I learned how to survive before I ever learned what it felt like to be safe.
By the time most kids were worried about homework or what they wanted to be when they grew up, I was learning how to manage a chronic illness, navigate systems I didn’t understand, and exist in spaces that never fully felt like mine. I was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at just 3 years old. I didn’t choose this life, but I had to learn how to live it anyway.
Growing up in the foster care system added another layer to everything. Stability was never guaranteed. Consistency was something I had to adjust to rather than expect. But my health never paused just because my environment was uncertain. Diabetes does not wait. It does not give you a break because you are overwhelmed or because your life feels out of your control. It requires constant attention, discipline, and access to care at all times.
That is where Medicare became more than just a program to me. It became my lifeline.
It covered the insulin I needed to survive, the supplies I could not afford, and the doctor visits that kept me alive. It gave me a sense of security in a life where so many other things felt unstable. Without it, I do not know what my story would look like today. That is not an exaggeration. That is the reality for so many young people who are navigating chronic illness without consistent support.
Healthcare is not just about treatment. It is about access. It is about equity. It is about whether someone gets the chance to keep going.
Now, at 21 years old, I am still navigating what it means to build a life while managing something that never goes away. Diabetes is not something you overcome. It is something you learn to live with, every single day. There are still moments where it feels overwhelming. There are still days where I have to push through exhaustion, frustration, and fear. But I have learned how to turn my survival into purpose.
I advocate because I know what it feels like to need support and not always have it. I speak because there are people who still do not understand what it means to live like this. I share my story not because it is easy, but because it matters.
There is another little girl out there who is trying to make sense of her diagnosis. There is another young person navigating systems that were not built with them in mind. There is someone who needs to hear that they are not alone and that their life is still worth fighting for.
For so long, survival was my only goal. It was about making it through the day, managing what I could, and hoping for stability that never felt guaranteed. But now I understand that survival is not where the story ends.
We deserve more than just getting by. We deserve stability. We deserve support. We deserve access to the care we need without fear or uncertainty. Most importantly, we deserve the opportunity to truly live, not just survive.
And I am still learning what that looks like for me.
