I never thought something like this would happen to me. One day, I was tidying up at home and suddenly fell. It wasn’t a normal fall—my body just didn’t feel right. I had a small wound that refused to heal, and I started feeling constantly thirsty, exhausted, and out of breath. That’s when my husband urged me to get checked. The results came back: I was living with diabetes.
It shook me. As a Syrian refugee, life was already layered with challenges, and this diagnosis felt like a heavy blow. I was scared, confused, and worried for my family. I used to run a little shop to help support my husband, but after my diagnosis, I stepped back from it. Being surrounded by sweets all day wasn’t helping, and I couldn’t risk making things worse. I handed the shop over to my daughter, even though I missed being there.
Financially, it was a struggle. Seeing a specialist privately was out of reach—just a single test cost more than we could afford. Then, someone from the community told me about a nearby health centre. I didn’t know support like that even existed. They offered free consultations, tests, and most importantly, understanding. It wasn’t just about the medicine. They helped me see that small changes could make a big difference.
At home, I started changing how we eat. I began cooking healthier meals—not just for me, but for my children too. Things like fattoush, lots of greens, and cutting back on rice and potatoes. The kids actually liked the new food, and they’ve been so supportive. Even my mood has lifted. I used to feel so down, like a shadow of myself, but that’s changed. I’ve started moving more, cleaning, walking, doing what I can to keep active.
Now, I go to the centre regularly. I get my tests, my medication, and most importantly, I feel seen. I’m not just surviving—I’m learning to live with this. And for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m managing, not just my diabetes, but life again.