On Mondays, I try to get my post out. That gives me a week to share it across socials.
Not because it’s convenient—but because it’s routine. And with diabetes, routine is about the closest thing you get to control.
But a Monday post doesn’t happen on Monday.
I know, based on the sheer brilliance of my writing, you probably assume I just pull these stories out of a hat. But it’s actually a week in the making.
An idea shows up somewhere around Monday or Tuesday—usually between a blood sugar check and a cup of coffee.
Then comes a rough draft.
Then edits. Then more edits.
Then I stare at the screen, hoping the story will write itself.
Then more edits. More staring. More edits.
Eventually (or more honestly, when I run out of time), I get it to where it’s post-worthy.
Debatable… sometimes.
And finally, I try to pull together a few decent images with the help of AI.
It’s a process.
A slow one.
A deliberate one.
But last week, it didn’t happen.
Not because I didn’t have ideas.
Not because I didn’t want to write.
Because sometimes, diabetes gets in the way.
I had one of those weeks.
And for those of you who can’t make insulin, I could stop right there—and you’d understand. But I’ll keep going.
Highs.
Lows.
Then more highs.
Then more lows.
Riding the Grumpy Glucose Coaster through the carnival called my life.
Wondering if I accidentally put water in my cartridge instead of insulin.
Or if Coca-Cola somehow slipped regular Coke into a can of Coke Zero.
And of course, all the wonderful symptoms:
Thirsty.
Crappy.
Knowing there’s a list of things that need to get done… but getting wiped out just thinking about walking into the other room where the list is sitting.
And somewhere in all of that, time just… went.
The week didn’t end. It slipped.
And before I knew it, it was Monday.
And I had nothing.
Here’s the part that’s hard to explain to people who don’t live this.
When you say, “I don’t feel well,” people hear something temporary.
You were low—now you’re not, so you should feel better.
You were high—now you’re not, so you should feel better.
They picture something you push through.
Something you shake off.
But it doesn’t work like that.
When my blood sugar is high, it’s not just uncomfortable—it’s consuming.
Everything slows down.
Thinking is harder.
Existing feels… heavier.
And the longer it lasts, the smaller your world gets.
There are days where I don’t do anything.
Not because I don’t want to.
Because I can’t.
I try.
But trying and doing are very different things when your body isn’t cooperating.
Those are the days that sting the most.
Not the highs.
Not the lows.
The missed days.
The ones where you look back and realize… nothing happened.
Or at least nothing you planned.
And you don’t get those days back.
So last week, I didn’t write a post.
And for a minute, that bothered me.
Because consistency matters.
Because showing up matters.
Because I like doing this.
But you know what else matters?
Giving yourself a break.
If anyone understands that, it’s probably you—the one reading this.
Because you’ve had those days too.
The ones where diabetes decides what’s happening—and everything else just has to wait.
So this is the post.
The one I didn’t write.
Written a week late.
Right on time.