It feels like you have done something wrong, like you are being punished for being a poor parent but someone is wrecking revenge on your child.
It feels like you want to cry your heart out but you know you need to be strong for your baby.
It feels like an explanation for all that has passed before but still, it stabs like a knife.
It feels like you want to do anything in your power to change places and it feels like you are useless to help.
When my six-year-old daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes I went into an emotional state of shock, overpowered by guilt for not knowing the signs, horrified that I hadn’t noticed the weight loss, overwhelmed with fear of how she, and in turn, I, would cope. For three days my world became a hospital ward, my searches on Google became repetitious, my life became filled with needles and carbohydrates. It passed in a daze, punctuated by ready meals, I remember hugging my eldest girl, I remember cuddling her to sleep whispering that it was all going to be alright.
Trying to be strong for my daughter almost broke me, when my daughter was diagnosed it felt like the last straw, I tried so desperately to not let her see my fear whilst I tried to learn all I could about this incurable condition.
We are now 10 years on.
I could not be any more proud of my daughter.
Since diagnosis we have learnt a new normal, she manages her own injections, she can cope with a hypo, she goes to friend’s houses for tea, she knows to climb out of a pool when she feels ‘wobbly’. She fights hard for inclusion, to not be different from her peers, but sometimes she is excluded purely because not all grown-ups understand.
But I want to give her wings, I want her to see the world, I want to watch her fly.
I want to help other parents, to make the path they must walk easier. To help them reconcile with this bell end of a condition (professional terminology).
I am a Coach who works with parents of children with Type 1, who are struggling to cope and process. We all cope differently, but with the right mindset tools, we can cope.
I run an incredible Facebook community group where we look at support and finding solutions to make life easier and happier. You can join it here.
Likewise, if you want to have a chat, simply drop me a note, sometimes just offloading can help.
Molly, aged 7, nine months after diagnosis, sitting on a beach in Portugal, living life not limiting it.