Sometimes, when I get really sick of having diabetes, I do a dumb thing. I go into full-blown teenager “I hate you, you’re ruining my life” mode. I slam hypothetical doors (ask my parents, I was such a door slammer), and I hypothetically stick 2 big fat middle fingers up Queen Bey style into the air while riding off into the sunset. If only I had the Willie Nelson braids to top it all off.
For the record, I would never put myself in serious harm’s way by taking my pump off for a day, or go without testing…I’m not that much of a self-destructive hellion. (Also, omg PLEASE pretty please don’t ever do that). But I do have a tendency to act out like a petulant child that just really, really, really, wants what the other kids have: freedom.
I’ve always been one to bail on work and discipline to go have fun instead. Sorry! I’m a Leo. I can’t help it. Impulse is my middle name. But remember when you’d sneak to a party in high school, the cops would show up, and as you were hiding under a bed clutching a solo cup filled with bad vodka you’d fear for your reputation and college acceptance? So suddenly the thrill just wasn’t worth it anymore.
That’s how I feel today.
After 4 weeks of eating relatively clean, drinking a little less, sleeping more, and upping my workout intensity, I was feeling like gold. But then I traveled for work last week, let myself get over-tired, and decided it was a perfect weekend for some me time. But after 2 days of blowing through insulin, scrambling to ineffectively cover bottomless mimosas, I feel like I was punishing myself instead of celebrating some free time. All I wanted to do was prove I could still play hard after a week of working hard. But all weekend, I was secretly paying a premium on my fun. My blood sugars were above 200 almost the entire time no matter what I did to fight it.
I have a natural tendency to say “Oh yes I can…” as soon as I’m told I can’t do something. It’s human nature, but it’s also a dangerous game sometimes. I hate thinking that because I have diabetes, I’m limited in any way.
But here’s the learning from this weekend’s semi-gluttonous bender: Don’t try and flex your freedom with food. Flex it with fun.
I am reflecting now with my tail between my legs, and realizing that the reason I had such an amazing weekend was not because I wolfed down delicious truffle fries or enjoyed an over-sized jello shot shaped like a boob. It was because of the people I spent my time with. I saw friends I haven’t seen in almost a year. I shook my booty to a live band. And I went to an incredibly raunchy museum and jumped in a bouncy castle. Yes, bouncy castle. You read that right. My stomach and liver didn’t need to even be a part of the equation.
So today, as I nurse my 248 blood sugar hangover, I’m reminding myself to rebel the right way. Show the world how free and spontaneous I am by DOING cool shit. Not EATING things that will set me back for days and make me feel guilty about what I did.
So now I am off to go eat some veggies, drink some water, and remember this day so that next Saturday I don’t pull a classic Libby and put myself through that ringer all over again.