This poem is part of our Fall Moms-Who-Write series! We love publishing essays by moms about any topic. Have an essay you’d like to submit? Send your submission to hello@scribentematernum.com
Dear Gluten, By the time you read this, I’ll be checking into a health ranch. Please don’t try to follow me. Anyway, you’re on the banned list. I won’t sugar coat things for you— you always say you get enough of that at bakeries. I’m breaking up with you. I can’t say, “It’s not you, it’s me,” because the reality is, we’re both to blame. For starters, I needed you too much. I know I have relied on you in the form of every mood-elevating pizza at the end of every crappy day since I could program a speed dial. I got the sense at times that you enjoyed me relying on you so heavily, and I have realized that it has negatively impacted my independence— and my waistline. It’s like I can’t do anything without wanting your input. And even if I could learn to want you less, moderately, but still be around you and feel your warm presence nearby, I see now that you never had my best interests at heart. You’re the Trojan horse— slipping into my body as an offering to a goddess, only to release your inner warriors to gain control of my domain. Your protein-charged aggressiveness has stressed my immunoglobulins to the brink, and now they serve up a side order of self-harm with each ramen noodle bowl. Look, I know what you’d say— our relationship hasn’t been all bad. I’ll admit that you have enriched my knowledge of other cultures and languages. Thanks to you, I’ve learned how to speak French: “croissant, baguette, éclair,” Italian “focaccia, lasagne, cannoli,” Yiddish: “bagel, kugel, rugelach,” and even Texan: “Texas toast”. It’s true—we’ve even had great times. Remember how you were so lovingly crafted into those life-affirming cinnamon buns (God, I’ll miss your buns!) that paired so well with rainy Saturday mornings? And, I’ll be really honest and admit that I still consider that night (you know, the double-chocolate-fudge-cake night when you comforted me while I binged and watched all three Bridget Jones movies) to be one of the best nights of my life, but you’re no Mark Darcy. Do you know what it feels like to not be able to fit into the pants you wore yesterday because of painful bloating that billows up after a simple blueberry muffin? Haven’t you heard my inflamed nose’s maddening, loquacious whining on the nights we share a bed? I’m sure even with all the flakiness you have inspired in your lifetime you could not imagine the roughed-up, red patches on my hands, stomach, and cheeks (all four) that you have instigated. I didn’t tell you, but for the past two months I’ve been seeing a therapist. She specializes in elimination diets. She’s helped me realize that I’ve always felt like there was something off between us, ever since the beginning, but I never wanted to admit it. Thanks to her, I have the courage to say that I know our relationship is toxic and I need you out of my life. I’m not saying I won’t miss you. I’ll cherish all the crusty, chewy, flakey, doughy, and pillowy memories. I just know that for me to truly be the person that I want to be, the person that my body needs me to be, I need to move on from the last thing holding me back— you. I’d like to think that one day, with enough time for me to heal and build a healthier lifestyle for myself, we could run into each other, perhaps at a farmer’s market, and catch up over one of those organic, wood-fired, sourdough pizza slices made by hipsters. Maybe. I’d apologize for not being strong enough to say all this to you in person, but I’m sure you’ve already got plans tonight with one of your fan club (yes, I’ve known about Little Debbie, Betty C., and even Mr. D. Hines since the beginning). Besides, I know you won’t go stale on my account because you always manage to rise again. Take care of yourself, -Me XO
About the Author: Caitlin Howell Pegna
Caitlin Howell Pegna is an off-hours writer working towards a day-shift. After a Master’s in Nutrition and a meandering career path working along many parts of the food chain business (including on a diversified organic farm), she is finally back in school earning an MLIS degree to fulfill one of her life’s goals and become a school librarian. She dreams of a cozy houseboat on a gentle river near Ratty’s home where she can watch the wind in the willows through the window above her writing desk. She is lucky enough to have three wonderful children, and a supportive and loving best-friend-hubby who helps her find time to write. Connect with her on Bluesky @chpegna.bsky.social
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