I never expected to be in a situation where I had to defend eating a protein bar on a plane—but sometimes, speaking up is the only way to protect your health.
My name is Elizabeth, and I’m a marketing consultant who travels frequently for work. With clients across the country, I spend a lot of time in airports and on airplanes. I enjoy the fast-paced lifestyle, but managing my type 1 diabetes means I always have to be prepared. I carry insulin, glucose tablets, and snacks with me at all times—because when my blood sugar drops, I need to act quickly.
Most people are understanding. Friends, colleagues, and even airline crews are generally supportive when they learn about my condition. But every now and then, I run into someone who doesn’t quite understand—or worse, refuses to.
That happened on a recent flight from Chicago to Seattle.
After an early morning and a hectic rush through security, I boarded the plane feeling lightheaded—an early sign that my blood sugar was dropping. I found my aisle seat and quickly reached for a protein bar.Next to me sat a woman in her 30s, and across the aisle were her husband and their young son. The boy seemed absorbed in his tablet and was enjoying some candy, but before I could even unwrap my snack, the woman beside me leaned over and said, “Can you not? Our son is very sensitive.”
At first, I thought I misunderstood. But she clarified: “The crinkling and smell—it triggers him. We’d appreciate it if you didn’t eat.”
I calmly explained that I needed the protein bar for medical reasons. But she insisted I wait, saying it was a short flight and their son’s comfort should come first.
Not wanting to escalate the situation, I waited for the snack cart. Unfortunately, by the time it reached our row, my blood sugar was dropping quickly. I asked the flight attendant for a soda and snack box—but the woman’s husband interrupted from across the aisle. “No food or drinks for this row, please,” he said.
The flight attendant paused, unsure. The woman added, “Our son has sensory sensitivities. Please don’t serve her.”
At that point, I knew I had to speak up. Loud enough for others nearby to hear, I said:
“I have type 1 diabetes. I need to eat to stay safe. I’m not asking for anything extra—I just need to take care of my health.”
The atmosphere changed instantly. The flight attendant immediately brought me a snack and a soda, and I was able to stabilize my blood sugar.
Though the woman sitting next to me still seemed frustrated, I remained polite but firm. I told her, “This isn’t about being inconsiderate—it’s about managing a medical condition. Everyone’s needs matter, including mine.”
The rest of the flight was quiet. Her son continued watching his tablet and didn’t seem to notice my snack at all.
That experience reminded me of something important: advocating for yourself isn’t unkind—it’s necessary. People may not always understand invisible conditions, but that doesn’t make them any less real. And no one should be made to feel guilty for taking care of their health.
Invisible illnesses deserve visible understanding—and no one should have to apologize for putting their well-being first.
