My study at home is one of my favourite places to work. It’s warm and cosy and filled with things that I love.
If someone who knew nothing about me walked into this room (which would be weird and creepy) they would put together a picture of me as someone who loves New York (thanks to the two meter photo hanging on one wall) and books (thanks to the bookshelves wrapped around two other walls).
They would see that I’ve travelled a bit (thanks to the cluster of photos on another wall of the three of us in places all around the world) and they would see a lot of Apple products.
They would know that I like coffee (frequently here are empty take away coffee caps left on the table) and enjoy cooking (cooking magazines and cookbooks are often on the desk, opened to pages showing the next dish I was planning to make).
They could sit at my desk and look at my pin-board and see reminders of favourite galleries and shops I’ve been in overseas and photos of my beautiful sister and drawings by my daughter and my husband.
And they would discover that we’re pretty lousy at putting the clean washing away because there is often a overflowing basket in the corner, its contents waiting to be folded and put away.
They would be able to get a pretty good picture of me – the person that spends a lot of time in here, frantically typing away on here on my (Apple) laptop.
And if they looked carefully, they may notice something else.
They may notice that I have a lot of books on those shelves about diabetes.
And they would see a half empty bottle of something called Glucolift on my desk, which, if they looked more closely would discover to be glucose tablets. They may even notice the chalky residue around the bottle from last time I was low in here and struggled to open the jar, eventually sending its contents over the desk.
If they looked on the floor and on the desk and on the chairs and inside the empty coffee cups and pretty much everywhere else, they would see little white strips with little drops of dry blood on them.
They would see a jar or two of jelly beans.
They might see a small empty glass bottle with a burgundy lid and burgundy writing that says ‘Humalog’.
And then, if they noticed all those things and joined the dots, they would realise that as well as being a person who loves books and travels a lot and drinks a lot of coffee and everything else, that I have diabetes.
Or they wouldn’t. They would have no idea. They would miss all those things or not join the dots. And that would be okay. Sometimes, that is really very okay.
I’ve spent a considerable amount of time today catching up with #DOCBurnout2015 posts and reading about the tactics people use to avoid or recover from social media burnout. Even more interesting than what I have been reading is watching how people reach out to support and encourage others sharing their story. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. As someone who has only been afforded love and support from the DOC, it isn’t a surprise that it has been shown with this initiative.