The Bite 009: Week One. Still Hungry. Slightly Feral. Fully Committed.

Somehow, I’ve survived my first official week as a red meat-fearing, label-reading, dairy-dodging, accidental vegan. And if you're wondering how it went… well, I’m still here. Hungrier than usual. A little itchier than I'd prefer. Definitely more aware of what’s in shampoo than I ever wanted to be. But still standing, still sarcastic, and officially all in.

What started as a chaotic spiral of medical confusion, mystery symptoms, and a blog launch that happened faster than my last Amazon return has turned into something… bigger.

And I don’t mean “bigger” in the cringey, overly-filtered inspirational influencer way — I mean bigger as in: I started writing with one eye half shut, a body full of steroids, and the emotional stability of a wet napkin — and somehow ended up with a growing inbox of messages from people saying, “OMG, me too.”

The wildest part?

It’s working.

You’re reading this.

You’re sending me tips.

You’re making jokes about snack trauma, restaurant confusion, mystery hives, and pantry grief.

And because of that, I’m doing something I never thought I’d say with a straight face: I’m committing to this.

I can’t wait to show you what I’m slowly building out of this very weird, very meatless reality - with your stories, your ideas, and your “WTF is this ingredient?” screenshots. You’ve already sent them. And yes - I’m freaking out in the best way.

We’re talking real posts, multiple times a week.

Not just yelling into the void (though I excel at that) — but actual resources too.

Product reviews. Ingredient lists. Travel tips. Maybe even recipes that don’t make you want to launch a plate across the room.

(Full disclosure: I haven’t nailed a single one yet. Everything I’ve cooked still tastes like boiled sadness. And no, I haven’t figured out how to take one of those Pinterest-worthy overhead food photos with a eucalyptus sprig and coarse sea salt sprinkled just right. But don’t worry — when I do, you’ll hear about it. Loudly. Probably in all caps.)

You’ll get a few how-to’s.

A lot of what NOT to do's.

And hopefully, a handful of wins sandwiched between the chaos.

Because if Week One has taught me anything, it’s that none of us really knows what we’re doing — and somehow, that’s wildly comforting.

Also, this week I turned 36. Not that 36 is a magical number, but something about hitting it in the middle of a medical plot twist and launching a blog I never intended to write… flipped a switch in me.

I’ve spent years staying quiet. Keeping my personal life zipped up like a vault. Holding back my opinions to keep the peace. Letting others take the lead - even when I knew I had something to say. Always putting myself last.

Not anymore. That ends now.

Let’s call this my “soft launch” into doing and saying whatever the hell I want.

This isn’t just a new chapter. It’s a whole new book (My husband and my boys by my side, of course — they’re in the credits permanently.)

But the pen is in my hand now. And no one else is touching this outline.

The last book? Sure, there were plot lines worth keeping. But it also came with a cast of characters I didn’t cast and rewrites I didn’t approve.

Because in just seven days, I’ve learned something important — and I didn’t need a self-help book to get there: I don’t have time to sugarcoat anything. (Also, I physically can’t eat most sugars now. So it’s poetic, really.)

This week made me realize how much I’ve been conditioned to shrink myself. And yet here I am — writing a blog that, in just one week, reached more people than most of those critics ever will. Groggy on meds, itchy, and slightly feral, I’m doing what they said I couldn’t. And I’m just getting warmed up.

New me has WiFi, a strong password, and zero energy for nonsense.

Proceed accordingly.

Now — let’s talk about food.

Because holy hell, I am starving.

One of the most surprising parts of this diagnosis? The constant hunger. Not the cute “oops I skipped lunch” kind. I’m talking full-body, rage-inducing, pantry-stalking hunger. Like… I’d eat a shoe if it came with a vegan aioli.

Fast food? Canceled.

Late-night snacks? Complicated.

Quick meals? Nope.

You can’t trust anything you didn’t make yourself with fully sanitized hands and a flashlight-level label check. Even when you do cook, every bite is a negotiation. Every ingredient is a tiny betrayal waiting to happen. I found myself Googling, “does toothpaste have beef?” at 1:30 a.m. while eating plain rice. (Yes, really.)

Turns out, surviving Alpha-Gal Syndrome isn’t just about avoiding beef and diary— it’s about re-learning how to live.

And cook.

And shop.

And snack.

It’s exhausting.

It’s frustrating.

But it’s also kind of empowering… once you push past the part where you want to eat the drywall.

TickBitChick started as a survival mechanism.

Now? It’s something else entirely.

It’s a place.

It’s a voice.

It’s my movement— fueled by rage, rejection, and Diet Coke.

I’m ready.

Let’s do this.

Dom

A.K.A. TickBitChick