This year holds two markers I was never supposed to reach: my 50th birthday and my 42nd diaversary.
Celebrating “50” with friends from high school cracked open memories I hadn’t touched in decades—the highs, the crashes, the mood swings, navigating cheerleading camp, parties, dating… all of it. And threaded through every single memory was diabetes, even though I never talked about it back then.
I didn’t explain my Type 1 life. Honestly, I didn’t even consciously think about how different my life was. Diabetes was just there—always—quietly demanding everything from me while I worked overtime to appear normal.
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