November is Diabetes Awareness Month, and I want to share something most people never see — what life with Type 1 diabetes truly looks like behind closed doors. It’s not about cutting out sugar or just taking insulin. It’s not something that “gets easier” or “goes away.” This disease becomes your full-time job — one you never applied for, can’t quit, and can never take a day off from.
Since being diagnosed in 2008, I’ve been in DKA (diabetic ketoacidosis) sixteen times. Sixteen times my body was so out of balance it began to shut down. Sixteen times I fought to survive. Now, because of those battles and the long-term effects of diabetes, I am legally blind. Every day is a challenge — but it’s one I refuse to surrender to. I keep fighting, even when it hurts, even when it feels impossible, because I have to.
People often say, “Oh, my dad has diabetes, so I understand.” But unless you live it, you can’t truly understand. Every Type 1 diabetic is different. Every body reacts differently. What works one day might fail the next. Type 1 diabetes doesn’t just affect blood sugar — it affects your entire body: your organs, your eyes, your muscles, your emotions, your mind. Insulin isn’t a cure; it’s simply life support. It keeps us alive, but it doesn’t fix what’s broken.
No one sees what life with diabetes looks like when the world isn’t watching. The sleepless nights. The alarms that never stop — or worse, the ones that don’t go off at all. The middle-of-the-night panic when your sugar drops too fast. I remember one morning jolting awake to treat my blood sugar. I was too late. My heart stopped. I woke up with a device on my chest, pain radiating through my body, people around me who had fought to save my life. And two days later… I went to work as if nothing had happened. Because that’s what life with diabetes demands.
There are no breaks. No “off” button. No nights of uninterrupted sleep. Even on the best days, my mind never stops calculating: Do I have insulin? What if I walk too far? What if I go low while home alone? What if my pump fails? What if I don’t wake up? These are the thoughts that never leave. The fears that never rest. And yet, we keep moving. We smile. We show up. We pretend we’re fine.
Being legally blind has made this battle even harder. Simple things — reading, counting carbs, changing an infusion set — all take more patience, more effort, more courage. But I refuse to let it stop me. Because I’m still here. I’m still fighting, I don't know what I will do when the time comes, and the sand in that hourglass is slipping away faster and faster until the day my world goes completely black.
So when people ask what strength looks like — this is it. Strength looks like surviving sixteen rounds of DKA. It looks like waking up after your heart stops and still getting up the next morning. It looks like living every day in pain, depression, burn out, still finding joy, purpose, and hope.
Type 1 diabetes is invisible, but it is relentless. It’s exhausting. It’s terrifying. It’s survival — one carb count, one injection, one blood sugar check at a time. But it’s also resilience. It’s faith. It’s fire.
I may not see the world like I used to, but I see life more clearly than ever. I am stronger than anyone knows. Stronger than I ever thought I’d have to be. And even when diabetes tries to take everything from me — I keep fighting. Because I have to. Because I’m still here.
This month I will be diving into more about my life and living with diabetes, the struggles that are so real, you will hear from other people that are caregivers, spouses, parents, and diabetic children. I want to tell these stories because even though everyone knows what a diabetic is, the stigma and lies and misconceptions are with this disease is mind numbing. Unless you are in the thick of it, you really have no idea.
