With Haven Ai

I had the opportunity to speak with Scott on The Juicebox Podcast. We had a great conversation about Type 1 Diabetes, cancer and caregiving in general.

Listen here: https://open.spotify.com/episode/0KWfSys1nmdtgXhwo7OBxI?si=Y1M-1fsGQ26SDvagsn6L7g

Or wherever you listen to podcasts.

#1736 With Haven Juicebox Podcast - Type 1 Diabetes · Episode

Caregivers don’t need a five-year plan today.
They need today.

Today you show up.
Today you breathe.
Today you do the next right thing — even if it’s small, messy, or fueled by cold coffee.

If all you did was keep going, that counts.

You don’t have to be strong forever.
Just strong enough for today. 💙

Some grief doesn’t come with a funeral.

It shows up when you walk back into the ER room where everything changed—
even if you’re just there for something small.
It shows up during a routine blood draw, when your body remembers chemo before your brain can catch up.
It shows up as panic, tears, or a tight chest that feels wildly out of proportion to the moment.

And then comes the guilt.
Why am I like this when they’re alive? When they’re doing better? When I should be “grateful”?

Here’s the truth no one says out loud enough:
You can grieve even when the person you love didn’t die.
You can grieve the life you had before the diagnosis.
The version of yourself that felt safe in hospitals.
The innocence of “before.”

This is called survivorship grief. Caregiver grief. Trauma memory.
Whatever name you give it—it’s real.

Your body doesn’t reset just because the crisis phase ends.
It learned how to survive. And sometimes it still thinks it needs to.

If this is you: you are not weak, dramatic, or broken.
You are human.
And grieving who you used to be is not a betrayal of who you are now.

It’s part of healing.

One year ago today, our lives split cleanly into before and after.

“You have a tumor.”
“You’re about to be really busy.”

A Caribbean trip canceled.
Plans erased.
Time suddenly loud and terrifying.

There were days filled with shock, fear, tears on kitchen floors, and nights where sleep just… didn’t happen. The kind of exhaustion that isn’t fixed by rest. The kind that lives in your bones.

But there was also something else.

Hope.
Resilience we didn’t know we had.
Love that showed up again and again — in texts, meals, rides, quiet check-ins, and people who didn’t need words to understand.

This year changed us. It stripped everything down to what matters. And it showed us just how many caregivers are out there, holding everything together while falling apart in private.

With Haven exists for the version of us we were then — and for the people living that reality right now.
For the caregivers who don’t know what to Google.
For the ones awake at 2am with questions and fear and no one they want to wake.
For the people who are “being strong” because they don’t feel like they have another option.

We see you.
We are you.
And you’re not invisible here.

Thank you to everyone who carried us this past year. Your love mattered more than you know. 💙

Quick life update from the “still standing” department:

We’re grateful. Truly. Eric is here, and we just had an incredible visit at the Brachial Plexus Clinic at The University of Michigan. The team was thoughtful, honest, and actually gave us hope — which feels like gold these days.

The not-so-fun part? Nerve recovery is a long game. Think up to two years. Possibly more. Possibly less. Possibly “bodies are weird and do whatever they want.” (Direct quote: we don’t know yet.)

I won’t lie — I cried. Hard. In public. Because two years is a lot when you’ve already lived through cancer, surgery, and the emotional equivalent of a marathon you never signed up for.

But here’s the thing: we have a plan. We have a PT we love. We have forward motion. And most importantly, we still have each other.

So yes — we’re tired, a little angry at the universe, wildly grateful, and cautiously hopeful… all at the same time. Turns out you can be all of those things at once.

Thanks for being here with us. We feel it. ❤️

Hey friends — it’s been a minute.

We’ve been in that “keep breathing, keep going” season, and I realized I haven’t shared an update in a while. First, thank you — truly — for the messages, the quiet support, the meals, the prayers, and the people who checked in without expecting anything back. That love has meant everything.

Eric is recovering from surgery, and healing has been its own journey — slow, frustrating at times, and full of tiny wins we celebrate like big ones. We don’t have new scans yet, but we’re focusing on what we do see: more movement, more comfort, and more good moments together.

There are days where we’re worn out, and days where we laugh our way through things we never thought we’d be dealing with. Somehow, both can exist at once — grief and gratitude, fear and hope. We’re learning to hold it all.

Haven was born because caregivers often don’t get asked how they’re holding up. People ask about pain levels, appointments, mobility, meds… but rarely, “Hey, how’s your heart?” So thank you for giving us room to be human in the middle of all this.

We’re still here. We’re still dreaming. We’re still so grateful you’re with us.

Stay tuned, Haven 2.0 Coming Soon

— Heather (& Eric)

Caregiving doesn’t always come with rest, but the world still finds ways to hand you a moment of peace.

This one’s yours.

You’re not invisible.
You notice everyone’s needs before they say a word. You refill prescriptions, calendars, and coffee cups like it’s muscle memory. And when people ask, “How do you do it all?” you just smile—because explaining it would take energy you don’t have.

So this is your reminder: you deserve to be seen too.
Not just for what you do, but for who you are underneath the to-do lists.

🩵 Haven — because caregivers deserve a soft place to land.

Caregiver Bingo!
☐ reheated coffee
☐ forgot why you walked into a room
☐ emotional support hoodie
☐ cried in the car and then did errands
☐ said “I’m fine” 47 times today

If you’ve got five in a row, you win… absolutely nothing, except the reminder that you’re doing amazing.

💙 Haven’s here for all the squares life throws at you.

Tag a caregiver who deserves a break.