I woke up around 6:00 something today. Wondering why on earth why. And after laying in bed for an hour I began to think, to ignore the nasty habit of scrolling through Facebook and Instagram without purpose. And I decided it’s time you meet “her”. The rest of this post is what I typed up this morning, that was weighing heavily on my heart…
I’ve known her for almost 8 years now. We’re literally inseparable.
I’ve been pissed at her for almost 8 years now. We fight every day.
I’ve felt controlled by her for almost 8 years now. Even though she’s out of control.
I’ve been hurt by her for almost 8 years now. She’s ruthless and demanding.
I’ve been mentally handicapped because of her. She freaks me out and I freak her out. It’s a cycle.
I’ve tried to ignore her, to give her no power over me. But she can’t be ignored.
I’ve felt my identity stripped from me because of her. She’s always trying to label me and measure me.
I’ve seen what she can do, the terrible and awful things. Yet I whisper to myself, I’m going to be okay.
When in reality, I’m just pushing her away – Which is stupid because we’re inseparable.
I’ve given her a persona because it’s about damn time she’s reckoned with.
It’s been 8 years since I met her. We’ll be together till Jesus returns or calls me home.
I was only 14 years old when I met her.
And I’m sitting here at 22 wondering what the heck I’m supposed to do.
To make up for the lost time, the lost health, the lost freedom.
When I first met her, it was quite the surprise. She kept me from my first scrimmage my sophomore year of high school of volleyball. I was the libero, and I knew that if I missed this scrimmage, I would be letting my team down for sure. So when I met her and had to stay, I sobbed. I didn’t understand yet who she was or why she was here, but she was preventing me from playing the game I loved.
Sitting here, almost 8 years later I wonder the same thing: Why did I have to meet her? We aren’t even in the same lineage yet I’m forced to consider her family. Because she’s a part of my family, and will continue to be forever while I’m in this fleshly prison cell. She’s the one I hate talking about. Like I said, I’ve been pissed at her for years. I say “I forgot” to say hi to her, or to take care of her. Sometimes I genuinely do forget. But most times, I try to pretend she doesn’t exist. I know I have no excuse to genuinely forget either. Because that’s laziness. That ignoring her? A freaking sin. Because she’s part of the temple of the Holy Spirit. Yet I curse her, blame her, hate her, choose to detest her, wish she wasn’t a part of my life: then, now, or ever.
She’s caused my nervous system to go haywire and for me to consider myself one with a “low pain-tolerance”. That was awful for my first tattoo…
- Every stubbed toe … Feels like my toe got chopped off.
- Every knicked funny bone… Feels like a railroad spike went through the bone.
- Every bumped head … Feels like I threw my head against a rock.
- Every run outside… Feels like 1,000 nettles in my skin that won’t go away. That leaves me in hives.
Praise God coffee and tea don’t have carbs. Unless you add milk. Or add the real sugar (the stuff that’s “better” for you anyways). Or add coffee creamer. Or get a starbucks.
Now that I wrote that. I was going to say she literally hates carbs. I hate carbs. But she needs carbs. And she truthfully loves carbs. It’s just that the process of getting them and using them is dependent upon me.
I don’t want that kind of responsibility. I can hardly keep my room clean, even as a 22 year old, married woman. Much less, try to take care of her when she is so demanding 95% of my day. She requires 24/7 supervision. Yet I try to ignore her 24/7. And have tried for almost 8 years. Yet she remains daunting, the helicopter, the whisperer that says “you’re not good enough” when you see her, think about her, or realize you completely forgot about her.
You can’t eat that. Put that down you fool.
If you run, I’ll make your legs sting like ants are crawling under your skin.
You forgot about me. Here, I’ll give you a massive headache.
It’s okay though, take a nap. I’ll still be here when you awake.
Sugar coma? Ahahaha People would always joke about these as kids.
Welcome to reality.
You’re not good enough, so why even pick yourself up and try again?
It’s too late to start over, so don’t even begin again.
You failed to see me today.
And 8 years and counting.
But I’m still here. I still control you. I still own you.
I make you sick.
I make you eat.
I make you cry.
I make you hungry.
I make you shake.
I make you hurt.
I make you worry.
I make you depressed.
I make you anxious.
I make you hate yourself.
I make you hate your Creator.
I make you wish I were gone.
I make you have to change plans.
I make you sad.
I make you mad.
I make you emotionally unstable.
I make you hate doctors’ offices.
I make you do a lot. I’m demanding. I’m relentless. I’m needy.
I remember when I made you late to biology class after checking up on me in the bathroom, blood everywhere because your pricked finger wasn’t deep or wide enough. I remember when I made a spectacle out of you when you walked into that class trying to wipe away your tear-stained face … and had to turn around and go get a pass because I wasn’t a good enough excuse for your teacher. Oh, and on top of that you got a detention because you forgot your homework assignment for that day. Yeah, I ruined your day for sure.
I remember when one of your best friends came over, and her mom was then picking her up. You were so hyper you mis-stepped and literally fell into the coffee table and lamp, laughing like a mad woman. To realize you had no control over me. Yeah, that was embarrassing. I remembering shutting you up right then and there.
I remember when you were told that you would have to speak in court, testifying against parental rights for one of your kiddos. Oh trust me, I tormented you during it, but when you found out? I made you cry. During your job. In front of professionals.
I remember after a really good day of eating and taking care of me, I left you weak, sweaty, light-headed, and unable to speak or think clearly. You were at camp, as a camper, in the nurse’s place about to chug some juice. And then I came back roaring flames 20 minutes later when you had too much to eat. Even though it was a cup of juice and two crackers. You felt that weirdness all night.
That’s me though. I like to mess with you. I like to taunt you. I like to make you miserable. I’m inseparable to you. And I will be here to hate you and hurt you for life.
What He says,
You are fearfully and wonderfully made.
I know that full well.
Where does your help come from?
You can start over.
You were created by me.
You are blameless, without reproach.
I have already overcome this for you.
You have hope.
I am that hope.
I label you.
I choose you.
You are mine.
I feed you.
I heal you.
I help you.
I love you.
I calm you.
I’m inseparable from you.
I covered your failures with my blood.
I have determined your steps.
I am stability.
I am your rock.
I am The Doctor.
My yoke is easy, my burden light.
I remember when you stopped breathing at home and your dad did CPR on you. You were blue. As the ambulance rushed to your home, I was there.
I remember when your parents and several others prayed over you while you were dying there in the hospital room. I knew it wasn’t time to take you yet, as tubes and wires and needles surrounded you and death hovered over you. But I kept you here because I have purpose in you and through you. I was there.
I remember when you accepted my gift on the cross for you. At the kitchen table, praying with your mom. I loved your child-like faith and willingness to jump into this relationship with me. I was there.
I remember that first Sunday when your head started to spin and your legs grew weak, your eyes got fuzzy and you got extremely thirsty. I remember the following Sunday, and the couple days after that experiencing the same thing as your skin got clammy and white, your lips turned blue. I remember your diagnoses of Grave’s Disease when you were merely a fourth grader. I was there.
I remember you going to camp, not knowing that you would meet me again there. I remember you rededicating your life to me, by officially giving me lordship over your life. That was the summer before your sophomore year of high school. I gave you a love for people, a heart of flesh that bled with empathy for even the littlest of things. I was there.
I remember less than one month later, you getting your physical at the doctors’ office, completed before your volleyball scrimmage later that afternoon. I remember them calling you into another room after they found sugar in your pee. Your blood glucose was 248 after not eating for over 10 hours. I was there.
And I’ve been there.
And I will be there.
I am here.
Because I have chosen you, because I have loved you, because I have been here and existed longer and loved more than SHE could ever imagine. I allowed her to happen, because of the choices the first humans made to disobey me. But my coming and going and coming back isn’t a “Plan B” for me or my Father. It’s been the plan from the beginning. All of this has. For you to meet her 8 years ago, for you to experience heartbreak, to experience joy, to get married, to experience anxiety.
No, I want this world to be restored to how it was supposed to be: to have perfect relationship with me, my father, and the Holy Spirit which I have sent to comfort you. But it’s not until my Father’s timing that I wait until I return to you. She has no control over you.
Just as your life verse, which you have forgotten, says. I provide the strength. So that I may be glorified. This is what you are to do. Because I have sent you. I have given you the love you have for others. For others’ lives. I have given you the connections, the resources, the kingdom work that is simple. But it’s not easy. (1 Peter 4:11)
My strength is greater than yours. And it is mine to give to you.
Will you take it? Will you use it?
And with that said, dear friends,
Her name is Type 1 Diabetes.
All the things said above are true: she has caused me so much hurt, suffering, anxiety, pain, grievance.
I still am at war with accepting her as a part of me. I never truly had the opportunity or vulnerability to speak about this until now. Sure I can be vulnerable about everything else in my life. But she always remained in the shadows. Because I was afraid of more criticism, more hurt, more pain, more people telling me that I was failing or that my numbers weren’t good enough or that they were too high or this, that, and the other thing.
YES, I know “I need to take care of myself” and that “I really do need to check my sugar more often and do my insulin more often and take all my meds and, and, and”.
But right here, right now.
I am allowing myself grace.
*literally paused after typing that for a solid minute*
She is renamed Grace.
Because even though I’ve only known her for the last 8 years. The Lord has shown me grace since before the foundations of the world were formed. Even though I do need to check sugars and poke myself and give myself injections daily… grace.
Even though I want to be perfect, and my body refuses to be. Grace.
Even though my progress of checking off the boxes looks like dirty snow. Grace.
Even though I sometimes flip out because anxiety, depression, and everything else. Grace.
Even though I will still fail. Grace.
Even though I still haven’t checked my sugar throughout this whole thing. Grace.
Will I do my best to take care of her? Yes, even though clearly the last 8 years have taught me that my “best” is little to nothing. Grace.
So, I invite you, as you saw into my brain, met “her” who has tormented me for so long, and met grace, I hope that you pray for me when you think of me, or even when you read this. Every day is a necessary blank page for me. I need to remember that. Because it’s okay to not be okay. But it’s also necessary to not be ignorant or to choose laziness. For I know laziness is wicked. And for me, laziness could literally kill me. But the Lord has purpose for me here. He has chosen me for something. And grace, both Type 1 Diabetes, and the Lord’s grace *which is GREATER*, will be there through all of what God has planned for me.
Thank you for listening, fam.