I Spent Years Hiding My Ulcerative Colitis. One Night at Sundance Changed How I Saw My Disease

For 15 years, I've battled a form of Inflammatory Bowel Disease (IBD) known as Ulcerative Colitis. It's an autoimmune disease in which your body attacks your colon. When I was diagnosed at 25-years-old after finding blood in my stool, I felt like I had nowhere to turn because neither side of my family has gut issues. I thought if maybe I ignored my symptoms (the blood, the bloating, the constipation), it would eventually go away. It didn't. As I continued to chase my career and search for love, things got worse and I eventually couldn't hide it anymore. When I went to the Sundance Film Festival I was at the height of my disease and I felt like it was following me like a cloud trying to rain on every moment of joy. What follows is a story—from my new book that I co-authored with Judy Batalion, The Girl’s Guide to Guts—that I never planned to share publicly. But I am now in hopes of helping anyone out there feel less alone. — Chloe MelasAs I rose up through the TV ranks, my invitations became better and better. I wasn’t at the end of the red carpets anymore; I was now just a few spots from the end! One of the best parts of the job is being able to attend some of the most exclusive events, like the Golden Globe Awards, private concerts, and the annual Sundance Film Festival, which, until 2026, was held at the foot of the Rocky Mountains in Park City, Utah. Sundance, started by the late actor Robert Redford, is a week-long party celebrating the best in film from that year, with a who’s who of Hollywood descending on this snowy, storybook town.In 2012, worlds collided when (my now-husband) Brian and I first started dating, because he coincidentally hosted the hardest-to-get-into party at Sundance. Just a few months into dating, he invited me to come along. I said yes before even checking to see if I had enough vacation days. Somehow I convinced my editor that I should go and cover all the celebrity happenings. I also told her it would cost the company nothing because I had been invited by a film studio, which was a total lie—I put it all on my credit card and told myself I’d figure it out later. Luckily, she said yes!Brian and I had already been on a few trips, but it was getting harder to pretend I was headed to the gym for a workout when I really was going to find a lobby loo. Eventually I had to come clean, because saying I was going to hit the gym at 11 p.m. after a couple of cocktails wasn’t passing his BS meter.But the good news was, my flares were intermittent. And because I had a really good poker face, he had no clue just how bad things could get. Plus, over the eighteen months since my symptoms first wreaked havoc on my life, I’d become a pro on how to mentally map out bathrooms wherever we went. I’d also order sparingly at dinner. I didn’t want to be holed up in some bathroom while he was out there wondering what he’d gotten himself into. Trying to hide my disease while also managing my day-to-day emotional spirals, however, became a lot to handle.Comedy CentralChloe Melas and Brian Mazza (pictured here in recent years) are now married with two sons, and continue to support each other through all of the ups and downs.We finally made it to Park City, and from our balcony we could see the snow-covered mountains in the distance and the beautifully dressed celebrities in their winter wear dotting the streets below us. I couldn’t wait to wear an outfit I had been saving in my suitcase—the all-white look. We’re talking a faux fur vest and matching beanie, topped off with the cutest low-rise skinny jeans. I looked like an influencer before there even were influencers, y’all!As Brian and I made our way to a rooftop party, I suddenly felt the urge. My eyes immediately darted to a hallway on the other side of these massive sliding glass doors. It was a single-stall bathroom and the line was too long. I had to make a move, and fast. I tugged on Brian’s sweater and whispered, “I need to run back to the hotel.” He understood it was urgent code for needing to use the bathroom. He handed me our room key, and I couldn’t have left any faster.As I started speed-walking toward our hotel, the soft buzz of the alcohol slowly began to dissipate, and my intermittent depression began to creep in. Here we were, in this beautiful city at a dreamlike event, and it had been interrupted once again by my disease. Can’t I catch a break? I thought.As I crossed the street to our hotel, the need to go was only intensifying. Almost there, I said to myself. Squeeze your cheeks!I got to the elevator bank and pushed the up button several times, as if that would make the elevator move faster. I painfully watched the numbers click at a glacial pace from floor to floor: eight . . . seven . . . six . . . And then, like a volcano about to erupt, my poor body just couldn’t keep it in. I prayed it would just be some flatulence.It wasn’t. I pooped my white pants.Luckily, no one was around, but I was devastated, embarrassed, and defeated. When I got back to the hotel room I threw away those new, gorgeous jeans that now represented something so painful. I sat and cried.“How much longer can I live like this?” I whimpered.I didn’t feel like going back out. I had worked too hard to prevent ulcerative colitis from stealing my joy and taking over my life. That day, I had lost the battle. I had assumed that if I could map bathrooms in every space I entered, limit what I ate, and take my medicine, situations like this wouldn’t happen. So much of ulcerative colitis was accepting that most of this was totally out of my control. I texted Brian that I was going to skip the rest of the events that afternoon. He came back and just held me on the bed.This was the only time I ever soiled myself. But I can’t tell you the countless times I’ve busted into coffee shops and restaurants to beg for the code to the bathroom only to be told I’d need to wait in line and buy something.They say you’re supposed to know your nearest exit. But as someone living with bowel disease, I’ve always scouted the nearest bathroom. If I was going to be traveling, I’d time my meals so that I could avoid having to make a pit stop on long car rides, train trips, or flights. I’d even get dehydrated, because I’d be so nervous that even water would trigger me. I was withering away both physically and emotionally.It sounds dramatic, and that’s because it is. But I have managed to find the humor. I can even laugh (a little) now at what happened at Sundance and say to myself, Well, at least Brad Pitt wasn’t standing in the elevator next to me.Adapted from THE GIRL’S GUIDE TO GUTS by Chloe Melas and Judy Batalion. Copyright © 2026 by Chloe Melas and Judith Batalion. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.