Sometimes I forget how much food means to people. Not just what to eat, but sharing it with others. Sitting down together and eating a meal.
I also forget that most people eat whatever they want, whenever they want.
(Most people don’t have Crohn’s Disease.)
So when a friend of mine suggested a night out with a mutual friend of ours—an older gentleman—I didn’t think twice. Of course!
I’ll come along and laugh, and joke, and join in the conversation, and listen to stories—nevermind that the two of them were drinking beer, and I wasn’t. Nevermind that the two of them were eating food that I couldn’t partake of.
No matter, or so I thought.
When it came up in conversation that I wasn’t going to eat anything, my friend the older gentleman was aghast. “Not eat anything?” He couldn’t wrap his head around it.
At first, he was confused. I explained to him the general story of my Crohn’s Disease, and how I manage it mainly with diet, the general idea of things. And that don’t worry, I haven’t been able to eat things since I was diagnosed so it’s not really a big deal.
That seemed okay, but he had another issue.
“I wanted to get you something to say thank you,” my friend said (I had agreed to be the designated driver for this trip, since I wasn’t going to be drinking anyway).
I told him that there was plenty of time for that—we’d hang out again, on another day maybe when I felt better or if we were at a place where I could eat the food. Really, not a big deal.
Then the feelings came out: he felt bad because he was had invited me out to a place where he liked the food and the atmosphere—that he felt proud to share—only to find out that I couldn’t eat any of it.
I would wager to bet he felt a bit betrayed.
For a lot of people, sharing food is the same as sharing love. The two go hand-in-hand, as sharing a meal together is one way that people grow closer. For me to choose to value my health over participating in the meal—well, that was offensive.
For me, it was the first time in a long time that I had hung out in a restaurant with someone who didn’t know about my disease or my need to be disciplined about food.
And it turns out that I forgot how to be gracious about the fact that I sometimes don’t eat. I forgot that people take it personally when you don’t partake of their food, when you don’t join them in a meal.
My simple act of not eating almost ruined the evening.
It’s not my role to manage the emotional reaction that other people have when I reject their offer of love disguised as food, but the least I could do is not laugh it off. I could choose to be respectful of feelings and be gentle about how I talk about my dietary needs.
Even better, I could tell people in advance—manage their expectations a little bit—so that a lack of eating doesn’t cause an abrupt shift in the mood of the evening.
For some people, the concept of “not eating” is so foreign that it takes time for them to become okay with it. I imagine some people never get that way.
As for my night out with my friend, we recovered our camaraderie and finished the night strong. He insisted, however, on buying me a chocolate chip cookie—to save for when I could eat it.
(Said chocolate chip cookie is currently in my freezer because I don’t know what to do with it.)