Strong with Type One

The first six months after a Type One Diabetes diagnosis are unlike anything you can prepare for. It’s a blur of numbers, alarms, sleepless nights, and constant learning. It feels like you’ve been dropped into a foreign country with no map, no guidebook, and no way to leave—only the demand to master the language of blood sugars, insulin, and carbs immediately.

You try to stay calm, to hold it together, to be the steady one when your world has just tilted on its axis. You learn how to count carbs before you’ve had time to count your own breaths. You wake up multiple times a night to check blood sugars, adjusting, treating, second-guessing. You cry quietly in the dark so your child doesn’t hear you. You Google everything. You join support groups. You learn from people who are just a few steps ahead, who tell you that it won’t always feel this impossible—but in those early months, it’s hard to believe them.

You fail daily. You give too much insulin, or not enough. You forget a snack. You misjudge a meal. You feel guilt that no one can explain unless they’ve been here. Because this isn’t just a medical condition—it’s a constant mental load that never turns off. Every decision, every number, every meal comes with a calculation and a consequence.

And yet, somehow, joy still finds its way in. It sneaks in through the laughter during a midnight low. Through the celebration of a Dexcom line that finally holds steady. Through the pride of your child learning to check their own blood sugar, or bravely handling a site change. It’s the quiet strength that builds in the background, the kind you only see when you look back and realize—you’ve been doing it.

You start to understand that this isn’t about perfection; it’s about perseverance.

You begin to forgive yourself for the mistakes, because you learn that even in the moments you “fail,” you’re still showing up, still trying, still loving fiercely. You start to see the beauty in resilience—the kind that comes from learning something new every single day, even when it breaks your heart.

The first six months of Type One are raw and relentless, but they’re also sacred in their own way. They strip you down, and then they rebuild you into someone braver, wiser, and softer all at once. You learn that “getting easier” isn’t the goal—getting stronger is.

And that’s exactly what you’re doing.