From the early age of three, my world was filled with words long before I could fully grasp their meaning. These weren’t just any words; they were the ingredients listed on wrappers, bags, and boxes of food. My severe food allergies dictated this early literacy, turning nutritional facts PDFs into crucial safety manuals. Without my parents constantly by my side, my own understanding became my primary defense. School snacks, offered with innocent generosity by teachers, were met with suspicion. Each package became an enigma to be solved, turned over and over in my hands as I scanned for the danger words: eggs, egg albumen, lecithin (soy lecithin was the acceptable exception), almonds, cashews, walnuts, peanuts, coconut, macadamia. Often, teachers, with gentle exasperation, would remind me of previous snacks, offering to tear open the package themselves, urging me to simply be a “normal” child, one who didn’t relentlessly reread every cookie wrapper.
“I can’t be sure you checked properly. My parents need me to check.”
Each year, the ritual allergist visit with my mother brought the same predictable narrative. An elderly man, clipboard in hand and fingers always cold, would inquire if anything had changed (it never had), before delivering the standard line, “It’s likely your daughter will grow out of her allergies. Many children suddenly find themselves able to eat foods they were once allergic to!”
But “growing out” of my allergies felt like a fairy tale for someone else. Perhaps it was my sheer disbelief in these mystery cures that solidified my reality, but I remained firmly rooted in my allergic state. My dietary restrictions are still stringent and shape my daily life. Eggs are forbidden in my home, not even allowed to be cooked by roommates due to the risk of cross-contamination. Breakfast restaurants are off-limits; airborne egg proteins can trigger hives, not to mention the ever-present threat of cross-contamination. Walnut wood is a no-touch material, causing skin rashes upon contact. Even a kiss from my boyfriend requires a pre-emptive teeth brushing if he has consumed anything containing nuts. These are just a few examples of the constant vigilance my allergies demand.
Food Allergy Awareness Week is an important time to remember the challenges faced by many. Learn more at FARE.
Yet, paradoxically, despite their severity, I can’t imagine my life without these allergies. In a surprising twist, they became my unexpected educators. My allergies forced me to become a meticulous reader, and to read deeply. Food labels were not just mundane lists; they were vital texts. The words on those packages held real weight, a matter of safety, even life, for me. I learned to appreciate the significance of words, even the seemingly ordinary ones. It’s profoundly meaningful that words held such importance for me from such a young age. I was trained, by necessity, to read and react with precision. In an ironic twist of fate, these restrictions and challenges intertwined me more intimately with my first and enduring love: reading itself.
Growth often emerges from the most unexpected sources. For me, it was found within the ingredient labels I was compelled, and still am, to scrutinize. While I would never choose to have food allergies, they serve as a constant reminder of the power of words. Even if, by some miracle, I were to outgrow my allergies today (a highly improbable scenario at this stage of life), or if they were magically cured, I wouldn’t alter the habits or mindset they instilled. And, remarkably, I find a sense of contentment in that, recognizing it as an integral part of who I am.
