I used to work with a woman, we will call her Joanne. Joanne would get visibly grossed out every time I stabbed myself with a needle at lunch break. She’d flinch. Gasp. Make little gagging sounds like I was extracting an organ instead of just keeping myself alive.

“Could you maybe do that somewhere else?” she’d ask, with that pinched look on her face.

No, Joanne. I can’t. And I won’t. My pancreas is broken, not my sense of self-worth. Sorry my needle offends your delicate constitution — but you’ll survive. I’m just trying to.

And Joanne is  not alone. She’s just the mascot for all the clueless comments 

diabetics hear every single day. 

They’re usually delivered casually. Cheerfully, even. Often by someone who thinks they’re being helpful.

They are not.

You know the one.

“My uncle had diabetes and they had to cut off his feet.”

Ah.

Thank you, Joanne.

Nothing steadies the nervous system like a surprise amputation anecdote while I’m just trying to exist in public. I especially love how this story is never prompted. I didn’t ask. We weren’t talking about complications. We might not have even been talking about diabetes at all.

But there it is.

My possible future. Served cold. With a side of judgment.

And here’s the thing: we already know.

Diabetics do not need reminders of what can go wrong. We live with that awareness every single day. It’s baked into every decision, every number, every alarm, every appointment. You’re not educating us. You’re just narrating our worst-case scenarios out loud.

Usually inaccurately.

Because somehow the story always includes:

• a vague relative
• no distinction between type 1 or type 2
• and a strong implication that they “didn’t take care of themselves”

Cool cool cool.

Nothing like implying moral failure while you’re at it.

Another classic:

“You really have to be careful or you’ll end up like my cousin.”

Careful how exactly?

Should I simply… diabetes better?

Try harder to pancreas?

Most of us have been doing this since childhood. We didn’t forget. We didn’t suddenly become reckless because you reminded us of blindness or kidney failure over coffee.

Fear is not motivation.

It’s just noise.

Then there’s the food commentary.

“Should you be eating that?”

Yes.

I should.

I should also be calculating insulin, factoring timing, accounting for fat and protein, stress hormones, sleep quality, and whether mercury is in retrograde — but thank you for your concern.

Unless you are actively holding my pump, my CGM, and my medical history, your input is not required.

Closely related is the lifestyle blame:

“Diabetes runs in our family because we don’t eat well.”

Mine didn’t run anywhere.

It showed up uninvited when I was a kid and never left.

But sure. Let’s unpack your relationship with carbs instead.

And then there’s the one people think is a compliment:

“Wow, you don’t look diabetic.”

Oh good — my disguise is working.

What exactly were you expecting?

A warning label?

A visible pancreas?

A haunted expression and a vial of insulin dangling from my neck?

We’re also blessed with the Google doctors:

“Have you tried cinnamon?”

“My aunt reversed hers with keto.”

“I saw a TikTok about this.”

Incredible.

I’ll just let my endocrinologist know we’re pivoting to vibes and seasoning.

And my personal favourite — the fear-based pep talk:

“You don’t want to end up blind.”

No shit, Joanne.

I also don’t want to end up burned out, ashamed, terrified of my own body, or convinced that one bad day equals inevitable ruin. Yet somehow those are the side effects of comments like this.

Here’s the truth that doesn’t get said enough:

Diabetics already know the ending.

We just still want to live the middle.

We don’t need horror stories.

We don’t need warnings disguised as concern.

We don’t need to be reminded that our bodies have an expiration date.

What we need is space.

Respect.

And maybe — just maybe — the freedom to talk about diabetes without it immediately turning into a medical ghost story.

So next time you feel the urge to share a tale about your uncle’s feet?

Please don’t. Mind your own business because we already know and are doing our best anyway.