I got tired of explaining

At first, I tried to explain.

Every time.

To waiters.

To friends.

To family.

I had a whole script. I'd rehearse it in my head before social dinners, like an actor before a small but important scene.

"It's an autoimmune condition. Even a tiny amount of wheat — even a crumb — makes me really sick. Yes, even soya sauce. Yes, even the same pan."

I'd watch their face. Sometimes they'd nod. Sometimes they'd ask good questions. Most of the time their eyes would glaze over halfway through.

Then would come the line I started to dread: "Oh, but a little bit is okay, na?"

And I'd start the script again. Slower this time. Smaller words.

Some days I had energy for it. Some days I didn't.

On the bad days I'd say "I just have an allergy" and let them imagine a sneeze. It was easier than fighting for a paragraph nobody really wanted to hear.

I noticed I was apologizing. A lot.

"Sorry, can I ask one more thing —"

"Sorry to be that person —"

"Sorry, I know it's annoying —"

Sorry for asking. Sorry for needing. Sorry for existing at the table in a slightly different way than everyone else.

And then one day, somewhere between an aunty's wedding and a Monday lunch meeting, I just… stopped.

Not because I stopped caring about my body. The opposite.

I stopped because I realised I was spending all my energy managing other people's comfort instead of my own safety.

Now I order plain things. Or I eat before I go. Or I bring a small box of my own food and don't apologize for it.

I still get the looks. I still get the questions. I still get the well-meaning advice from people who read one article once.

But I don't perform anymore.

I don't justify. I don't soften. I don't shrink the truth so it fits inside their patience.

Some friends got it. Some quietly stopped inviting me. Some surprised me by reading up on their own.

The ones who stayed — really stayed — never needed the long version. They just asked, "What's safe for you tonight?"

That sentence changed my life more than any doctor's note.

I'm tired of explaining. I'm not tired of being understood.

There's a difference. And it took me years to feel it.