Sometimes, I Forget I have Type 1 follow
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Sometimes, I forget I have Type 1 diabetes.
Not because it is easy.
Not because it no longer affects me.
But because after living with it since 2014, the work has become so deeply woven into my existence that I no longer notice how much energy it quietly takes from me every single day.
My insulin pump clips onto me as naturally as putting on a watch in the morning. My continuous glucose monitor vibrates in the background of my life like a second heartbeat. Carb counting, dosing insulin, correcting highs, predicting lows before they happen—it all flows through my mind almost unconsciously now.
Even with advanced technology like my Tandem t X2 insulin pump and continuous glucose monitor functioning together as an artificial pancreas system, diabetes is never fully silent. Technology has made my life infinitely safer and easier than it once was, and I am deeply grateful for that.
But there are still mornings when I wake up mentally foggy and physically drained because my blood sugar was unstable through the night.
And yet, my first instinct is rarely:
“Maybe diabetes exhausted me.”
Instead, I blame myself.
Maybe I studied too late.
Maybe I did not sleep enough.
Maybe I simply need to work harder.
I overload my schedule every semester convincing myself that if I organize my time better, I can somehow manage everything perfectly. Somewhere along the way, I convinced myself that strength meant pushing through exhaustion instead of acknowledging it.
Sometimes it takes my mom gently reminding me:
“Maybe your sugars weren’t great last night.”
And suddenly I pause.
Because she is right.
Because even now, after all these years, I still forget that surviving Type 1 diabetes is work.
Before I switched to an artificial pancreas system, the nights were harder.
Sometimes I would wake up trembling from low blood sugar, drenched in sweat, my heart racing before my eyes had even fully opened. Everything would feel blurry and distant at the same time. I would drag myself out of bed half-awake, trying to make it to the kitchen while my body screamed for sugar.
And honestly? Low blood sugar make you feel almost feral.
You eat everything in sight because your body genuinely believes it is in danger. Juice boxes. Crackers. Bread. Anything within reach.
Then, when the low finally passes and your hands stop shaking, guilt settles in.
Did I overdo it?
Did I just cause the next high blood sugar myself?
And somehow, after enough years, this all becomes familiar.
Not easy.
Never easy.
Just familiar enough that I sometimes forget how strange it is to wake up shaking at 3 a.m. and instinctively know exactly how many juice boxes my body needs before my brain fully wakes up.
I think that is also why people around me sometimes forget I have diabetes too.
My friends see me going to class, studying for exams, working in research labs, volunteering at the hospital, laughing over coffee, and planning for medical school. They see me functioning normally because, most days, I am.
But what they do not see is the constant invisible mental math happening quietly in the background.
How many carbs are in this meal?
Will my blood sugar drop later?
Did my pump give slightly too much insulin?
Should I lower my dose because I walked more today?
Will studying late tonight affect my readings tomorrow morning?
My brain never really shuts up.
It is always calculating something.
Sometimes I do not even consciously process those thoughts anymore. My mind just does the math automatically after years of repetition. I can look at food and instinctively know how my body will likely respond before I even take the first bite.
And honestly, that amazes me sometimes.
Not because diabetes is easy, but because the human mind adapts so deeply to survival that eventually it turns invisible even to itself.
Realizing this has also made me appreciate my mother in ways I never fully understood as a child.
Before advanced diabetes technology, before automatic insulin adjustments, before artificial pancreas systems, she did everything manually. She stayed awake through nights checking my blood sugar while still waking up the next morning and continuing through her day as though she was not exhausted herself. She sat with carb charts and notebooks while I slept peacefully beside her, unaware of the mental burden she quietly carried every single night.
Now that I manage it independently, I finally understand the invisible labor she carried for years.
And maybe that is why this disease feels so complicated to explain.
Because diabetes does not always look dramatic from the outside.
Most people do not see the interrupted sleep, the calculations, or the constant decision-making happening quietly in the background.
They just see me.
And truthfully, most days, I see just me too.
Not a disease.
Not a limitation.
Just a person living her life.
But there are moments where I pause and realize how much energy it takes to maintain that normalcy.
At the same time, diabetes has also shaped me into the person I am today.
The stubbornness I have when it comes to chasing my goals, the resilience I carry through difficult moments, and the determination to keep moving forward even when things feel overwhelming—I learned that through diabetes.
Living with it has taught me discipline, adaptability, and perseverance in ways I probably would not have understood otherwise.
As Michael Jackson once said:
“They say the sky’s the limit, and to me that’s really true.”
And I think I am going to carry that belief with me for the rest of my life.
Diabetes has challenged me, but it has also molded me into a stronger, more hardworking, and more resilient version of myself. It has taught me how to love myself.
For that, I am thankful.
~
author: Prisha Singh
Image: Author's Own
Editor: Lisa Erickson
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