Yoly Moncada

My journey with diabetes began in January 2007, when I was just 20 years old. For months, I had been experiencing symptoms that I couldn’t explain — unquenchable thirst, constant fatigue, intense hunger, and drastic weight loss. On top of that, I was dealing with recurring yeast infections that left me feeling even more frustrated and defeated. Deep down, I knew something was wrong.

When the new year came, I made a personal promise to finally figure out what was happening to my body. I visited a local clinic — scared but determined. After a brief evaluation, I was told I had Type 2 diabetes. No antibody tests, no deeper investigation — just a diagnosis that seemed to be based mostly on the fact that I was an overweight young adult. I didn’t know then that diabetes could be more complex than that, and that Type 1 doesn’t discriminate based on body size.

Still, something didn’t sit right with me. I lived in quiet denial for years. I didn’t believe I was Type 2, and I didn’t fully understand what to do next. During that time, I experienced multiple episodes of diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA). Each one was a wake-up call, but I still felt stuck — confused by a diagnosis that didn’t feel right and burdened by the emotional toll it was taking on me.

Through all of this, my A1c was always sky-high. For years, it hovered around 14 — dangerously high, but I didn’t have the right tools or the right support to make a change. My mental health suffered. I felt lost, ashamed, and alone in a body I couldn’t understand or control.

Everything began to shift in my late 30s — around age 37. I reached a turning point. I was tired of surviving and ready to start living. I found a new care team that truly listened. They ran the right tests and finally gave me the correct diagnosis: Type 1 diabetes. My pancreas wasn’t functioning the way it should — and it never had been.

That moment was both heartbreaking and freeing. It was painful to realize how long I had been misdiagnosed, but empowering to finally have answers. And once I had the truth, I was able to begin healing — physically, emotionally, and mentally.

This year I will be 39 years old, and for the first time in my life with diabetes, I feel like I’m on the right path. My A1c has dropped from 14 to 7.3 — a number I never thought I’d see. I’m learning every day, making progress, and building a healthier relationship with my body. I still have work to do, but I now know that I’m capable of taking care of myself, and that it’s never too late to start.

To anyone who’s struggling with misdiagnosis, denial, or burnout: you’re not alone. Your story matters, and there is hope — even after years of confusion and pain. I’m living proof that things can change. And so can you.