Talkabetes: A Life-Long Diagnosis I’ve Learned to Love

Do you remember getting your report card as a kid in grade school? I was a pretty good student, so I was never too worried about my actual grades—but the “behavior” section got me every time. It was almost expected that I would have check marks (meaning improvement was needed) in all areas related to talking: Talks out of turn, Talks to neighbor, Needs to learn self-control… You can see where this is going.

I can still vividly remember that day in 7th grade when I felt compelled to share my love of Schoolhouse Rock during a grammar lesson, breaking into song with, “Conjunction junction, what’s your function??” I thought it was pretty funny, the class thought it was hilarious, the teacher—not so much. This breach of self-control earned me a trip to the principal’s office and, if I remember correctly, a detention to learn the error of my ways...aka my mouth.

I’m definitely known for my gift of gab. Born in New Jersey, I am inherently a fast-talking Easterner, regardless of the fact that I’ve lived in the Midwest for most of my life. Add in  the experience of raising small children (where you learn to cram 15 conversations into the 4-minute window before someone yells “MOMMMM!”), and you become a pro at rapid-fire chatting. Sprinkle in my unofficial self-diagnosis of adult ADHD, and I can cover 20 topics in five minutes and remember none of them.

But still—talking, I must do!

About seven years ago, I was blessed to meet an incredible woman through my role as a campaign manager with a national nonprofit. I was responsible for recruiting and supporting community leaders to raise money during a 10-week fundraising competition. This particular candidate stepped up in a big way—raising an extraordinary amount for the cause and winning the campaign title. Over the course of those few months, we built a fast and furious friendship. She later went on to chair the event and mentor future candidates for years to come, and our friendship only grew stronger and deeper along the way.

My energy level and passion for chat had met its match. Her energy? Her love of conversation? It mirrored mine in the best way. She was the perfect partner in crime—matching my pace, passion, and gift for the gab. Her husband would watch us in action and listen in awe (or stupor) at the veracity of our banter. One day, he declared in his quite matter of fact delivery, “You two have the Talkabetes!”

And there it was. This condition for which I was reprimanded as a child now had an official diagnosis: Talkabetes (pronounced like diabetes).

I’ve been in sales and development for most of my career, so the ability to converse with anyone on just about any topic has served me well. So at ease with verbalizing thoughts and experiences, I’ve come to believe my Talkabetes has led me to find my true calling. For many, talking about their experiences is a difficult process. Things get pushed down inside, safely hidden from a world where judgment and ridicule lurk on the surface.

For my parents and theirs, speaking your truth was considered inappropriate and unheard of. Children were meant to be seen and not heard. Secrets were meant to be kept. While I was raised by that mentality, my Talkabetes challenged my ability to keep thoughts and experiences tucked safely inside. Compelled to tell a story, I’ve shared thoughts as they arise—often delivered with humor to soften the blow, and sometimes with a digression that requires a GPS to find your way back to the original topic at hand.

Over the years, I’ve come to realize that this condition I used to get in trouble for has actually become a superpower. During my career in sales and development, being able to genuinely connect, to speak openly, or to make someone laugh or feel seen—has been invaluable. While others may struggle to share their stories, I feel called to voice mine. Not for the spotlight, but to shine a light. On truth. On healing. On the importance of speaking up.

I realize not everyone is wired this way. For many, sharing their truth is scary. But I’ve learned that when we keep things locked inside, they grow heavy. My Talkabetes makes it impossible to carry that weight for too long. I have to let it out—sometimes with humor, sometimes in a winding story that requires a GPS to navigate back to the original point. (And yes, I usually warn people to buckle up for the ride.)

Talking is how I connect. It’s how I process. And more than anything—it’s how I help others feel less alone. It’s helped me make my passion my profession. I’ve come to see that my Talkabetes isn’t just a quirky trait—it’s a calling.

So while those report card check marks may have once been seen as warnings, I now see them as early signs of what would become my greatest strength. My words—once considered too loud, too frequent, too much—have become the very thing that allow me to connect, to comfort, to inspire, and to lead.

Call it what you want: a quirk, a trait, a “condition.” But around here, we call it Talkabetes—and I’m not looking for a cure.

Like this story? There’s more where that came from.
You can dive deeper into stories, strategies, and straight talk in my new book, 6 Steps in the Bright Direction: Your Roadmap to Resilience, Revenue, and Results.
Grab your copy on Amazon by clicking here—and start moving forward—one bright step at a time.

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