Why Accommodation Matters
Today, I experienced something I’ve never done before: eating a full meal at a catered team meeting.
Part of this comes from the fact that I am now working at my first job that isn’t for a Jewish organization, which means expanded catering options thanks to a lack of kashrut restrictions. But even so, I found myself looking at menus of sandwich places with increasing exasperation as I realized that being a vegetarian with food allergies and OCD would likely mean I wouldn’t get to eat anything once again.
But then, I thought of something: I was looking at these menus because someone on the administrative team reached out to me and asked me how to accommodate my allergies and other food concerns. And no matter how many times I tried to apologize, she wouldn’t take it at all.
Her replies consisted of one overarching message: everyone deserves to eat at the meeting.
It may seem strange to dig in one’s heels here; after all, it would have been a lot easier for her to just say that I should eat before or after. But she never said that, not even once - and as someone who has been told that many times, it’s so refreshing to hear that someone wanted me to participate in this small but important way.
It wound up being complicated, too - the administrator presented me with three menus, only to have to add more options when someone insisted on cookies, only for some of the options to be closed on Mondays. There was even one point when I thought we would have to pick a place where I literally couldn’t eat anything between my allergies and not eating meat, but thanks to the overall vibe of kindness and acceptance I have been feeling at this new job, I decided to speak up.
It was nerve-wracking to write back and say that picking another menu would enable me to eat, but it didn’t even take ten minutes for her to get back to me and say that’s what we would be doing. And even though sandwiches are the bane of my existence in terms of eating at restaurants, I was able to make something with her help that I could eat at the meeting.
When I showed up, there was a little wrapped package with my name on it next to the large trays of sandwiches, and I could easily grab it plus a bag of potato chips. Everyone had the same food - a sandwich and chips - and no one cared that my sandwich had different ingredients.
It still tested me in terms of some unexpected toppings I hadn’t tried before, but I was able to eat about half of the sandwich - and, much to my surprise, absolutely no one at the meeting noticed what anybody else was eating, so I didn’t get a single comment or question.
Eating a prepared lunch at a meeting may not seem like a big deal, but to me, it felt huge. It meant that I didn’t have to prepare extra snacks or eat at my desk before or after. It meant that I didn’t have to face well-meaning but potentially invasive questions from people around me about why I wasn’t eating, which can quickly escalate into people making a fuss even if I just want to blend in. It meant that I got to feel like I was part of the group instead of just pretending - and as a result, I was able to focus a lot more on the content of the meeting.
Little things like this that don’t matter much in the grand scheme of life can be so helpful not only in terms of helping people have a good day, but also in showing people that they are welcome as they are.
It may be easier to not make accommodations for people’s physical or mental health concerns, but making the effort really shows people that they are valued and worth accommodating. It’s a wonderful feeling that I’m still getting used to - even as an adult - and something I hope to continue experiencing.
Michelle Cohen, a writer in the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.