in all fraught conversations, one of the first things to do is find mutual purpose. You want to come to their event; you don't want to be a pain. But, you need to know what's on the menu so you can attend and keep things painless.

Make it short and sweet.

Be direct — don't talk around the point, don't let yourself be wishy-washy. This is your health we are talking about. Remember, indulging in the wrong thing can lead to much more than a hangover. For me, a dose of corn can spell a week of migraines and aphasia.

Be concise — this is where I often fall down; corn is simply in too much. I still blush when I ask someone who has made a gluten-free corn-free baked good if they used baking powder. So, keep it as short as possible; they don't need to know the whole story of how you figured out cornstarch was a major trigger or all the people you know with other issues (a side conversation I find I have when I feel I'm not being taken seriously). Get to the point and then move on.

New place, new problems

We relocated just months before COVID hit — so most of the eateries around here are new to me, even if it's been nearly three years — so I always have to research.

My general line now is, "I would love to. I do have some dietary restrictions. Are you okay if I check the menu before I confirm?" Hopefully, I get a yes. Then I change the subject to something about them. They may want to know about your dietary issues, but this is a conversation that gets old fast.

If pressed, keep it short.

"I have chronic migraines that are exacerbated by wheat and corn."

Change the subject. Ask them a question about the event, or comment on something you know they care about.

Learning how to change the subject gracefully is one of the hardest conversational skills I've attempted to master — I could write a whole post about my trials and tribulations.

Check out the menu

If you are lucky — the menu is online and is detailed enough to figure out what is acceptable and what isn't. I check everything from appetizers to desserts because sometimes the answer is there, and I can find at least one thing to eat with minimal risk, although I've found three is better — menus change and dishes run out.

If things look really dicey, I call and confirm I can substitute or remove items (these are often premade sauces and use corn starch or wheat flour as a thickener). After all, a bland meal is preferable to exacerbating your chronic condition.

When you have to call the venue — the how matters

It all starts with mutual purpose. The restaurant wants stress-free diners; you want a stress-free dining experience.

Call and ask what is possible, be willing to accept no as an answer, and again… change the subject to something positive and not about you before exiting the conversation.

If the venue is prepared for me — and I've made a good impression, making the conversation about finding mutual purpose — to have a great dining experience with minimal fuss and frustration on all sides, and allowing them room to admit if they can't adapt to my necessities.

Worse case, I end up with a salad without dressing. Best case, I get a lovely meal, and the restaurant and I both learn something.

Knowing what you want for any conversation is helpful — finding out what the other side wants is better — aligning those two objectives is brilliant.

Packing Sundries

The "no outside food rule" can often be gently and respectfully bent.

My mother, who is allergic to even more things than I am, loves her tea. But as the tea industry has expanded beyond Liptons, it has introduced more flavored and herbal tinctures. Over time, my mom found that many restaurants had given up on unflavored black or green teas, so she started carrying her own stash. She always asked for tea and if there wasn't any plain, explained her allergies, and then asked if she could use her own bag.

Eye rolls aside. No one ever said no.

I can live without tea, but I admit I went a little overboard, packing my own condiments so I could continue to eat at my favorite sushi train restaurant. I would pack tamari (wheat-free soy sauce) and a favorite brand of corn-free wasabi. Like my mom, I would ask for tamari and if their wasabi was corn-free, and if it wasn't, explain and ask if I could use my own. I've also been known to carry my own ketchup, mustard, mayonnaise, and even salad dressings — all of which tend to contain corn in one of its many forms.

A plus is if you are on home turf and the restaurant is someplace you frequent. It is all about mutual purpose and everyone getting what they want — you have a chance to eat out with friends or family and not pay for it later, the restaurant a happy to have your business, and you come across as a not (too) high maintenance customer.

Venues, sports, and concerts are a different beast — and I'll talk more about that later but admit most times, I eat before, tuck a bar of some sort where no one will look, and muscle through.

Create mutual purpose. Be direct. Be concise. Be appreciative. Then change the damn subject.

I spent over a decade in theater, and one of the things I learned is people remember beginnings and endings — the middles get muddled. So, always ensure you end your conversations with something that doesn't have anything to do with your dietary restrictions.

At least if you are like me and don't want to be defined by them.

~ Tess

*Of all the training I had while in management, Crucial Conversations had the most impact on my management style and my personal life. I would recommend their training and books without hesitation to anyone.