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Dietary Management

I’ve noticed that some of the most frustrating moments in life are when you try to do something meaningful—quietly, for yourself—and the universe answers with indifference. Not tragedy. Not even resistance. Just blank refusal. The door’s locked. It’s raining. That kind of thing. There’s no one to argue with, no reason to fight. You’re just stuck. I had planned a hike today. Nothing fancy: a 9-kilometre loop at a nearby preserve. But it wasn’t just about hiking. It was the anniversary of my **_Type 1 diabetes_** diagnos, nineteen years ago. I’d registered the hike as a World Diabetes Day event, mostly for myself, but also to connect the memory to something concrete. I wanted to walk those miles not to prove anything, but to recognise something. A kind of wordless milestone. I think people imagine anniversaries like this are about triumph, but often they’re about bearing witness. “I’m still here.” That’s all it needs to say. And then it rained. Not a passing drizzle. The kind of grey, steady downpour that shuts down the woods, that turns well-worn trails into small rivers. I knew by mid-morning that the hike was off. And I was angry. Not at anyone. Just angry. The weather didn’t ruin a plan. It ruined a promise. A ritual. I’d thought about this day for weeks, maybe longer, and now it was slipping away while I sat indoors watching water streak down the windows. I know I can hike tomorrow, or next weekend. The mountain isn’t going anywhere. But it won’t be June 14 anymore. And that matters to me, in a way I can’t quite explain. When something becomes symbolic, it picks up meaning like a stone gathers moss. It becomes heavier than it looks. Missing it feels like failure, even when it’s clearly not. I didn’t skip the hike. I didn’t flake. I was ready. The world just didn’t cooperate. People like to talk about resilience, especially around chronic illness. And yes, diabetes teaches you to bend, to adjust, to keep going. But there’s something to be said for allowing a moment to feel bad. To not rush to reframe it. I didn’t go hiking. I didn’t get to do the thing I told myself I’d do. That hurts. And that’s enough. Maybe that’s its own kind of presence—sitting with the day as it is, not as it was supposed to be. There’s no mountain under my feet, no ridge or overlook or path. Just a quiet room and a wet sky. But I’m still here. Still marking time, even when it doesn’t look the way I imagined. ### Like this: Like Loading... Health & Wellness Personal Reflections Type 1 DiabetesWorld Diabetes Day

My grand plans for the day didn’t work out.

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