Letter to My 12-Year-Old Self

Sometimes I think back to my 12-year-old self—wide-eyed, scared, and honestly, kind of clueless—when I was first diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. Here’s what I’d ask that younger version of me and how I’d answer now, five years later.

Q: How were you diagnosed with diabetes?

12-year-old me: “It was during that weird phase when I felt tired all the time, drank like there was no tomorrow, and constantly needed to go to the restroom. Mom knew something was up and dragged me to the doctor. A blood test later, and bam—diabetic.”

17-year-old me: That day was a blur, wasn’t it? You were confused, but, it’s lucky we caught it early. Imagine how much worse things could’ve gotten.

Q: Who gave you the information about your diagnosis?

12-year-old me: “The doctor. He was calm but kind of serious, which freaked me out a little. Then the nurse explained more. But honestly, I was barely listening because my brain was stuck on the word diabetes.”

17-year-old me: It’s funny how doctors drop life-changing news like it’s just another Tuesday. They probably didn’t realize how much of a tornado they set off in your head.

Q: What was your primary emotion when you found out?

12-year-old me: “Fear. Pure, unfiltered fear. I didn’t even know what it really meant, but it sounded big and forever.”

17-year-old me: Yep, that’s exactly what it is—big and forever. But you’ve learned how to live with it, even thrive. The fear? It’s just a tiny voice in the background now.

Q: Did you know what it meant to be a diabetic?

12-year-old me: “Not really. I just thought it meant I couldn’t eat sugar anymore, which honestly felt like the end of the world. Spoiler: it wasn’t.”

17-year-old me: LOL, yeah, you were convinced your dessert days were over. Good news—you still get to enjoy treats, just with a little planning. And hey, that’s not the worst thing.

Q: What did you do next?

12-year-old me: “I didn’t know what to do. Mom got me some books and we Googled stuff, but it was overwhelming. I mostly just wanted someone to tell me how to fix it.”

17-year-old me*: You didn’t realize it then, but there is no "fixing” diabetes—only managing it. And guess what? You’ve gotten pretty darn good at that.

Q: How did that change the way you felt?

12-year-old me*: “Learning helped a bit, but I still felt like a tiny fish in a giant ocean. I was scared I’d mess something up and make things worse.

17-year-old me*: Totally valid fear, but look at you now. You’ve got your routines down, and even when things go sideways, you know how to handle it. Baby steps, right?

Q: Did your knowledge help you decide on a new routine in your life?

*12-year-old me*: “Kind of. I started checking my blood sugar, taking insulin, and trying to eat healthier. It felt like learning how to live all over again.”

17-year-old me*: And now, those things are second nature. Sure, it’s a lot to juggle, but it doesn’t feel impossible anymore. You’d be proud of how far you’ve come.

Q: In what ways did life change for you?

12-year-old me*: “Everything felt different. Sleepovers, school lunches, PE class—they all needed a plan now. I hated feeling ‘different.’”

17-year-old me: That feeling still creeps up sometimes, but now you own it. Diabetes doesn’t make you less; it makes you resilient. You’ve built a life that works for you, differences and all.

Q: How do you feel today, 5 years later?

17-year-old me: Honestly? Stronger, smarter, and more in control than I ever thought I’d be at 12. Some days are still tough, but I’ve learned to ride the wave instead of letting it drown me. Diabetes is part of me, but it doesn’t define me.

Q: What advice would you give to other teen diabetics?

17-year-old me: You’re not alone. The bad days don’t last forever, and the little victories—nailing your insulin dose, eating something amazing without a sugar spike—they add up. Give yourself grace. You’re doing better than you think.

To my 12-year-old self: You were scared, but you were brave. You had no idea what the next five years would look like, but you faced it anyway. Thanks for being strong enough to get us here. 💙