Kimberly Corini’s daughter was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes three and a half years ago. Like all parents, Kimberly is never truly “off,” but parenting a child with type 1 diabetes adds a constant layer of vigilance, responsibility, and emotional weight that few understand unless they have lived it themselves.
Becoming part of the type 1 diabetes community gave Kimberly something she didn’t even realize she was missing: hope. It gave her a way to give back, but just as importantly, it gave her connection. Talking with other parents and sharing her daughter’s journey helped ease the helplessness she felt early on. Having a space to share both moments of strength and moments of overwhelm made life feel more normal again.
Through this community, Kimberly met people who deeply inspired her—parents, children, and volunteers who exemplified resilience and hope. That support made her a better, more empathetic person. Knowing there is always someone willing to listen, offer ideas, or simply sit with her through uncertainty has brought comfort and peace during the hardest moments.
When her daughter was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, Kimberly felt her world stop. In an instant, the life she knew was replaced by a constant, haunting awareness that her child’s survival was now in her hands. Every decision felt heavy. Every moment carried fear. The responsibility was terrifying, and the guilt, irrational but relentless settled in her chest. Yet she bears it without question, because this fear is hers to carry. She is not the one living with diabetes. Her daughter is, and Kimberly will shoulder anything to make that burden lighter for her.
As a result, Kimberly adapted her entire lifestyle. She worries more than she used to. Her phone is never turned off. She avoids hiking or traveling to places without cell service. She has adjusted how and when she travels so she can always reach her daughter if needed. While she knows not every parent makes the same choices, for Kimberly this vigilance feels like her job, because her daughter already carries so much.
One lyric from Kate Bush’s song Running Up That Hill has stayed with her since the diagnosis:
“If I only could, I’d make a deal with God, and I’d get Him to swap our places.”
No song had ever resonated so deeply. It perfectly captured the desire every parent feels to take the pain away from their child.
Kimberly wishes more people understood how much people with type 1 diabetes carry each day. She wishes the disease was taken more seriously and that type 1 diabetics received full credit for the strength, resilience, and positivity required just to function every day. Too often, the seriousness of the condition is minimized, and these children are forced to grow up far too quickly.
Her daughter was diagnosed during high school—just three weeks before the start of her senior cross-country season. She was not just a runner, but the team captain. As they left the hospital, the first thing her daughter said was, “Mom, I can’t lose running.”
So, Kimberly made sure she didn’t.
Before fully understanding how running would impact blood sugar levels, Kimberly began running with her daughter. She was out of shape, but she was present. Inside, she cried more than once, hoping she was doing everything possible to preserve something vital to her daughter’s identity and happiness.
When the season began, Kimberly stood in the woods with a juice box. She was fortunate to have support from her daughter’s coach and boyfriend, who gave up their limited downtime on race days to help during those early weeks. If her blood sugar dropped mid-race, there was a plan—and help was nearby.
One race, in particular, stays etched in her memory. Just before the start, her daughter’s blood sugar began to drop. She treated it. They waited. Three finger pricks showed conflicting numbers as the runners lined up—two were fine, one was not.
The coach gently said, “You have to make a call.”
Her daughter responded with confidence: “Mom, trust me. I’m good. I’ve got this.”
Kimberly’s heart pounded. She questioned everything. What if she made the wrong decision? What if “trusting” meant failing her child? She ran into the course so she could stay close, just in case.
Her daughter finished the race safely.
That moment was about trust—trusting her daughter to know her own body. Kimberly has never felt more pride, nor more gratitude for the compassion and support of those around them.
Events like walks, community summits, galas, and support groups became anchors. Each one felt like a warm, collective embrace. Seeing familiar faces—volunteers who showed up again and again—gave her a sense of belonging she hadn’t realized she needed so badly. As a single parent, feeling empowered and supported became essential to surviving the emotional highs and lows of this journey.
Raising money through walk events allowed Kimberly to educate friends and family, to turn pain into purpose. Seeing how proud and happy her daughter felt made every effort worthwhile.
As a middle school math and science teacher, Kimberly understands the value of research and compassion. She brings real life into her classroom—using glucose monitor graphs to explain linear relationships and slopes. When her daughter’s monitor alarms and she must step out of class, her students learn something far more important than math: empathy.
Type 1 diabetes has changed Kimberly—not only as a parent, but as a teacher and a person. It has broadened her compassion and deepened her understanding of resilience.
She believes that after the initial shock and enormous adjustment, with proper medical care and strong support, people with type 1 diabetes can live full, joyful, and meaningful lives. They can do everything others can, just with a little more care.
Until then, Kimberly and her daughter will keep doing what they’ve always done—running up that hill, together.