I’ve attended many diabetes discussions over the years, but something about this open dialogue felt different. Maybe it was the honesty in the stories. Maybe it was the quiet nods when someone shared something that hit home. Or maybe it was just the relief of knowing I wasn’t alone.
This wasn’t a session about glucose numbers or medication charts. It was about what happens around those things—the confusion, the isolation, the burnout and the need for connection. We were all there for the same reason: to talk about peer support and what it really means when you’re living with diabetes.
One of the biggest takeaways for me was just how powerful it is to be seen and understood by someone who gets it. It’s not just about trading tips on carb counting or insulin timing—it’s about feeling less alone.
I heard stories that could have been my own. People talked about those invisible emotional battles—like the anxiety that creeps in after a high reading, or the guilt that comes with diabetes burnout. But instead of being met with judgment or unsolicited advice, they were met with “I get it”.
That “I get it” is everything. It turns isolation into community. It makes space for vulnerability. It’s the heart of peer support.
That “I get it” is everything. It turns isolation into community. It makes space for vulnerability. It’s the heart of peer support
One topic that came up a lot was how different people access support. Some love in-person groups—being in a room where you can read body language and offer a comforting hug if needed. Others rely heavily on online spaces, where someone is always awake and willing to chat in the middle of the night when blood glucose won’t cooperate.
What we realised is that there’s no one right way. We need both. Online platforms make support accessible across borders, time zones and languages. But in-person spaces allow for deeper connection. We don’t have to choose. We just need to make sure both options are there.
Burnout came up a lot. And I get it. Diabetes never takes a day off. The constant calculations, the mental load, the pressure to “stay on top of it” wear you down.
Some people shared how they’ve gone through periods where they couldn’t face another finger prick or just wanted to ignore it all for a while. Others talked about strategies they’ve developed to cope: taking breaks from tech, setting boundaries, even just walking outside to breathe.
What really hit me was how normal it all is. Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human.
What really hit me was how normal it all is. Feeling overwhelmed doesn’t mean you’re failing. It means you’re human
Another big topic was how differently people are treated depending on the type of diabetes they live with. People with type 1 often receive a thorough education from the start on diet, insulin, complications, mental health, basically the whole picture. But people with type 2? They are often just handed a prescription and sent on their way.
Some people shared how they didn’t even realise diabetes was a lifelong condition until years after their diagnosis. Others were made to feel like they were to blame for their condition.
This double standard needs to change. Everyone deserves clear, compassionate and complete information from the start.
Something I hadn’t really expected to come up, but I’m so glad it did, was how tricky it can be to manage diabetes around family. Some people talked about having parents or partners who just don’t get it, or worse, think they do but give unhelpful advice. Others shared how hard it can be to explain why you’re eating a certain way or checking your glucose again.
It reminded me that diabetes isn’t something we manage in a vacuum. It lives in our homes, our relationships, our everyday lives. Educating family and friends isn’t just helpful—it’s essential.
Diabetes isn’t something we manage in a vacuum. It lives in our homes, our relationships, our everyday lives. Educating family and friends isn’t just helpful—it’s essential
We also talked a lot about what’s still missing. In some countries, peer support simply doesn’t exist. People feel isolated not just emotionally, but geographically. There are no groups, no helplines, no one to talk to who understands. That needs to change.
We need more structured, accessible support systems, whether that’s helplines, buddy programmes or drop-in groups. And we need to invest in these solutions just as much as we invest in medicine or tech.
By the end of the round table, one thing was clear: peer support isn’t a “nice to have”—it’s essential. It helps us feel stronger, safer, and more capable in our daily lives with diabetes. It helps us manage our mental health and reminds us we’re not alone.
Here’s what we agreed needs to happen next:
Leaving that session, I felt lighter. Not because anything was fixed, but because something important had been shared. Peer support is more than just a chat—it’s a lifeline. It’s how we remind each other that even in the hardest moments, we’re not alone.
If you’ve ever felt isolated in your diabetes journey, I hope you know this: there’s a whole community out here. And whether you’re reaching out or just listening in, your story matters. Let’s keep the conversation going.
Open Dialogues are a series of online Advocacy Academy sessions from the International Diabetes Federation (IDF). Designed as a space for exchange and learning, the series brings together IDF Members, Blue Circle Voices and Young Leaders in Diabetes. Participants have the opportunity to share experiences, explore pressing topics that affect the diabetes community and beyond, and strengthen their skills as advocates for change.
