I changed my logo.

You probably noticed.

I love it. But I also knew exactly what the reactions would be, because they’ve followed me since the very beginning.

Some people don’t like the name “Fat Celiac.”

Some find it uncomfortable.

Some find it offensive.

Others immediately recognize themselves in that little ponytailed figure.

The truth is — the name was never meant to be clever branding. It was a coping mechanism.

When I was diagnosed with celiac disease, I thought I finally had an explanation for how I felt. I also thought — based on everything I had ever seen or read — that I would lose weight once I started a gluten-free diet.

At the time, the cultural picture of celiac disease was very narrow. Thin. Frail. Malnourished. That was the image everywhere — in articles, online groups, even in doctors’ offices.

That was not me.

After diagnosis, my weight went up.

And then it kept going up.

I tried to fix it. I tried every diet I could find that promised “healing.” Paleo. Keto. Whole30. AIP. SCD. Anything that offered the possibility that if I just did it correctly enough, my body would normalize.

It didn’t.

At one point I gained weight during a three-day juice fast. I still don’t understand how that is even physiologically possible, but it happened.

I don’t talk about my weight often because it’s complicated. It carries frustration, embarrassment, and a lot of self-blame even when I know intellectually that bodies don’t always behave the way we expect them to.

I eat mostly whole foods. I rarely rely on processed gluten-free foods. I cook constantly. I experiment constantly. Recently I’ve been pushing myself to add even more vegetables and plant-forward meals — roasted cauliflower, green sauces, soups thickened with cashews instead of cream.

My husband has lost 20 pounds eating the same meals.

I haven’t lost anything.

So the name “Fat Celiac” became a way to say something out loud I hadn’t seen anyone acknowledge: not all celiac patients are thin, and some of us struggle with the exact opposite problem.

And that reality creates a strange experience.

You get judged differently. You get assumptions. You get questions that are really accusations. You get doctors trying to reconcile what they expect a celiac patient to look like with the person sitting in front of them.

I’ve had the labs. The thyroid testing. The secondary condition checks. Nothing else is wrong. I simply have celiac disease and a body that doesn’t respond the way people expect it to.

The logo is a woman because I am a woman.

The body shape is intentional because it reflects my experience.

The name wasn’t chosen to shock people. It was chosen to remove the shame I felt about not fitting the picture.

This space has always been about honesty. Not curated wellness, not perfection, not pretending the gluten-free diet magically fixes everything in life.

Celiac disease changed my health.

It also changed how I see my body.

And if you’ve ever felt like you don’t look like what a celiac patient is “supposed” to look like — whether that means weight, symptoms, or anything else — I hope this made you feel a little less alone.

That’s what the name was always for.