There is a version of me from childhood that I return to every World Diabetes Day. Not because I want to rewind life to a time before Type 1 diabetes, but because she reminds me of something simpler. She reminds me of colour, curiosity and freedom. She reminds me that my story did not begin with a diagnosis. It began with a girl in Lusaka who loved being outdoors, loved laughter and loved feeling steady in her own small world.

When I was diagnosed at seven, life did not split neatly into before and after. It stretched and shifted. It introduced responsibility far earlier than most children ever need to face. Even so, the thread connecting me to that little girl never disappeared. I have spent thirty four years learning how to hold onto that thread while building a life that accommodates injections, glucose checks and unpredictable days.

Growing up with Type 1 diabetes in Zambia was its own curriculum. Not the medical version found in textbooks, but a lived one shaped by the texture of daily life. It meant working around power cuts because insulin needs cold storage. It meant long queues at clinics where you hoped supplies were available. It meant aunties offering second helpings with good intentions. It meant school days spent trying to blend in even though your routine depended on checking sugar at the right time, carrying snacks and hoping people would not ask too many questions.

There were days when I felt frustrated. Days when I wanted to hand everything back and live like other children who never thought about their blood sugar. But even as a child, I began to understand that life was not punishing me. It was shaping me. Diabetes taught me attentiveness, discipline and a form of self-trust that I would later need in adulthood.

Managing diabetes here has never been straightforward. Anyone living with a chronic condition in Zambia understands what it means to plan your day around factors you do not control. Load shedding can interfere with storing insulin safely. Traffic can turn a simple errand into something risky if your blood sugar drops. Pharmacies may run out of what you need. Workplaces may not fully grasp the disruptions you navigate behind the scenes. You learn to prepare extra snacks, carry water and stay a few steps ahead because the system around you is not always predictable.

Over time, resilience arrives quietly. Not through heroic gestures, but through the small, steady choices that accumulate. Carrying water. Learning how different foods affect your body long before health education became common. Saying no to a second drink at a gathering even when it feels socially awkward. Running in the heat because movement is medicine. These habits do not look dramatic. They look ordinary. Yet they are the backbone of survival.

The mental side has been the real teacher. People often imagine diabetes as a purely physical condition, but it is also a constant cognitive one. You must think clearly when your body feels shaky. You must respond when your energy drops suddenly. You must make decisions when you want to rest. You must carry invisible weight while still showing up at work, in relationships and in your community. This ongoing internal negotiation becomes part of your identity.

Zambians understand invisible burdens well. Chronic illness, financial strain, family expectations and career pressure shape many lives. We learn to smile through things. We learn to function even when our internal world feels heavy. Diabetes simply became one more layer in that landscape. But it also helped me understand compassion. You never know what someone carries in their quiet moments.

Still, there was something grounding about living with this condition here. Zambia taught me ingenuity and community. It taught me how to adjust, how to ask for help and how to stay hopeful even when things were not perfect. Aunties made space for healthier options. Teachers let me snack in class. Friends reminded me to check my sugars before we went out. Nurses recognised me and offered kindness in simple ways. Support did not always come as a grand gesture. Often, it came through small acts of care.

As an adult, I see diabetes differently. It is not an obstacle. It is the structure around which I have built a meaningful life. It made me more intentional. It made me more aware of my emotions, my habits and my limits. It nudged me towards routines that many people only adopt later in life. It taught me that health is a daily practice, not a moment of motivation.

On World Diabetes Day, I am not celebrating perfect control. I am celebrating being alive. I am celebrating the girl who adapted even when she did not choose the lesson. I am celebrating every person in Zambia who wakes up each day and manages a chronic condition with whatever tools they have. There is strength in that. There is courage in that. There is dignity in that.

This is not a dramatic story. It is a real one. A story of commuting through Lusaka with snacks in your bag. A story of checking your sugar before a meeting because clarity matters. A story of building a life that fits the body you have, not the body you wish you had. A story of staying curious about yourself because curiosity softens discipline.

If thirty four years of diabetes have taught me anything, it is that health is shared. We thrive when workplaces understand chronic illness. We thrive when communities normalise speaking about wellbeing. We thrive when people feel safe enough to share their stories without shame.

I am still here. I am still learning. I am still growing into the woman that little girl would recognise. If you are living with something long-term, I hope you know that resilience does not have to be loud. Often it sounds like a whisper. Often it looks like a small choice. Often it feels like a quiet promise to yourself.

World Diabetes Day is global, but our stories remain local. This is mine. And perhaps in the stillness of your own life, you will recognise parts of yours too.

Kaajal Vaghela is a wellness entrepreneur, sportswear designer, and diabetes wellness consultant with over three decades of lived experience managing Type 1 diabetes. Having previously served as Chairperson of the Lusaka branch of the Diabetes Association of Zambia, she remains a passionate advocate for breaking down myths and building awareness about diabetes. For more personalised coaching or corporate wellness workshops, visit: www.kaajalvaghela.com and for any feedback: [email protected])