Diabetes Education and Support: Stories from the Field
The Unmet Needs of Women Living with Type 2 Diabetes in a Shelter
It’s not even November yet, but social media is already buzzing with posts gearing up for Diabetes Awareness Month. Every year, experts share insights, statistics, and solutions to improve care for people living with diabetes.
Despite our best intentions, limited access to resources and fragile healthcare infrastructure continue to cause disproportionate suffering and death in predominantly Black and Brown communities. Many in these communities living with diabetes face housing challenges and reside in shelters or other temporary housing arrangements. Too often, interventions that look promising in pilot studies fail to deliver real-world, sustainable change in such environments.
I often find myself wondering, how much of what we see posted on social media is performative?
Not everyone claiming to be an “expert” has walked in the shoes of someone living with diabetes in an under-resourced community. So, how much are we truly doing to elevate the voices of those living with Type 2 diabetes in challenging circumstances and to partner with them in creating solutions that actually work?
A recent experience provided an opportunity for me to challenge my understanding and commitment to improving the care for the vulnerable in our community living with type 2 diabetes. What was meant to be a quick stop for one of my regular diabetes talks turned into a humbling lesson that I won’t soon forget.
The Invitation
When a program manager from a local women’s shelter reached out to ask if I could offer a diabetes talk, I didn’t hesitate. I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenging engagement—and truthfully, I also saw an opportunity: a chance to demonstrate impact, share our work, maybe take a few great photos. After all, our company’s slogan is “Because we understand, we journey with you.”
Facing My Own Biases
The day arrived. We drove to a part of a town I’d never visited. As soon as I walked into the building, I noticed the cramped living spaces—bunk beds pressed against the walls, few personal belongings, quiet tension, and polite, tired smiles.
It reminded me of my boarding school days—except this wasn’t temporary discomfort. These women were doing their best to survive under unimaginable stress.
When we entered the community room, the women were already seated. Their faces said it all: distrust, skepticism, guarded curiosity. And frankly, they had every right. From their perspective, I was just another “expert” coming to talk at them, not with them.
Turning a Presentation into a Conversation
A wise mentor once told me, “The patient is the expert of their own life. Be humble. Ask questions. Listen. And never make promises you can’t keep.”
So instead of diving into my prepared slides and Conversation Maps, I paused and asked,
“What would you all like to talk about today?”
There was silence. Then, one woman—the residents’ advocate—spoke up:
“No disrespect, young lady, but the food here is so salty, and there are barely any vegetables. How are we supposed to keep our blood sugar under control and manage our blood pressure?”
That moment changed everything.
What was meant to be a 45-minute lecture became a raw, honest dialogue. The women didn’t need more definitions or statistics—they needed to be heard. They talked about food insecurity, the lack of control over meals, and how often they felt blamed for outcomes they couldn’t control.
Some had done everything their doctors asked, yet their A1C never budged. They spoke of turning to online groups or herbal remedies, simply because someone there finally listened.
That day, all I could do was listen—and that was exactly what they needed.
No Photos. Just Presence.
If you’re wondering about those community engagement photos I planned to take—my phone never left the table.
The moment felt sacred. Any hint of performance would have shattered the fragile trust forming in that room. If I ever wanted to return, it would have to be with humility, not a camera.
On the drive back, I couldn’t stop thinking about those women—their resilience, creativity, and strength. Despite their circumstances, they found ways to share food, fit in movement, and emotionally support one another. Their daily priorities were survival: safety, food, and housing. Managing blood sugar understandably came second.
I asked myself: when was the last time I shopped at a grocery store in Southeast D.C.? When was the last time I took a walk there? As one client once said,
“Walking in my neighborhood will get you killed. If the cars don’t, the people or the pavement will.”
Their stories reminded me how easy it is to take basic things for granted: access to fresh produce, safe places to exercise, and even the privilege of trust in the healthcare system.
The Bigger Picture
Research confirms what we see every day: people with Type 2 diabetes often face unmet needs from the moment of diagnosis—especially in communities with limited resources. Yet our healthcare system keeps pouring energy into the latest drugs and devices, while neglecting the social realities that make self-management so difficult.
As we enter Diabetes Awareness Month, in addition to marveling at the latest drug approvals and promising tech tools, a few suggestions of what we should also center:
Build trust by co-developing real solutions with community members—not just writing policy papers. There needs to be an awareness of the needs of the community. Any initiative should include opportunities for co-learning built on honesty and transparency.
Commit to ongoing education and psychosocial support—not just at diagnosis but through every stage of life. We need to recognize that most diabetes care happens outside the clinic walls.
Train more providers to screen for diabetes distress and connect patients to culturally relevant community resources. Training in cultural humility should be integrated into every aspect of care, not limited to just a few members of the care team
A Call for Authentic Work
After more than 20 years in diabetes care, I’ve learned that the most valuable thing I can bring to any encounter isn’t knowledge—it’s humility. I don’t know everything about the lives of those I serve. But I can listen, learn, and do better. As we prepare for another Diabetes Awareness Month, let’s resist performative advocacy. Let’s do the uncomfortable, authentic work that truly meets people where they are.
At Sorogi, I’ve been privileged to have a seat at tables helping to shape diabetes education and support both at the community and national level. We’re grateful for partners and organizations who aren’t afraid to roll up their sleeves and show up in resource-poor communities—listening, learning, and fighting for better outcomes for all.
