Choosing Me: The Unseen Fight Behind My Diabetes Diagnosis

I’ve always been the type to shrug things off. A little fatigue? Just a long day. Cravings? Probably hormones. That dark patch on my neck? Maybe from the sun or maybe just my skin acting up. I’ve never been one to run to the doctor for every ache or pain. I just kept going.

Seven years ago, I was diagnosed with PCOS. I wish I could say that changed everything. But if I’m being honest, it didn’t. The diagnosis sat in the background of my life like a pop-up notification I kept swiping away. I didn’t ignore it entirely, but I didn’t confront it either. It wasn’t painful. It didn’t stop me from working, parenting, dreaming. It wasn’t as “visible” as the hyperpigmentation that started to creep along my neck and underarms — something that, ironically, made me more self-conscious than the internal hormonal storm quietly brewing inside me.

And then, last year, everything shifted.

I was diagnosed with Type 2 Diabetes.

Unlike PCOS, this one hit different. It wasn’t just the lab results or the medications I now had to remember to take. It was the emotional weight. Diabetes doesn’t have a remission phase. You don’t “beat” it like cancer. You manage it — daily, sometimes hourly. And for someone already balancing a million things — work, parenting, showing up for family and community, staying afloat mentally — it felt like one diagnosis too many.

I cried. Not right away. Not in the clinic. I cried in the car, staring at the steering wheel, wondering if this was the beginning of a new life or the slow end of the one I knew.

And then I did what I’ve always done: I got up.

Because I have a daughter. I have aging parents. I have people counting on me. And in a moment of clarity — maybe even divine grace — I realized I had to start counting on me too.

From Diagnosis to Decision

Type 2 Diabetes felt like a verdict at first. But it’s not. It’s a signal. A loud, undeniable one that says: something has to change.

I’ve lived most of my life caring for others. My daughter is autistic, and advocating for her — emotionally, socially, educationally — is a full-time job in itself. My parents are older, and I’m their go-to person. I’m also a single mom, a creative, a community builder. Self-sacrifice was my default mode.

But here’s the hard truth: you can’t pour from an empty cup. And my cup was bone dry.

So, I started choosing myself — not just in theory, but in practice. I started moving my body, first gently, then more consistently. I began working out — not to punish my body, but to thank it. To strengthen it. To remind myself that I still had control over something.

I also took a long, honest look at the way I approached food. It wasn’t just about cutting out sugar or carbs. It was about breaking years of habits tied to stress, reward, and survival. Instead of dreading every meal, I began investing time and effort into making food I actually love — meals that are both nourishing and enjoyable. Sustainable, not restrictive.

Meal prepping became less of a chore and more of a love letter to my future self. I explored new ingredients, rediscovered old favorites, and found joy in creating meals that supported my healing without making me feel like I was missing out on life.

These changes weren’t overnight. They were layered, slow, and deeply personal. But each one was a step toward reclaiming not just my health — but my power.

Rewiring My Mindset (the Neurodivergent Way)

At Unlabelled and Limitless, we talk a lot about neurodivergence and how it affects the way we see the world — and ourselves. I’ve always been more inclined to hyperfocus on others, to mask my needs, to downplay discomfort. It’s part of how I survived growing up undiagnosed and misunderstood. But now, in this new chapter, I needed to unlearn that.

Managing my health with a neurodivergent brain meant approaching wellness differently. I couldn’t rely on willpower alone — I had to build systems that made it easier to make good choices. Some days that meant prepping meals in advance. Other days, it meant setting alarms to move, or checking in with friends who held me accountable.

And most importantly, I had to give myself grace.

Because some days I get it right, and other days I don’t. Some mornings I wake up motivated, and some nights I fall asleep wondering if I’m doing enough. But here’s the thing: I keep showing up.

Health as an Act of Rebellion

Choosing my health in a world that constantly pulls me in a thousand directions is revolutionary. It’s a quiet rebellion. Against burnout. Against neglect. Against the story that I have to be everything to everyone else before I can be something to myself.

This diagnosis forced me to rewrite my own story.

I no longer want to be the martyr. I want to be a model — for my daughter, for other women navigating invisible illnesses, for anyone who has ever felt like their body betrayed them.

Because even with diabetes, I am still limitless.

What They Don’t Tell You

People don’t talk enough about the emotional side of chronic illness. About the guilt, the shame, the fear that creeps in when you Google too much. About the grief — not just of what was, but of what could have been had you acted sooner. I’ve had to mourn old versions of myself — the girl who skipped meals, who drank iced coffee for breakfast, who didn’t think a diagnosis could change her whole life.

But I’ve also started celebrating the version of me that’s emerging now. Stronger. Softer. Wiser.

The one who no longer ignores the signs. The one who listens to her body. The one who finds joy in movement and healing in the kitchen.

The one who sees wellness not as a punishment — but as a radical act of self-love.

Why I'm Sharing This

I’m not sharing this for sympathy. I’m sharing it because silence helps no one.

There’s this idea that if you’re neurodivergent, chronically ill, or mentally struggling, you shouldn’t talk about it too much — that it makes you “too much.” But I’ve learned the power of naming things. When you name it, you reclaim it.

So this is me reclaiming my story.

Not as a victim of diabetes, but as someone who finally chose herself — body, mind, and soul.

And if you’re reading this and you’ve been putting off that blood test, ignoring the signs, pushing through symptoms because you “don’t have time” — let this be your sign. Make the time. Choose you. You’re worth that and more.

Because even when life gives us labels — PCOS, Diabetes, neurodivergent — we are still Unlabelled and Limitless.

If this resonated with you, I’d love to hear your story. Send us a message or share your journey with us on Instagram. You’re not alone. 💛

#UnlabelledAndLimitless #ChronicIllnessAwareness #DiabetesType2 #NeurodivergentHealth #PCOSAwareness #ChooseYou #WellnessJourney #HealingWithJoy