I don’t do easy.

I think our society, as a whole, places an unusual amount of value on the concept of “new beginnings.” Every single year, without fail, there are countless Facebook statuses proclaiming, “New year, new me!” and far too many images on Pinterest stating, “Nothing tastes as good as skinny feels!” and the like. (For the record, everything tastes far better than skinny feels, especially warm gooey butter cake… but I’m getting ahead of myself.) Ahem.

As a PWD (Person With Diabetes, if you didn’t already know), every day is a new beginning. I constantly find myself asking How am I going to make today better? I think about what went wrong the day before. I definitely think about what went right. I most certainly consider what controllable factors could play into my daily self-management, and I try to embrace the possibility of those inevitable uncontrollable factors. Over time, I have learned to expect accept the unexpected. It hasn’t been easy. But things that are easy aren’t always fun, are they? Cleaning the bathroom is easy, but it sucks, and I strongly question the mental state of anyone who just loves to clean the bathroom. Easy things also tend to be forgettable; they end up being items that we file away in the back of our mind to recall when we haven’t anything else to think about. I’ve never been able to accept “easy.” Call it Type A personality traits, perfectionism, just plain being obstinate… I just can’t accept easy.

I have, however, accepted the fact that diabetes and I were always meant to be. Had my pancreas not decided to be an unreliable, lazy freeloader, I don’t know if I would have ever developed the drive to go any farther with my life and career goals. It was most certainly not easy. I didn’t think I’d ever be able to count carbs or dose insulin properly, let alone make it through the night without dying. (All typical PWD fears, right?!) I still have days where I “quit being diabetic,” and my mother looks up from testing her own BG and rolls her eyes. I never quit for long. My parents didn’t raise a quitter. I realized about a year post-diagnosis that D and I were in it for the long run.

That was when everything started to make sense.

I learned how to keep going. I really learned self-advocacy. I learned that the fact that I cannot accept “easy” was not, in fact, a character flaw, but instead was a crucial skill that I possess. I took that skill and channeled it into my goals, and I set out to accomplish them. I start on a new goal next month: to become a damn good nurse. Diapathetic, RN, if you will, and thankyouverymuch. I don’t expect it to be easy but, then again, I don’t really do easy, now do I?

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