Back in May 2018, I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes, age 36. Up until then I’d been healthy. I got married a few months before and my husband and I were trying for our first baby, but once diagnosed we had to stop until it was safe.
Getting pregnant wasn’t straightforward as a diabetic. My blood sugars had to be in a tight range, then a high dose of folic acid was to be taken daily for three months before we could even think about trying for a baby again. When it was deemed safe, I fell pregnant and I was monitored closely with hospital visits every two weeks throughout my pregnancy, until my waters broke... at 34 weeks pregnant! I gave birth to a healthy boy and we were in hospital several days whilst he was monitored in NICU.
Before I became a mum, diabetes felt like my main responsibility. I counted carbs, checked my blood sugar, planned meals, packed snacks, and tried my best to stay “in range.”
Then I had my son and suddenly diabetes became something I managed in between feeds, nappy changes, settling a baby and reheating my coffee for the third time.
Living with diabetes as a mum is a constant balancing act. Not just of blood sugars, but of energy, emotions, and expectations.
My mornings start with a blood sugar check before my feet even hit the floor. They also start with a small voice calling “Mum!” before I’ve had a chance to think about myself at all. Diabetes doesn’t wait, though, it never has. It comes along for the school runs, the birthday parties, the sleepless nights, and the moments when I put everyone else first, even when I probably shouldn’t.
There are days when I feel like I’m doing brilliantly. School snacks packed, child dressed and smiling, levels steady. And then there are days when my blood sugar crashes right as he needs help with homework or my patience runs thin because my blood sugars are high and I’m exhausted and feel guilty for snapping. Those days hurt. Not because I’m failing as a mum, but because I feel like I am.
One of the hardest lessons diabetes has taught me is that perfection isn’t the goal. Survival, honesty, and self-compassion are.
My son knows about my diabetes. He knows mummy sometimes needs juice, or a rest, or a minute to check her levels. He sees my strength, but also my vulnerability, and I think that matters. I’m teaching him empathy without meaning to. I’m showing him that looking after your health isn’t selfish; it’s necessary, even though I often struggle to juggle this, my instinct always wanting to put him first.
There’s also pride here. Pride that I manage a lifelong condition while raising a little human. Pride that I show up even when my body is tired. Pride that I advocate for myself at appointments, at school gates, and at home.
Diabetes has made me more organised, more resilient, and strangely, more patient. It has also reminded me that I am human.
To any other mum living with diabetes: you are doing enough. On the days when your numbers aren’t perfect, when dinner is simple, when you feel overwhelmed, you are still an incredible mum. Diabetes does not define you, but the strength it’s given you is something to be proud of.
We’re not just managing blood sugar. We’re managing life. And that’s no small thing. 💙