Somewhere Between Five and Twenty

There are days when I find myself thinking about the little girl I used to be.

She didn’t think too much about tomorrow.

She laughed until her stomach hurt. She cried over the smallest things, and five minutes later had already forgotten why. She played with her dolls for hours, danced alone in her room, believed the moon was following the car, and thought nothing in the world could interrupt her imagination.

Diabetes was already part of my life.

But somehow…

It wasn’t the center of my world.

I was diagnosed when I was five years old.

Which means I don’t remember life before diabetes.

Checking my blood sugar, taking insulin, counting carbohydrates, and going to appointments all became normal before I was old enough to understand why any of it mattered.

If I’m being honest…

I wasn’t paying attention.

Not because I didn’t care.

But because I was a child.

Every clinic appointment sounded the same to me.

My doctors would explain something.

My educators would teach me another lesson.

My dietitians would remind me about food, exercise, and taking care of myself.

I’d smile, nod my head, and then move on with my day.

I heard every word.

But I didn’t really listen.

I didn’t understand why everyone kept repeating the same things.

“Check your blood sugar.”

“Don’t forget your insulin.”

“Exercise.”

“Take care of yourself.”

At the time, they just felt like reminders.

Now I realize they were preparing me for my future.

Because when you’re a child, someone is always thinking ahead for you.

My parents worried before I even knew there was something to worry about.

They noticed the things I didn’t notice.

They asked questions I never thought to ask.

They reminded me of things I would have forgotten.

They carried a weight I didn’t even realize existed.

And they still do.

Their love has never changed.

Their support has never changed.

If anything, I appreciate it more today than I ever did when I was younger.

But as I got older…

Something quietly changed.

Not my parents.

Me.

Somewhere around 2024, I started seeing diabetes differently.

I don’t know exactly when it happened.

There wasn’t one big moment.

It was hundreds of little moments.

I started listening.

Really listening.

For the first time, I understood why my doctors kept repeating themselves.

Why my educators were so patient.

Why my dietitians cared about more than just numbers.

Why my parents reminded me over and over again.

They weren’t trying to control my life.

They were trying to protect it.

Because one day, my diabetes would become my responsibility.

Not theirs.

Mine.

That realization was overwhelming.

Because growing up with Type 1 diabetes isn’t just about getting older.

It’s realizing that nobody can live with diabetes for you.

People can support you.

They can remind you.

They can encourage you.

They can stand beside you every single day.

But they cannot make the hundreds of decisions you have to make every day.

Whether I check my blood sugar before class.

Whether I remember to bolus.

Whether I change my pump on time.

Whether I carry glucose with me.

Whether I prepare before traveling.

Whether I take care of myself.

Those choices became mine.

And with that responsibility came a different way of looking at my body.

Around that same time, I met people who helped shape this new chapter of my life.

One of those people was Dr. Maram Alibrahim.

I first came across Dr. Maram on Instagram.

One day, she shared a photo of a capillary blood glucose test, and something about that moment made me reach out to her.

I never imagined that one message would turn into a friendship that would mean so much to me.

Without even realizing it, she became part of one of the biggest turning points in my journey.

She believed in me when I doubted myself, celebrated every small step forward, and reminded me that progress doesn’t have to be perfect.

During a time when I was learning to take more responsibility for my diabetes, she became someone I could always talk to, learn from, and laugh with.

She helped me realize that taking care of myself wasn’t about chasing perfection.

It was about showing up for myself every single day.

Looking back, I don’t think she simply influenced my habits.

She influenced the person I was becoming.

Sometimes people walk into your life without realizing the impact they’ll leave behind.

A conversation.

A laugh.

A simple message.

Someone believing in you while you’re still learning to believe in yourself.

Those moments stay with you.

Today, she’s someone I genuinely consider a sister.

And I think that’s one of the unexpected gifts diabetes has given me, not just the lessons it taught me, but the incredible people it brought into my life.

As I learned to take better care of my diabetes, something else slowly changed too.

For years, if someone mentioned the gym, I would probably make up an excuse.

“I’ll start next week.”

“I’m too tired.”

“I don’t feel like it.”

I never imagined that one day the gym would become such a big part of my life.

If you know me now, you probably know that I’m always talking about it.

And honestly…

That younger version of me would be shocked.

Not because I suddenly love difficult workouts.

Not because I enjoy sore muscles.

But because I finally understood why movement matters.

I don’t go to the gym to punish my body.

I go because I want to take care of it.

I want enough energy to get through long university days.

I want to feel stronger.

I want to walk into class feeling awake instead of exhausted.

I want to help my blood sugar stay as stable as possible.

Because anyone living with Type 1 diabetes knows that blood sugar affects so much more than just a number on a screen.

A high blood sugar can leave you feeling exhausted before your day even begins.

Your body feels heavy.

Your thoughts become slower.

Small things suddenly feel overwhelming.

And lows…

Lows remind you that everything else can wait.

So now, every workout isn’t just a workout.

It’s another way of taking care of myself.

Just like changing my pump.

Just like counting carbohydrates.

Just like checking my blood sugar.

Just like carrying glucose tablets wherever I go.

They all became different ways of saying,

“I’m taking care of myself today.”

For the first time in my life, these habits stopped feeling like chores.

They became acts of self respect.

Looking back now, I realize the biggest change wasn’t my routine.

It wasn’t the gym.

It wasn’t university.

It wasn’t even diabetes itself.

The biggest change was the way I started seeing myself.

I stopped asking,

“Why do I have to do all of this?”

And started asking,

“How can I give my body the best chance to live the life I dream about?”

That question changed everything.

Today, I still have difficult days.

Days when diabetes makes absolutely no sense.

Days when I feel frustrated.

Days when I wish I could switch it off, even for a few hours.

But even on those days…

I choose to keep showing up.

Not because someone tells me to.

Because I want to.

If I could sit beside that little five year old girl today, I wouldn’t tell her that life becomes easy.

Because it doesn’t.

I wouldn’t tell her that diabetes disappears.

Because it won’t.

I’d simply tell her,

“One day, you’ll understand why everyone kept reminding you.

One day, you’ll realize every appointment, every conversation, every lesson, and every reminder came from love.

And one day…

You’ll become the person who reminds yourself”.

Growing up didn’t mean needing my parents less.

It didn’t mean needing my doctors, educators, or dietitians less either.

If anything, I appreciate them more today than I ever did as a child.

Looking back, I realize that every doctor, educator, dietitian, and healthcare professional who became part of my journey helped shape the person I am today.

Some of them may never realize the impact they had on my life, but I carry their lessons with me every single day.

Their patience, kindness, and belief in me have stayed with me far beyond the clinic, and I will always be grateful for everything they taught me.

Growing up simply meant that I stopped expecting everyone else to carry my diabetes for me.

I learned to carry it with them.

To take responsibility for my own health while accepting the love and support they continue to give me.

Maybe that’s what growing up with Type 1 diabetes really means.

Not becoming someone who no longer needs help.

But becoming someone who chooses, every single day, to care for the life they’ve been given.

Because this is my life.

My body.

My future.

And taking care of myself is the greatest way I can honor everyone who spent years taking care of me.