When You Feel Like You Have Nothing to Offer, Look Again

The Gift I Didn’t Think I Had

I noticed something recently: a nagging thought moving through me. It wasn't loud or dramatic. It was more like a steady little flame that shows up when I stop trying to “figure my life out” and simply live it.

It’s surprised me, because for a long time I carried a silent belief that I didn’t have much to offer. That thought has been a constant throughout my life, and it’s hit me harder in my later years. That thought can be sneaky. It doesn’t always sound harsh. Sometimes it sounds practical: Who am I to help anyone? Other people know more. Other people are doing bigger things. I’m just… me.

But the more I’ve been soul-searching (the real kind—messy, honest, and frustrating), the more I’ve started to see something clearly: what I’ve been calling “ordinary” might actually be the very thing that can serve someone else.

A new passion found me (when I wasn’t looking)

This new passion isn’t something I chose like a project. It was something I found right under my nose, through noticing what I keep coming back to. Through paying attention to the moments I feel most alive, most grounded, and most useful.

Diabetes has been part of my life for over 55 years. That number hits me hard. Fifty-five years is a whole relationship: thousands of small decisions, endless adjustments, and a constant learning curve. It’s figuring out your own rhythms, fears, boundaries, and strengths. It’s learning to advocate for yourself. It’s learning how to begin again after a hard day. And it’s especially wearing—every second of my life… never a break from it.

Somewhere along the way, without meaning to, I became someone who knows a lot about living with diabetes—not just clinically, but emotionally. Practically. Spiritually, even.

The “nothing to offer” story

If you’ve ever lived with a chronic condition—or loved someone who has—you may know a particular kind of exhaustion: always managing, always adjusting, always doing the math. In that world, it’s easy to lose sight of your own value, especially if you’ve spent years just trying to keep your head above water.

Sometimes the “I have nothing to offer” story is really a cover for something softer: I don’t want to be a burden. I’m afraid I’ll say the wrong thing. I’m tired of being misunderstood. I’m not sure my experience counts.

But boy, does experience ever count. Not because it makes you an expert in someone else’s body—no one is. It counts because it makes you human in a way that can genuinely help. It gives you language for things other people haven’t found words for yet.

Soul searching, the gentle kind

Soul searching doesn’t always come with a map. For me, it has looked like small questions asked at quiet times: What do I keep returning to? Where do I feel pulled—not by pressure, but by care? What part of my story has softened me instead of closing me?

One answer keeps arriving: I can help.

Not in a flashy way. Not with perfection. Not with solutions tied up with a bow. More like this: presence. Lived perspective. The kind of steady reassurance that says, “You’re not alone in this.”

For people living with diabetes, and the people who love them

Here’s what I’m learning: support isn’t only for the person living with diabetes. The people who love them need support too.

They need somewhere to put the worry, the confusion, and the fear of getting it wrong. They need simple ways to be helpful without becoming controlling. They need reminders that love isn’t measured by perfect language. Love is measured by staying.

And for those of us living with diabetes, we need room to be more than numbers. We need to be seen as whole people doing a lot every day—whether anyone notices or not.

So this is my new passion: being a bridge. A translator between lived experience and the outside world. A soft light in a place that can feel clinical, lonely, and heavy.

A small invitation

If you’re living with diabetes: what’s one thing you wish people understood about your daily life? It doesn’t have to be diabetes. I’m only mentioning it because it’s my experience. Any chronic illness will do.

If you love someone who lives with diabetes or another chronic illness: what’s one thing you’re afraid to ask?

If you want, share it with me. I’m listening.

And if you’ve been carrying that feeling—I don’t have anything to offer—maybe this is your reminder: the very thing you’ve survived might be the place you can serve from. Gently. Honestly. One human to another.

(A quick note: this is lived experience, not medical advice. Always consult your healthcare team for personal guidance.)

PS - I am currently working on my YouTube channel "The Seasoned Diabetic". Stay tuned!