Dating with Diabetes: Why I Stopped Hiding My CGM and Found My Confidence

The Bathroom Break Dash: My Life in Hiding

If you’ve lived with Type 1 or insulin-dependent Type 2 diabetes for any length of time, you know the "Bathroom Break Dash." It’s that frantic, mid-appetizer scramble where you excuse yourself to the restroom—not because you actually have to go, but because your sensor is vibrating or you need to prick your finger without looking like a "medical emergency" to your date.

I spent the better part of my early twenties perfecting this stealth mission. I would wait for a lull in the conversation, grab my clutch, and navigate to the grimiest restaurant stall just to check my levels in peace. There I’d be, hovering over a toilet, trying to balance my glucose meter on a toilet paper dispenser while praying the "beep" wouldn't alert the person in the next stall.

Then there was the "purse shuffle." This was a high-stakes strategy I used whenever my Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) started its low-glucose warning. As soon as I felt that familiar vibration against my skin, I’d shove my hand into my bag, burying the receiver under a mountain of receipts, tissues, and lipstick to muffle the sound. I’d laugh a little too loudly at my date’s joke, hoping the "vrrr-vrrr" sound was perceived as a vibrating phone and not a life-saving medical device.

The anxiety was exhausting. I wasn’t just managing my blood sugar; I was managing a secret identity. I wanted to be the girl who was effortless, spontaneous, and low-maintenance. In my mind, showing my CGM meant I was "the sick girl," and that was the last thing I wanted to be on a Friday night.

The Invisible Burden of the 'Perfect' First Impression

As young people with diabetes, we often carry an invisible burden: the pressure to appear "normal." We live in a world of curated Instagram feeds and "effortless" aesthetics. When you’re trying to make a great first impression, a plastic puck stuck to your tricep or a tube snaking out of your waistband doesn't exactly scream "chic."

We tend to view our medical devices as aesthetic deal-breakers. We worry that a potential partner will see the sensor and immediately think of hospital beds, needles, and limitations. We fear the questions: Does it hurt? Can you eat that? Are you going to be okay?

The irony is that these devices are the very things that give us our freedom. They are the tools that allow us to sit at that dinner table, enjoy a glass of wine, and stay safe. Yet, we treat them like something to be ashamed of. We prioritize the comfort of a stranger over our own health and peace of mind. I spent years thinking that if I could just hide my diabetes long enough, I could prove I was "worthy" of love before the "flaw" was revealed. It was a toxic mindset that only served to make me more self-conscious and less present in my own life.

The Alarm That Changed Everything

The turning point came on a third date with a guy named Mark. We were at a small indie theater watching a remarkably quiet French film. I had been "playing it cool" all night, which really meant I was ignoring the slight shakiness in my hands because I didn't want to pull out my receiver.

Suddenly, the silence of the theater was pierced by the high-pitched, insistent siren of a "Critical Low" alarm. It wasn't just a vibration; it was the "Emergency Room" sound. My bag, which was sitting on the floor, acted like a megaphone.

I froze. Mark looked at me, then at my bag. I felt the heat rise in my neck. I had two choices: I could pretend it was someone else's phone and risk passing out in the middle of subtitles, or I could own it.

I pulled the receiver out, silenced the alarm, and whispered, "I'm so sorry, my blood sugar is crashing. I need to eat some glucose tabs right now."

I expected him to look annoyed or confused. Instead, he whispered back, "Do you need me to go get you a regular soda? I saw a snack bar in the lobby." He stayed calm. He didn't freak out. He didn't treat me like I was fragile. He just helped.

The relief was instantaneous. The secret was out, the sky hadn't fallen, and for the first time in three dates, I could actually breathe. That "diabetes talk" I had been dreading for weeks was forced by a piece of technology, and it was the best thing that could have happened.

Why Your CGM is the Ultimate 'B.S.' Detector

After that night, I stopped hiding. I realized that my CGM wasn't just a glucose monitor; it was a "B.S. Detector."

How a person reacts to your diabetes technology is a direct reflection of their empathy, maturity, and character. If you show someone your sensor and they make a face, or if they act like your health is an inconvenience to them, that is a massive red flag.

Being open about your diabetes early on filters out the people who aren't worth your time. You don't want to be six months into a relationship with someone who is "grossed out" by a sensor change. By wearing your tech proudly, you are setting a standard. You are saying, "This is part of my life. It makes me stronger, more disciplined, and more aware. If you can't handle a small piece of plastic on my arm, you definitely can't handle the complexities of a real relationship."

Look for these "Green Flags" when you reveal your tech:

• Curiosity over judgment: They ask how it works because they’re genuinely interested in your life.
• The "How can I help?" attitude: They want to know the signs of a low so they can be a partner in your safety.
• Normalizing the device: They treat it like a smartwatch or a pair of glasses—just another tool you use.

From Concealed to Chic: Owning the Tech

Once I decided to stop hiding, I had to figure out how to integrate my CGM into my personal style. Confidence doesn't just happen; sometimes you have to build it with a little bit of flair.

First, let’s talk about site selection. If you’re wearing a backless dress, maybe that’s the week you put your sensor on your thigh or your abdomen. If you’re wearing a sleeveless top, own the arm placement! There is something incredibly empowering about a "cyborg" look in a high-fashion outfit.

Actionable Tips for Owning Your Tech:

1. Accessorize: Use decorative patches. There are amazing companies that make patches in every color, glitter, and pattern imaginable. It turns a medical device into a conversation piece.
2. The "Cyborg" Script: When someone asks, "What is that on your arm?" have a go-to answer ready. I like to say, "Oh, that’s my external pancreas! It keeps me running like a pro." Using humor diffuses any awkwardness and shows you’re comfortable with yourself.
3. The "First Date" Mention: I started mentioning my CGM casually before the first date even happened. A simple, "Hey, just so you know, my arm might beep at dinner—it's just my glucose monitor," takes the power away from the "reveal" and puts it back in your hands.

The Safety Factor: Why Hiding is a Risky Game

Beyond the emotional freedom of being open, there is a massive safety component that we often overlook when we're trying to be "cool."

If you are on a date and your blood sugar drops significantly, you need the person across from you to know what is happening. Severe hypoglycemia can look like intoxication to the untrained eye. If your date thinks you’ve just had one too many cocktails when you’re actually experiencing a medical emergency, the results could be dangerous.

Transparency reduces dating anxiety. When my date knows about my CGM, I don't have to spend the whole night wondering if they're noticing my slight tremors or why I'm suddenly downing a glass of orange juice. I can focus on the conversation, the food, and the connection. Being honest about your health isn't "high maintenance"—it's high intelligence. It’s about creating a safe environment where you can actually enjoy yourself.

Conclusion: Your Device is a Part of Your Strength

I used to think my CGM was a barrier to romance. I thought it was a sign of weakness that I had to "overcome" to be attractive. I couldn't have been more wrong.

Stopping the "bathroom break dash" was the most romantic thing I ever did for myself. It allowed me to show up as my full, authentic self. Self-acceptance is, hands down, the most attractive quality you can bring to a date. When you wear your sensor with pride, you’re telling the world that you respect your body and you’re in control of your life.

To every young diabetic out there hiding their pump in their pocket or their sensor under a sleeve: you don't have to wait for an accidental alarm to be honest. Wear your tech. Tell your story. The right person won't just "tolerate" your diabetes; they will admire the strength it takes to manage it every single day.

Next time you head out on a date, leave the "purse shuffle" behind. Rock that sensor, keep your receiver on the table, and focus on the person sitting across from you. You’re not just a person with diabetes; you’re a person with the tech-powered resilience to handle anything—including a great first date.