Carolyn Craddock Memorial Scholarship

Living with Type 1 diabetes has shaped me in ways that go far beyond blood sugar checks and insulin doses. It has tested my physical and emotional limits, especially during my early years in elementary and middle school. While managing the condition itself was hard enough, what made it even more difficult was the bullying I endured—targeted, cruel, and relentless. From a young age, I was made to feel different. Some classmates didn’t understand what diabetes was and instead of asking questions or showing empathy, they chose to mock me, exclude me, or even harm me. I remember vividly how kids would rip off my insulin pump during basketball games, fully aware that I needed it not only to play but to stay safe. Without my pump, I risked low blood sugars and serious health complications—but they didn’t care. Sometimes it felt like they enjoyed seeing me scramble to stabilize myself afterward. It didn’t stop there. My personal diabetes manager (PDM), which controls my insulin delivery, was stolen more than once. Kids would take it, hide it, or throw it across the room like it was a toy. Some even went as far as stealing my needles—tools I relied on daily to manage my health—and stabbing me with them as a twisted form of harassment. These experiences weren’t just traumatic; they made me feel helpless, ashamed, and afraid to be myself. But I refused to let that define me. What those kids didn’t know was that living with diabetes had already taught me resilience—and their cruelty only made that strength grow. I became fierce in standing up for myself, in advocating for my health, and in refusing to let ignorance or hatred stop me from living fully. I worked closely with school staff, nurses, and my family to create safer spaces for myself and others who were different. I made sure my voice was heard, even when it shook. At the same time, I held onto kindness. I didn’t want my heart to harden. I didn’t want to become like the people who had hurt me. So I chose to turn my pain into purpose. I now mentor younger kids newly diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes. I’ve volunteered at diabetes camps, where I help children not only manage their condition but also feel seen, valued, and powerful. I’ve learned that kindness isn’t weakness—it’s a conscious choice, a quiet strength. And I choose it every day. Carolyn embodied that same fierce and kind spirit. She showed us that you can face hardship with fire in your heart and still treat others with compassion. I carry her example with me in how I live, how I lead, and how I lift others up. My past, painful as it was, has made me who I am today: a fighter, an advocate, and above all, someone who believes in the power of kindness to change the world.