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I woke up one morning, checked my blood sugar before eating anything, and was greeted with a lovely little number: 375.
As a Type 1 diabetic, that's one of those readings that immediately makes you stop and think, "Well... this isn't going to be a fun day."
The frustrating part about chronic illness is that your body doesn't always tell you why it's doing what it's doing. Sometimes you can do everything right and still feel like you're playing a game where someone forgot to give you the rules.
That pretty much summed up my week.
On top of that, my back has decided it's no longer interested in cooperating with the rest of my body. The muscles from my glutes all the way down the backs of my legs have been so tight they honestly feel like someone replaced them with concrete. When you're constantly adjusting the way you walk to avoid pain, your back starts compensating, then your hips get involved, and before long everything hurts.
At one point I was literally shaking from the pain. I had taken Tramadol. I'd taken 800 mg of ibuprofen. Nothing touched it.
So... I did what a lot of stubborn people do.
I improvised.
Out came the massage gun, and I started working pressure points, chasing muscle knots, and trying to convince my sciatic nerve that we were still friends. I even laid across one of those spine stretchers with the little massage nubs sticking out of it that look suspiciously like medieval torture devices. Surprisingly... it actually helped.
It's not a cure, but sometimes you stop focusing on finding the solution and start looking for a little relief. Those small victories matter.
Then there was the diabetes adventure.
Over the course of about five hours my blood sugar bounced from the low 100s to over 400... back down... then shot back up again. I kept giving insulin through my pump and nothing was happening. Fifteen units. Twenty units. Still nothing.
Eventually I decided to give myself a manual injection, and that's when I noticed blood leaking around my infusion site.
I pulled the pump off and found exactly what I suspected: blood mixed with insulin sitting underneath the adhesive, along with a blister where the cannula had bent instead of actually making it into the fatty tissue where it belonged.
In other words, all that insulin I'd been giving myself wasn't going where it was supposed to.
Within a short time of replacing everything, my blood sugar dropped back into range.
As miserable as the experience was, it reminded me of something that applies far beyond diabetes.
When something suddenly stops working, don't immediately assume you're broken.
Sometimes the equipment is.
That lesson applies to people more often than we'd like to admit.
I've also finally reached the point where I can't keep pretending my back is something I can just "push through."
For over a decade I've been telling doctors that something wasn't right. Degenerative changes in my spine have slowly become harder and harder to ignore, and now the pain is interfering with everyday life.
I've reached out to my medical team because I need more than another prescription.
Thankfully my insurance covers holistic care, so I'm hoping to build a treatment plan that includes physical therapy, occupational therapy, massage therapy, and anything else that helps me stay functional.
I've spent most of my life advocating for other people. It's about time I became a better advocate for myself.
Speaking of advocating...
This year I wore a shirt to Pride that combined two parts of myself I've kept relatively separate over the years: my love of tarot and my place within the LGBTQIA2S+ community.
If you've followed my work for any length of time, you know I don't make a habit of hiding who I am. At the same time, there are parts of ourselves we sometimes keep tucked away—not because we're ashamed, but because we're still figuring out when and how we want to share them.
Putting that shirt on felt like ripping off a Band-Aid.
And honestly?
It was liberating.
I'm still the same sarcastic, nerdy, mental health-obsessed guy you've always known. Nothing changed except that I stopped editing a piece of myself out of the conversation.
Authenticity has a funny way of making you feel lighter.
The other thing I've realized recently is just how... stuck I've been feeling.
The last real trip I took wasn't exactly a vacation. It was spending the final month of my biological mother's life helping care for her before she passed away.
That wasn't a getaway.
That was saying goodbye.
Since then I've had a weekend Airbnb here and there, but I haven't really gone anywhere.
I miss seeing new places.
Trying different food.
Meeting new people.
Walking around somewhere I've never been before.
Sometimes changing your surroundings is exactly what your mind needs to remember the world is bigger than the problems you've been staring at every day.
I've been looking at places like Salem, New Orleans, California, Illinois... honestly, even a weekend wandering around Seattle sounds refreshing right now.
A change of scenery isn't running away from your problems.
Sometimes it's exactly what gives you the perspective to come back and face them.
Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I've also been pouring myself into writing.
I'm working on a new manuscript that blends mental health with spirituality in a way that feels authentic to me. I've had several people express interest in collaborating once I get further along, and I'm genuinely excited about where it's headed.
Writing has always been how I make sense of the chaos.
It's therapy with a keyboard.
By the time the day is over, though, I'm usually ready to shut my brain off.
Lately that's meant throwing together something simple for dinner, curling up on the couch, and rewatching Buffy the Vampire Slayer.
Sometimes self-care isn't some elaborate wellness routine.
Sometimes it's comfort food, a familiar TV show, and giving yourself permission to exist without trying to fix everything for one evening.
If this week taught me anything, it's that resilience doesn't always look heroic.
Sometimes resilience is changing an insulin pump.
Sometimes it's making another doctor's appointment.
Sometimes it's admitting you're hurting.
Sometimes it's finally allowing yourself to be seen for who you really are.
Life is messy.
Healing is messy.
Growth is messy.
But none of those things have to happen perfectly.
If you're carrying something heavy right now—whether it's your health, your identity, your mental health, or just life in general—I hope you'll remember to give yourself the same grace you'd probably give someone else.
We're all figuring this out one day at a time.
And honestly?
That's okay.
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