The Emotional Stages of Celiac Diagnosis

Celiac diagnosis is a form of loss. Not death, but still loss, of ease, of spontaneity, of your previous relationship with food. And loss comes with grief.

I went through all the classic stages. Sometimes in order. Often not. Here’s what that looked like.

Denial

First, I didn’t believe it.

Not consciously. I didn’t say “the doctor is wrong.” But I didn’t really change anything either. I figured I could just… be careful. Reduce gluten. Minimize exposure.

I ate regular bread for two more weeks after my diagnosis.

Denial sounds like:

• “It can’t be that serious.”
• “I’ve eaten gluten my whole life and I’m fine.”
• “Maybe I just have a sensitivity, not actual celiac.”
• “A little won’t hurt.”

Denial is the immune system of the psyche. It protects you from absorbing too much at once. But eventually, you have to let reality in.

For me, reality arrived in the form of a very bad reaction after I thought I’d been “careful enough.” Turns out careful enough doesn’t exist. It’s all or nothing.

Anger

Once I accepted the diagnosis was real, I got mad.

At my body. At my genes. At the universe. At the person happily eating a sandwich next to me on the train.

Anger sounds like:

• “Why me?”
• “This isn’t fair.”
• “Everyone else can eat whatever they want.”
• “I didn’t do anything to deserve this.”

Anger is valid. Celiac disease isn’t fair. You didn’t do anything to deserve it. Your frustration is proportional to the loss.

But anger that stays too long curdles into bitterness. I had to let myself feel it, then let it move through.

What helped: exercise, journaling, one particularly cathartic evening of aggressive cleaning.

Bargaining

This is the stage where I became a detective.

Maybe I could cheat occasionally. Maybe I could take enzymes that would help. Maybe some forms of gluten were safer than others. Maybe if I healed enough, I could reintroduce it.

Bargaining sounds like:

• “What if I just have gluten on special occasions?”
• “There must be a workaround.”
• “Maybe I’m not as sensitive as they say.”
• “I’ll be really strict for a while and then see.”

Bargaining is the mind’s attempt to escape the absoluteness of “never.” It’s understandable. It’s also futile.

Celiac disease isn’t a spectrum you can negotiate with. The autoimmune response happens or it doesn’t. There’s no “a little bit celiac.”

I tried the enzymes. They don’t work. I tried the occasional cheat. I got sick. Eventually, I stopped bargaining.

Depression

This stage was quiet and long.

It wasn’t dramatic. I didn’t stay in bed for weeks. But there was a flatness, a low-grade sadness that colored everything.

I’d see a bakery and feel a pang. I’d go to a party and feel isolated. I’d try a gluten-free substitute and feel disappointed. Every meal was a reminder of what I’d lost.

Depression sounds like:

• “What’s the point?”
• “I’ll never enjoy food again.”
• “This is just how my life is now, diminished.”
• “Everyone else gets to eat normally.”

This is the hardest stage to rush through. You can’t positive-think your way out of genuine loss. You just have to feel it.

What helped: time. Finding gluten-free foods I actually enjoyed. Cooking new dishes that weren’t replacements for old ones. Small wins.

Acceptance

Acceptance didn’t arrive with trumpets. It crept in.

One day I realized I’d planned a week of meals without feeling sad about it. One day I ordered at a restaurant confidently, without apology. One day I thought about my diet as just… my diet. Not a tragedy. Not a punishment. Just life.

Acceptance sounds like:

• “This is manageable.”
• “I’ve adapted.”
• “I have a good life, and it happens to include celiac disease.”
• “Some things are harder. Most things are fine.”

Acceptance isn’t resignation. It’s not “giving up hope.” It’s the integration of reality into your life in a way that leaves room for joy.

I still wish I didn’t have celiac disease. But I’ve stopped fighting the fact that I do.

The Loop

Here’s what no one told me: these stages loop.

You don’t go through denial → anger → bargaining → depression → acceptance in a tidy sequence and then you’re done.

Triggers bring them back:

• A family dinner where you can’t eat anything becomes a fresh wave of anger.
• Getting sick from cross-contamination sends you back to bargaining (if only I’d been more careful) and depression (I can’t do anything right).
• A new restaurant that can’t accommodate you reignites denial (maybe I should just eat it and deal).

Each loop is usually shorter. Each recovery faster. But the stages revisit you, sometimes for years.

Where Faith Fits

If you’re a person of faith, the emotional journey intersects with spiritual questions.

“God, why did you make my body this way?”

“Is this a punishment? A test? A random accident?”

“How do I trust a God who gave me a body that attacks itself?”

I don’t have neat answers. What I have is this: God met me in every stage. In the anger, the sadness, the bargaining. I yelled at Him, and He stayed.

And somehow, in the acceptance, there was also gratitude. Not for the disease, I’m not that sanctified, but for what I’ve learned through it. The self-knowledge. The resilience. The empathy for others with chronic conditions.

I wouldn’t have chosen this lesson. But I’ve received something from it anyway.

A Word to the Newly Diagnosed

If you’re in the early stages, flipping between emotions hourly, wondering if you’ll ever feel normal again, here’s what I want you to know:

You will. Not immediately. Not linearly. But eventually.

All your feelings are valid. Anger isn’t faithlessness. Grief isn’t ingratitude. Depression isn’t weakness.

It gets easier. Not because celiac disease changes, but because you do.

You’re not alone. Millions of people have walked this road. We’re still walking it with you.

A Prayer Through the Stages

Lord, I don’t know where I am in this grief. Some days I’m angry at You. Some days I’m sad. Some days I pretend everything is fine.

Meet me wherever I am. Don’t demand that I be farther along than I am. Let me feel what I need to feel, and gently move me forward when I’m ready.

When I’m in denial, give me courage to face reality. When I’m angry, let me rage without burning everything down. When I’m bargaining, help me accept what can’t be changed. When I’m depressed, remind me this isn’t forever. When I reach acceptance, let me hold it loosely, knowing the loop may come again.

And through all of it, don’t let go of me.

Amen.