Usually, I wear my diabetic devices out loud and proud, especially on holiday.
My CGM (Dexcom) sensor sits on the front of my arm or high enough on my stomach to peek out from under a bikini. I’ll choose a pretty Dexcom device patch, and I don’t shy away from the stares, the glances and the questions. I will wear my insulin pump clipped to my swimwear or in a visible Hid-In pump band. I’ve welcomed those moments for years, taking those as opportunities to educate, to normalise diabetes and show that life with type one doesn’t have to be hidden or apologetic.
But this holiday felt a little different. After four surgeries in eighteen months and with diabetes taking a very real and very heavy toll on my mental health, I didn’t feel like being visible in the same way. I didn’t feel like answering questions or educating strangers. I didn’t feel like carrying diabetes and dealing with other people’s curiosity. In reality I wanted a holiday from diabetes.
And yes, I know that isn’t possible. Diabetes doesn’t take holidays. It doesn’t step aside because you’re exhausted or burnt out or desperately in need of rest. It still needs managing, monitoring, correcting, thinking about, that part never went away. But hiding my diabetic devices felt like one small thing I could control.
It wasn’t about shame or pretending I don’t have diabetes. It was about creating a tiny pocket of peace in a season where my body and mind have already been through so much. After months of hospitals, procedures, recovery and constant vigilance, I wanted to feel a little more anonymous. A little less like a walking explanation. Just Claire, not Claire who has type one diabetes. And for once, I didn’t want my body to start conversations.
I didn’t want to feel constantly watched no matter how innocent the glances are and I didn’t want to feel like a teaching moment. I just wanted to exist on a beach, in the sun, without diabetes being the first thing people noticed about me.
That choice came with complicated feelings. Because visibility has always mattered to me. Because Representation matters. Normalising medical devices matters. And there’s a part of me that still believes deeply in showing diabetes openly and proudly. But there’s also a part of me that is tired. And both of those things can be true at the same time. Plus no diabetes "tan lines" was a huge bonus!
Towards the end of the trip, I did take a little bit of diabetes content. Not because I felt pressure to, but because it felt right in that moment. I set boundaries and I took what felt natural. I didn’t force anything and there was no obligation to turn every experience into a post, no guilt when I didn’t pick up my phone. And honestly, that felt good.
Diabetes still showed up. It still demanded attention. It still bulldozed its way into moments I wished it wouldn’t. There were highs, lows, adjustments, decisions. Diabetes didn’t take a holiday, even if I desperately wanted it to. (Read >>>Diabetes Doesn't Take a Holiday Blog Post<<<)
But the difference was how I held it. Hiding my sensor didn’t make diabetes disappear, but it gave me a small sense of relief. A sense of autonomy and a reminder that I’m allowed to choose when and how I share my body, my condition and my story.
Living with type one diabetes already means giving up so much control. Sometimes reclaiming it looks like visibility and sometimes it looks like privacy. Neither choice is wrong.
This trip reminded me that diabetes advocacy doesn’t have to be constant to be valid. That taking a step back doesn’t undo years of showing up. And that protecting your mental health is not a betrayal of the community, it’s an act of self-preservation.
If you’ve ever chosen to hide your device, or show it, or change your mind depending on the day, you’re not inconsistent. You’re responding to what you need in that moment.
And that is more than enough.
