From Hiding to High-Fives: How I Shared My Diabetes Diagnosis at Work

The day I walked back into my office after being diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes, the familiar scent of burnt breakroom coffee and the hum of the printer felt completely foreign. Just forty-eight hours earlier, I was a "normal" employee. Now, I felt like I was carrying a heavy, invisible backpack filled with lancets, test strips, and a whole lot of anxiety. I wasn't just worried about my blood sugar; I was terrified of how my professional world would perceive me. Would my boss think I was less capable? Would my coworkers look at my lunch plate with judgment?

The office breakroom, once a place for mindless venting and birthday cake, suddenly felt like a high-stakes stage. I wasn't ready to perform, and I certainly wasn't ready for the spotlight. My internal monologue was a chaotic ping-pong match: “Will they think I’m too sick to handle the new project?” versus “I have to prioritize my health if I want to keep this job.” It was a lonely place to be, and for the first few weeks, I chose the path of least resistance: total secrecy.

The Fear of the Finger-Prick: Why I Initially Hid My Supplies

For the first month, I became a corporate ninja. When my phone alarm vibrated—a silent signal that it was time to check my levels—I would grab my kit, tuck it under my arm like a secret document, and head for the bathroom.

I spent more time in that cramped, dimly lit bathroom stall than I care to admit. Trying to balance a glucose meter, a test strip, and a lancing device on a toilet paper dispenser is a feat of gymnastics no one should have to perform. It was cold, it was uncomfortable, and above all, it was unhygienic. I was literally trying to manage a medical condition in the least sanitary place in the building because I was too ashamed to be seen.

The irony was that my "secrecy" was making my diabetes harder to manage. The stress of hiding, the fear of someone walking in on me, and the rush to get back to my desk caused my cortisol levels to skyrocket. And as any of us in the "Blood Sugar Control" community know, stress is a fast track to a blood sugar spike. By trying to look "normal," I was actually making myself feel much worse.

The Turning Point: Why Honesty Became My Best Policy

The "ninja" act came to a crashing halt during a Tuesday morning strategy meeting. We were forty-five minutes in, and I could feel the familiar, terrifying slide of a "low." My hands started to shake, a cold sweat broke out on the back of my neck, and the words on the whiteboard began to blur.

I had a juice box in my bag, but it was tucked under the table. I was paralyzed by the thought of interrupting the CEO to suck on a straw. But then, a realization hit me: if I fainted, that would be a much bigger interruption than a juice box.

"I'm sorry, everyone," I said, my voice trembling slightly. "I have a quick medical need. I'm a diabetic and my blood sugar is dropping. I just need a moment to drink this."

The room didn't go silent with judgment. Instead, my manager immediately asked, "Do you need anything else? Should we take a five-minute break?" Another coworker leaned over and whispered, "My mom has Type 2; do you need some glucose tabs? I keep some in my desk just in case she visits."

In that moment, the "burden" I thought I was carrying vanished. I realized my coworkers weren't critics; they were humans. Many of them were fighting their own silent battles—anxiety, chronic back pain, or caring for aging parents. By being honest, I wasn't asking for pity; I was advocating for my health.

Step 1: Choosing My Inner Circle and Managing Expectations

Once the cat was out of the bag, I decided to be strategic. You don’t have to announce your diagnosis over the office intercom. I started with my "First Responders"—my direct manager and my closest work friend.

I sat my manager down for a ten-minute chat. I kept it positive and focused on management, not illness. I said, "I’m working on managing my blood sugar right now. Most of the time, you won't notice a difference, but I might need to check my levels at my desk or grab a snack at an odd time. Here is a simple plan of what to do if I ever seem confused or faint."

I gave them a small card that listed my emergency contact and the location of my "low" supplies. By framing it as a proactive management plan, I took the fear out of the equation for them. It wasn't a "big deal" because I didn't treat it like one.

The Big Moment: My First Time Testing in the Breakroom

The ultimate test of my new openness was the breakroom. One afternoon, instead of heading for the bathroom stall, I walked straight to the communal table next to the coffee maker. I laid out my kit, wiped my finger, and clicked the lancet.

A colleague walked in to refill his mug. "Oh, what's that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

I could have been embarrassed. Instead, I used humor. "It’s my high-tech fuel gauge!" I laughed. "I’m just checking to see if I’m running on premium or regular today. It turns out I’m a Type 2 diabetic, so I have to keep a close eye on the numbers."

His face lit up. "No way! My brother just got a CGM. Is that the one that pokes your finger?" We spent the next five minutes talking about technology and health. By being open and a little bit lighthearted, I diffused any potential awkwardness. I wasn't "the sick person"; I was the person with the cool gadget who took care of themselves.

Answering the 'Can You Eat That?' Questions with Grace

Of course, being open invites the "Food Police." We all know them—the well-meaning coworkers who watch your plate like a hawk. "Should you be eating that bagel?" or "I thought diabetics couldn't have fruit!"

Instead of getting defensive, I prepared "educational soundbites." When someone questioned my lunch, I’d smile and say, "Actually, I’ve learned that it’s all about the balance of proteins and fibers. This meal fits perfectly into the plan my doctor and I worked out."

If someone offered me a cupcake and then pulled it back with an "Oh, wait, you can't have this," I’d simply say, "I can have anything in moderation, but I’m choosing to pass today because I want to keep my energy steady for our afternoon deadline."

Turning an invasive question into a moment of connection—or a simple statement of fact—removes the power from the "Food Police" and puts it back in your hands.

The Ripple Effect: How Being Open Improved My Work Life

The most amazing thing happened once I stopped hiding: I found my tribe. Within a week of being open, two other people in the marketing department pulled me aside to tell me they were also "secret" diabetics. We started a small Slack channel where we’d share tips on which local lunch spots had the best low-carb options.

Our collective openness even led to a change in the office environment. We approached the office manager together and asked if we could swap some of the sugary vending machine snacks for almonds, beef jerky, and sparkling water. Because there were several of us, it wasn't a "special request"—it was a "wellness initiative."

My professional confidence actually increased. Hiding a part of yourself takes an immense amount of mental energy. When I redirected that energy back into my work, I became more productive and more present.

Your Workplace Game Plan: Tips for the Newly Diagnosed

If you’re currently hiding your kit in a bathroom stall, here is how you can start your own transition from hiding to high-fives:

1. Start Small: You don’t need to tell everyone. Choose one "work buddy" you trust. Practice explaining your routine to them first.
2. Know Your Rights: In many places, including the U.S. under the ADA (Americans with Disabilities Act), you are entitled to "reasonable accommodations." This might mean short breaks to test or a safe place to store insulin. You don't have to be afraid to ask for what you need to stay healthy.
3. Pack a 'Success Kit': Make your management seamless. I use a small, stylish pouch that holds my meter, strips, a small container for used lancets, and a few glucose tabs. Having everything in one place makes it easy to test at your desk or in the breakroom without making a mess.
4. Use 'I' Statements: When talking to your boss, focus on your performance. "I want to ensure I'm performing at my best, so I'll be taking a quick two-minute break at 10:00 AM to check my levels."

Conclusion: Own Your Journey and the Breakroom Too!

Diagnosis is a major life event, but it doesn't have to be a professional handicap. In fact, the discipline and self-awareness required to manage blood sugar often make us better, more focused employees.

The liberation that comes with being your authentic, healthy self at work is worth the initial discomfort of "coming out." You are more than your A1c, and you deserve to work in an environment where you can take care of your body without shame.

So, tomorrow, maybe skip the bathroom stall. Take your kit to the breakroom, grab a cup of tea, and own your journey. You might be surprised at how many high-fives (and helpful tips) you get in return.

Do you have a story about sharing your diagnosis at work? Have you ever had a run-in with the office 'Food Police'? Share your experiences in the comments below—let’s support each other!