The Life I Was Supposed to Have
I was 23 when I was diagnosed, and what I felt — underneath the shock, underneath the fear, underneath the clinical machinery of insulin drips and discharge instructions — was a profound sense of theft.
The life I’d been living up until that point had been good. I was young, free, enjoying myself. And then, overnight, all of that changed. Not just the logistics of daily life — the injections, the monitoring, the constant calculation — but the feeling of freedom itself. Gone.
It felt like a curse, like something had been taken from me that I had no say in. The anger and bitterness that grew from that feeling — the sense of “why me, why now, why this” — became the emotional foundation of my relationship with T1D for years.
That anger was valid. The grief underneath it was real. But left unaddressed, it became self-destruction.
From Anger to Self Loathing
The bitterness about what T1D had taken from me eventually turned inward. I stopped being angry at the condition and started being angry at myself — at my body, at my perceived failures, at the person I’d become in trying to cope with something nobody had prepared me for.
I called myself sub-human. I genuinely hated myself for a period of my life. The shame was total.
Looking back, I understand where it came from. There were probably other emotional issues underneath it — wounds that predated the diagnosis and that T1D gave a focal point. But the condition was the lens through which all of it was magnified.
The shift from that place to where I am now wasn’t linear. It wasn’t dramatic. But it was real.
What Changed
The turning point — if there was one — wasn’t a moment of sudden self-acceptance; It was exhaustion. I needed relief from myself, and from the weight of the hatred and the guilt, the anger that had become the background of every day.
When I finally began to put some of that down, what I noticed first wasn’t love for myself. It was the absence of the heaviness. Like two enormous weights had been lifted from my shoulders.
The love — the genuine acceptance of myself, T1D included — came later. And it came from a shift in how I saw the condition itself.
I stopped seeing T1D as something that had cursed me and started seeing it as something that was simply part of me. Not a punishment. Not a theft. Just a part of the particular life that is mine.
Now I see it as: it’s part of me, and I of it.
That doesn’t mean I’m glad I have it. But it means I’m no longer at war with myself for having it.
WHAT SELF-LOVE ACTUALLY LOOKS LIKE WITH T1D
Self-love with T1D doesn’t look like relentless positivity. It doesn’t look like loving every reading or celebrating every hypo. It doesn’t mean pretending the condition isn’t hard.
It looks more like this:
- Checking your levels because you care about yourself — not because you’re afraid of what the number will say about you
- Treating a high reading as information rather than evidence of failure
- Allowing yourself to have bad days without making them mean something about your worth
- Asking for help without apologising for needing it
- Speaking to yourself with the same patience you’d offer someone you loved who was going through this
- Recognising that the life you have — T1D included — is still a life worth living fully
7 STEPS TOWARD LOVING YOURSELF WITH T1D
- Grieve what you lost — properly
The life you imagined before diagnosis. The spontaneity. The freedom. The version of yourself that didn’t have to think about all of this. That loss is real and it deserves to be grieved, not suppressed. Until you grieve it, the bitterness has nowhere to go. - Separate the condition from your worth
T1D is something you have. It is not something you are. It says nothing about your value, your character, your lovability, or your right to a good life. - Address the anger honestly
If you’re angry about having T1D — at your body, at the unfairness of it, at what it’s taken from you — that anger is valid. But anger that isn’t processed becomes self-destruction. Find somewhere for it to go: a journal, a conversation with someone who understands, professional support. - Look for the person you’ve become because of it
This isn’t toxic positivity. It’s an honest accounting. Managing T1D has required resilience, self-awareness, and a level of self-knowledge that most people never develop. Those qualities are part of you too. - Stop comparing your life to the one you imagined
The life you have is the one available to you. The life you imagined at 23, before diagnosis, wasn’t taken — it transformed. What you do with the life that’s actually yours is what matters. - Let the small moments of self-compassion accumulate
You don’t build self-love in one grand decision. You build it in small moments, repeated over time. Every time you choose patience over self-criticism. Every time you acknowledge what you’re doing right. Every time you let a difficult reading pass without letting it define your day. - Get support from someone who has made this journey
Reading about self-love is one thing. Having someone who has genuinely been in the self-loathing and found a way through — who can help you navigate your specific version of it — is another. That support is available.
Confronting the shame you didn’t ask for
You didn’t choose this disease, but you did inherit its shame. That shame whispers that you’re broken, lazy, or less. but, you can challenge that lie. You can name it, reject it, and reclaim your story.
The toxic myth of perfection
You tell yourself, “When my A1C is perfect, then I’ll love myself.” But that’s a trap. Because perfection doesn’t exist — not for you, not for anyone. You deserve love before the numbers align, not after.
Recognising that your worth never left
Your value doesn’t live inside a glucose graph. You were worthy before diagnosis. You’re worthy now. You’ll stay worthy, no matter what happens. That’s truth, not fluff.
Emotional hygiene: clean your inner space
When shame builds up, your mind feels dirty. So name it, write it down, and talk about it. When you speak it aloud, shame loses its grip. You clear space for love to grow.
Radical compassion for your tired body
Yes, your pancreas quit on you. But the rest of your body is still trying to keep you alive every single day. So stop calling it the enemy. Start calling it your teammate. That’s how healing begins.
Rewriting the story of “the diabetic self”
You are not your diagnosis. You are not “a diabetic person.” You are a person with diabetes. That tiny shift in language changes everything. It gives you power back.
Daily affirmations that actually work
Skip the cheesy stuff. Try this instead: “I choose to love myself through chaos.” Or “I’m stronger than today’s blood sugar.” Say it out loud. Say it like you mean it. Say it until your brain believes you.
Small rituals that whisper, “you matter”
Create tiny moments of care — like breathing deep before an injection, lighting a candle, or writing one thing you’re proud of. These rituals tell your nervous system, “I’m safe. I matter.”
Gratitude when your body fights back
When you want to scream at your body, pause and say, “Thank you for still showing up.” Gratitude doesn’t mean ignoring pain — it means acknowledging that your body is still fighting with you, not against you.
Training your thoughts to be kind
Catch every cruel thought. Ask, “Is this thought true, or just familiar?” Replace it with kindness. Every time you do that, you rewire your brain for love. That’s the real secret behind how to truly love yourself.
Boundaries: your invisible armor
You need boundaries — with people, doctors, and even yourself. You can say, “No, I don’t need advice.” You can say, “I’m allowed to rest.” Boundaries protect your peace like armor.
Stop comparing your life to “normal”
It’s easy to compare yourself to people who don’t inject, don’t measure, don’t wake up to alarms. But comparison kills joy. Your journey is yours. Own it with pride.
Celebrate the tiny wins
Did you remember your insulin today? Did you drink your water? Did you breathe through a panic moment? That’s huge. Write those wins down. Tiny victories stack into confidence.
Self-care that heals, not hides
There’s self-care, and then there’s self-avoidance. Choose care that calms your body — walking, music, stretching, journaling. Don’t hide behind distractions that numb you. Heal instead.
Find people who actually get it
You’re not alone in this. Connect with others who live it too — people who understand the chaos. Join Beyond Type 1 or a support group online. Real connection heals what isolation can’t.
Get help when you need it
There’s no shame in asking for help. Talk to a therapist, a coach, or someone trained in mindset work.
What to do when you hit rock bottom
When everything feels heavy, don’t fight harder — soften. Breathe. Drink water. Text one friend. Move your body for 5 minutes. That’s how you restart compassion.
How to get back up again
Falling is part of living. Every time you pick yourself up, you practice love in action. And that’s the real way you learn how to truly love yourself — through the mess, not despite it.
How to truly Love yourself? It’s rebellion
In a world that expects you to hate your broken bits, loving yourself is rebellion. It’s defiance. It’s freedom. You deserve that freedom every single day.
Reset Your Mindset
You don’t have to figure this out alone. If you want to know how to truly love yourself using practical tools to build confidence, compassion, and calm — I’m right here.
Internal Links
External Links
Yours, as always,
Pete
