In an instant - everything changed.

Becoming a parent rewires you. Your heart starts walking around in little bodies outside yourself, and every joy, fear, and hope ties to them. After years of infertility, each of my five pregnancies felt like a miracle I had to pinch myself to believe. My kids—my five incredible blessings—filled our home with chaos, love, and purpose. But nothing could have prepared me for the summer of 2019, when a routine checkup turned into a life-altering crisis that tested my faith, my resilience, and the mindset I’d spent years building.

We’d just returned from a grueling cross-country trip from Utah back home with an 8, 7, 5, 3, and 2 year old. My 7-year-old had been asking for bathroom breaks nonstop during the 24-hour drive—an annoyance I chalked up to a possible UTI. I added it to my mental list to mention at his upcoming wellness check, not thinking much of it. Life was already a whirlwind: managing online school for my 2nd and 3rd graders during COVID, wrangling two preschoolers and a 2-year-old, and keeping the peace so my husband could work from home. Like so many of you, we were stretched thin, navigating the strange, isolating days of the pandemic.

At the pediatrician’s office, I casually asked for a test to rule out an infection. The doctor pushed back, insisting he was fine, that testing wasn’t needed. But something in me—call it a mother’s instinct—wouldn’t let it go. “I’d rather be sure,” I said, expecting nothing serious. She relented, even saying, “I’ll say my goodbyes now because there won’t be anything wrong.” Minutes later, she returned, visibly shaken. His glucose levels were so high they maxed out the test—dangerously high. “He needs to go to the ER right now,” she said. “This is life-threatening. It looks like Type 1 diabetes.”

The words hit like a freight train. Type 1 diabetes? I barely knew what it meant. I texted my husband, Kevin, the little I understood, and we scrambled to arrange care for our other kids so he could meet us at the children’s hospital. An ambulance was called, but COVID protocols meant I couldn’t ride with my son. Watching my sweet boy, terrified of needles, get an IV and loaded into the ambulance alone was awful. I followed behind, feeling like I was floating outside my body, yet somehow calm and focused on what needed to be done.

The ER was a blur of pokes, IVs, and harsh nurses. My son’s glucose was in the 600s, his body in severe ketoacidosis—a life-threatening state I hadn’t even known to watch for. He was hungry, scared, and too young to understand why he couldn’t eat until his levels stabilized. COVID rules kept Kevin out; only one parent was allowed. In the OR, staff in full protective gear looked like astronauts, as his COVID test hadn’t cleared yet and they were taking every precaution. Alone with my son, I held his hand, my heart breaking for him through his pain and confusion.

I had every reason to spiral. Anxiety has always been part of my wiring, and this was every parent’s nightmare. Yet, something shocking happened: I didn’t fall apart. Instead, I kept noticing flickers of light in the darkness. A kind OR nurse who comforted my son. Videos from his cousins to distract him in the ER. The fact that I’d pushed for testing when I had no clue how serious it was, catching his condition just as his symptoms turned critical. The timing of his wellness check, which coincided with the onset of dangerous symptoms. A friend who’s a pediatric ER doctor sending us vital information. My sister-in-law with Type 1 diabetes answering my endless questions with grace. These were not coincidences—they were lifelines.

What carried me through wasn’t just chance. For years, I’d been training my mind to seek God’s light, to focus on hope and gratitude instead of letting anxiety and fear take the wheel. In this crisis, that practice kicked in like muscle memory. Even on autopilot, my brain found the good, allowing me to be the calm, steady mom my son needed.

In the weeks, months, and now years since his diagnosis, fear is still part of my story—it’s natural when your child lives with Type 1 diabetes. But it doesn’t take center stage. I’ve learned to move through fear, not live in it. This is the power of intentional living: choosing to seek light, to lean into Christ’s transformative grace, and to shift your mindset toward what fills your life with purpose and joy.

This experience shapes everything I do at Michelle McGuire Studio. Every painting, email, design resource, journal, and mindset practice I share comes from this lived truth: we can choose how we navigate life’s storms. I’m not just sharing advice—I’m rooting for every mom out there striving to unlock more joy, to become the best version of herself. You don’t have to be paralyzed by fear or overwhelmed by challenges. By embracing intentional living and trusting in a higher power, you can find light even in the darkest moments. I’ve lived it, and I’m here to help you live it too.

Keep seeking the light,
Michelle

I've created a beautiful journal for you- to incorporate this simple, life-changing practice into your daily routine too.