I was flying from Chicago to Seattle, exhausted and needing to eat soon — I have Type 1 diabetes. As I unwrapped a protein bar, the woman next to me hissed, “Can you not? Our son is sensitive.”
The kid — around 9 — wasn’t disabled, just loud and bratty and sat with arms crossed. I sighed and put the snack away, planning to wait for the cart.
When the attendant came, I asked for a Coke and snack box — but the dad jumped in: “NO FOOD OR DRINKS FOR THIS ROW.”
I hit the call button.
He snapped, “Our son can’t handle others eating. Be decent and skip the snack, yeah?”
Then the mom leaned over me: “SHE’LL HAVE NOTHING, THANKS.”
I was already LIVID. So I turned to the flight attendant and said — loudly enough for half the plane:
“I’m diabetic. I don’t need parenting from strangers — I need sugar and protein, or I pass out.“
The flight attendant blinked. Then she nodded.
“Of course, ma’am. I’ll bring your snack right away.”
The mom sputtered something about “our son’s needs,” and the dad leaned in again, clearly trying to intimidate me. “Do you want him to have a meltdown?”
I just stared at him and said, “Do you want me to go into diabetic shock?”
That’s when the man behind me leaned forward and said calmly, “She’s right. You don’t get to control what other people eat. Especially when it’s for medical reasons.”
Another woman across the aisle chimed in. “Honestly, if your kid can’t handle seeing people eat, you might want to consider driving instead of flying.”
The mom looked like she’d just swallowed a lemon. The dad kept muttering under his breath, but he finally leaned back and crossed his arms, fuming.
The flight attendant came back with a Coke, two snack boxes, and even slipped me a pack of cookies “just in case.”
I ate slowly, making a point not to rush. Honestly, I felt a little shaky by then — I needed that food. I was holding it together on fumes.
Here’s where it got… a little twisty.
Midway through the flight, I saw the kid — the one they were so overprotective about — quietly digging into his mom’s purse. I watched as he unwrapped his own protein bar and started eating it like it was no big deal.
So much for “can’t handle others eating.”
I caught the dad’s eye as his kid chomped away happily, and I raised my eyebrows. He looked away.
Now here’s the part I didn’t expect.
When we were landing, the mom suddenly turned to me, a little flustered, and said, “Look… I overreacted. We’re still figuring things out with our son. He has some food anxiety stuff, but… we’re not handling it right. Sorry.”
I nodded. I wasn’t ready to give hugs and hold hands or anything, but… I appreciated the honesty. It takes guts to admit when you’re wrong — especially in front of your kid.
“I get it,” I told her. “Parenting is hard. But people like me can’t skip meals. It’s not a choice.”
She gave a tight nod and turned away, clearly embarrassed. The dad said nothing. But at least he didn’t say anything else.
After we landed and started filing off the plane, the older woman who’d spoken up earlier stopped me by the exit.
“You handled that with class,” she said. “You didn’t back down, but you weren’t cruel either. More people should see that kind of courage.”
I smiled. I hadn’t felt particularly brave — more like shaky and fed up — but her words meant more than she probably knew.
Here’s what I walked away with: Sometimes you have to advocate for yourself, even when people call you “difficult” or “dramatic.” Especially then. Because no one else knows your body, your limits, or what’s at stake if you stay silent.
And while not everyone will be kind or reasonable, some will stand beside you — and sometimes, even the people who got it wrong will come around.