from the my book: Type 2 Diabetes Is a Rogue… With a Gift

I didn’t meet the Rogue in a glamorous way.
There was no dramatic violin swell, no billowing curtains, no moonlit ballroom where he swept in with a cape and a smolder that said, “Darling, your life is about to change.”

No.
My Rogue showed up the way trouble usually does for women like me — quietly, inconveniently, and with the timing of a mischievous child shaking a snow globe and running away. I saw my lab results, and called my Dr. “I am a ticking timebomb!”

If you’ve read the introduction of the book, you already know the Rogue is not the villain. He is the seducer. The one who whispers inconvenient truths into your ear. And like all good Rogues in every good romance, he arrives long before you’re ready, but exactly when you need him.

Chapter 2 is the moment I realized he had been courting me for years. In the book, my story is condensed. But here, here is the emotional journey.

Before the Diagnosis: The Slow Burn of Ignoring Myself

Every woman I’ve coached knows this phase:
the season of almost noticing something is off, but being too busy, too responsible, too accommodating, too exhausted, or too numb to follow the thread.

Looking back, the signs weren’t subtle.
They were practically waving semaphore flags.

I woke up tired.
I craved sugar like it was a love language.
I ate on autopilot.
I rushed through meals like someone was timing me with a stopwatch.
I put myself last, not because I lacked value, but because I had unconsciously learned that my body was the thing I tended to after everyone else was handled.
I thought I did “enough” to be healthy, energetic. But, I was losing the war…enter frustration and giving up.

And honestly? I handled everyone else a lot.

My job.
My family.
My emotions.
Their emotions.
Their emergencies.
The endless, invisible labor we women inherit simply by existing.

The Rogue watched all this with a smirk, leaning in the shadows, knowing exactly how this story would play out.

He’s not the type to shout. He’s the type to whisper. And I ignored every whisper.

The Day My Rogue Stepped Into the Light

There is nothing glamorous about sitting in a doctor’s office, feeling your heart thud in your chest while you wait for news your intuition already knows.

When the words “Your A1C is high — you’re a diabetic” finally arrived, they didn’t crash like a wave. They landed like a key turning in a lock.

This was not an ambush. It was an unveiling.

The Rogue stepped forward in my imagination wearing a Victorian coat, looking absolutely pleased with himself.

“I told you I’d catch up to you,” he purred.

And I — stubborn, strong, capable me — felt something between grief and anger and exhaustion and… something else.

Relief.

Because now the thing I had been avoiding had a name.
And when something has a name, you can face it.

The Shame Spiral (Or: The Rogue Plays His First Trick)

Women blame themselves fast — faster than insulin can leave the pancreas.
We blame ourselves before we even understand what’s happening.

I blamed my eating. My stress. My body. My willpower. My “not trying hard enough.”

The Rogue knew shame was his most powerful illusion.
Shame (insert any other emotion/belief you carry around.) is what keeps women stuck.
Shame is what convinces us the diagnosis is a verdict instead of a message.

But the Rogue also knew this:
recognizing the beliefs is the doorway to awakening if you walk through it instead of curling up beside it.

That was the moment something inside me — the part that has always refused to settle — woke up.

“Fine,” I thought. “If the Rogue wants a dance, he’ll get one.”

My Turning Point: The Inner Conversation That Changed Everything

Here’s what I didn’t know that day:

Type 2 diabetes is not a character flaw. It is not a punishment. It is not the end of vibrancy.
It is not a scarlet letter.

It is information.

It is the body’s way of saying:
“My love, you cannot live this way anymore.”

When I finally slowed down long enough to hear that message, something clicked.

I began to ask myself questions I had never asked:

What if this diagnosis is not the enemy…but the invitation?

What if this Rogue is not here to steal my life…but to redirect it?

What if this is not the moment I fall apart…but the moment I rise?

Those questions changed my path.
Not instantly — I am not a Disney princess with birds singing around me — but steadily, stubbornly, with the kind of determination women only discover when everything inside them is tired of tolerating their own neglect.

The First Revelations: What the Rogue Actually Wanted Me to See

The Rogue does not care about perfection. He cares about truth.

And the truth was:
I was a woman who gave generously but received poorly.
I was strong for everyone but fragile for myself.
I numbed my body to cope with pressure I never should’ve carried.
I did everything fast because slowing down meant feeling things I had buried.
I was nourishing everyone but me.

Type 2 diabetes was not the problem. It was the mirror.

And when you see your reflection clearly, you cannot unsee it.

Choosing Myself (Awkward and Beautiful and Necessary)

Healing didn’t start with eliminating sugar. Healing began the day I whispered:

“I choose me.”

That was the first time in years I had said those words — and the nervous system I had overworked for decades didn’t even know how to receive them.

Choosing myself felt selfish at first. Rebellious. Uncomfortable.

But rebellion is sometimes holy. And choosing yourself is always sacred.

From there, everything shifted. Slowly, yes — but undeniably:
I ate slower.
I breathed deeper.
I listened to my body instead of bossing her around.
I stopped treating food like a moral exam.
I got curious instead of judgmental.
I learned to make happy kidneys.
I walked after meals.
I added fiber and protein.
I softened instead of pushed.
I learned to say “No, thank you” without a five-minute apology.

And my numbers began dropping — not because I was punishing myself into compliance, but because I was aligning myself into healing.

The Rogue Was Never the Villain — He Was the Catalyst

In romance novels, the Rogue always reveals his true intention at the midpoint of the story.

Mine did too.
“I didn’t come to break you,” he said. “I came to break what was breaking you.”

He was right.
The diagnosis didn’t fracture me.
It fractured the identity that had been quietly holding me hostage:

• the over-doer
• the fixer
• the emotional mule
• the woman who tolerated pain as if it were noble
• the woman who treated self-denial as virtue
• the woman who believed her worth was in her usefulness

That identity needed to fall apart for me to rise into the woman I am today.

And Here’s the Gift (Because Every Rogue Has One)

The Rogue didn’t bring me diabetes. He brought me back to myself.

He brought me:
My power.
My clarity.
My joy.
My voice.
My boundaries.
My self-respect.
My softness.
My intuition.
My sovereignty.
My ability to transform and teach others to do the same.

He gave me a mission. A calling. A life’s work I adore.

And that is why I always say:
Type 2 diabetes is not something you fight.
It is something you rise above.

Not by waging war, but by waking up.
Not by restriction, but by remembrance.
Not by punishment, but by permission.
Not by deprivation, but by abundance of choice.

Chapter 2 ends here, but your story is still being written.
And regardless of how you arrived at your diagnosis, there is a beautiful truth waiting for you on the other side:

The Rogue is not your downfall. He is your turning point.

Get your FREE copy of this inspiring and entertaining book.
Type 2 Diabetes is a Rogue…with a Gift.
Quick easy read that we hope you will print, scribble on and try the recipes included!

Reference: My Life!