What Diabetes Taught Me About Love, Fear, and Being a Daughter
Watching a loved one navigate diabetes as a kid reshapes everything, fear, love, and patience. Years later, understanding grows, and compassion deepens. This story explores the messy, human side of caring, and the hope in keeping each other alive.
When I was 12, my dad was diagnosed with diabetes.
I didn’t fully understand what it meant back then. All I knew was that our home changed. Meals were measured. The little things, family dinners, grabbing snacks from the corner store, suddenly carried weight and caution where they used to carry joy.
But the hardest part wasn’t the diet shift or the doctor’s appointments. It was watching my dad struggle to take care of himself.
There were moments he gave in to cravings. And I get it now. It’s hard. But back then, watching him ignore his own limits felt like watching someone you love slowly hurt themselves.
I remember the fear more than anything. The tremble in his hands. The nights he would start shaking when his glucose dropped or spiked. I’d panic and run for juice or food, anything to stabilize him. Sometimes the relief came in a rush: the sugar working, his eyes clearing. Other times the panic stuck in my throat for hours. There were days I felt less like his daughter and more like his keeper, begging him, sometimes scolding him, to take care of himself.
That’s what chronic illness does: it doesn’t stop at one body. It ripples through kitchens and bedrooms and school pickups. It reshapes roles, shifts routines, and writes new lines into every conversation. It carves out a love that looks different, fierce protection braided with a quiet, ongoing grief.
I was resentful sometimes. I was furious sometimes. “Why can’t he just stop?” I thought. “What if he doesn’t wake up tomorrow?” Those thoughts lived under my skin (they still do). They were ugly and honest and they were mine. But alongside them, there was tenderness, small, stubborn moments where I saw him try and where I felt grateful he was still here to try at all.
Now, fifteen years later, things look different. My dad has learned how to take care of himself. Of course, he still has his moments and I have the patience, love, and compassion to understand that we all stumble. It’s part of what makes us human. He has followed his treatment, made healthier choices, started exercising, and found a balance that keeps him well more often than not.
If you or a loved one is living with diabetes, know this from my corner of the world: when it’s managed carefully, it can be a very manageable condition. People can and do live long, full lives. 🙂
That’s why this next project is so personal to me. We are partnering with Abbott and Libre - a healthcare company committed to helping people live full, healthy lives - for a special production of {THE AND} conversations on diabetes stigma. This feels deeply personal. I wish something like this had existed when I was twelve. I hope this campaign can offer the same strange mix of honesty and reassurance that we needed: real voices, messy stories, and the small, stubborn hope that comes from watching each other keep trying.
After watching the videos, I related so much to Sofi and Van! I had never thought about the “invisible” side of diabetes, as Van calls it, and now it makes so much sense to me as an adult. I can better understand why my dad had such extreme mood swings when I was a kid. I used to judge him, but after hearing Van describe everything diabetes makes him feel, I finally get where my dad was coming from.
The “piece of pie” part really resonated, though with my dad it’s more popsicles than pie. I also connected with Van’s reflections on his favorite healthcare professionals, those who treat him like a human being. It made me realize how much that recognition matters.
Watching Lynne and Lindsay, I felt the fear of my dad losing his eyesight (he was diagnosed with glaucoma a few years ago) and the risk to lose his feet, which have burned for years. One of his biggest fears is having to face amputation. I can’t take away those fears, but I can sit with him, reassure him that I’ll be there no matter what, and do everything I can to make sure he lives a happy, comfortable life.
Overall, the series gave me a deeper understanding of my dad’s experience. It strengthened my compassion, patience, and support for him, helping me finally try to walk in his shoes.
If you’re in the middle of it, if you’re the kid who rushes for juice, the partner who holds the hand that’s trembling, the friend who sits quietly because there’s nothing else to say, this is for you. Love through illness is messy and painful and incredibly human. It’s also where tenderness refuses to quit.
I wish I had had more help back then. I’m grateful some people will have it now.
Watch the full series here:
The Skin Deep x Abbott x Libre | Above the Bias: Let's End Diabetes Stigma
Regina Zuniga
Content Writer for The Skin Deep
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