I used to measure my life with cystic fibrosis and CF–related diabetes (CFRD) in numbers. Lung function. A1C. Blood sugars. Weight. Enzymes. Appointments.

I learned early on that survival meant vigilance and control — tracking, adjusting, preventing the next flare or crash before it happened. Pregnancy was something I wanted deeply, but I always imagined it as a distant “maybe,” wrapped in risk assessments and cautious optimism.

Then I found out I was pregnant.

And then — because life with CF always has a sense of dramatic timing — I found out I was pregnant with twins.

That moment cracked something open in me. Not fear exactly, though that was there, too. It was a sudden, undeniable realization that my body, the same body I had spent years managing and sometimes mistrusting, was capable of something extraordinary.

Carrying Twins With CF: A New Kind of Trust

Before getting pregnant, my relationship with CF and CFRD was largely defensive. Everything I did was about minimizing damage. Eating to stabilize blood sugars. Timing insulin and enzymes. Guarding my lungs from infection. I respected my body, but I didn’t fully trust it. CF taught me that things can change quickly and without warning, and CFRD reinforced that sense of fragility — one miscalculation could throw my entire day off.

I often viewed my body as something I had to stay ahead of. If I didn’t stay vigilant, it would fail me. Pregnancy didn’t erase that mindset overnight, but it challenged it in ways I didn’t expect.

Being pregnant with twins while managing CF and CFRD has required a level of surrender I wasn’t prepared for.

There is no perfect control in pregnancy — especially a high-risk, twin pregnancy layered on top of a chronic illness. Hormones shift, insulin needs change overnight, and my lungs feel different week to week. The rules I once relied on don’t always apply.

At first, that terrified me.

But slowly, something else took its place: trust.

Not blind trust, and not careless optimism — but a grounded trust built on the evidence that my body keeps showing up. Every appointment where the babies are growing. Every adjustment I make to my insulin that works. Every deep breath I take on a hard day. I’m no longer just preventing decline; I’m actively creating life.

For the first time, I don’t only see my body as fragile. I see it as resilient.

Learning to See My Body as a Partner

Perhaps the most profound change has been learning to see my body as a partner rather than an obstacle. CF and CFRD are still part of me, but they no longer define the entirety of my story. Pregnancy has shown me that my body is capable of adaptation, endurance, and growth in ways I never fully allowed myself to believe.

Every kick, every ultrasound, every milestone reached reinforces that partnership. Even on difficult days, my body continues to show up — not perfectly, not effortlessly, but faithfully.

This has led me to redefine strength. Before being pregnant, strength meant pushing through treatments, appointments, and bad days without slowing down. It meant proving — to myself and sometimes to others — that CF and CFRD did not control my life. Pregnancy has softened that definition. Strength now looks like resting without guilt, advocating for myself in medical spaces, and admitting when I’m overwhelmed.

There are days when my body feels heavy, when breathing feels labored, or when blood sugars refuse to cooperate no matter how carefully I plan. In the past, those days would have felt like failures. Now, they feel like signals — information my body is offering so I can respond with care rather than criticism.

For example, CFRD used to feel like an extra burden layered onto CF — another thing to manage, another reminder that my body doesn’t function “normally.” Pregnancy has complicated it, yes, but it’s also reframed it.

Now, blood sugar checks aren’t just about me. They’re about fueling two growing humans. Insulin adjustments aren’t failures or setbacks; they’re acts of care. I’ve learned to release shame around numbers that fluctuate and instead approach CFRD with compassion and flexibility.

I’ve also learned that perfection isn’t the goal — responsiveness is. Pregnancy has taught me that by adapting quickly, asking for help, and listening to my body are far more important than chasing ideal numbers.

Grief, Gratitude, and the Space Between

None of this means the fear disappeared. There are still moments of grief — for the simplicity I don’t get to have, for the pregnancies others experience without constant monitoring, for the ease my body doesn’t always offer. There are days when managing CF, CFRD, and pregnancy feels overwhelming.

But alongside that grief lives deep gratitude.

Gratitude for modern medicine. For providers who see me as more than a diagnosis. For a body that, despite everything, is sustaining not one but two lives. Pregnancy has allowed me to hold grief and gratitude at the same time, without needing one to cancel out the other.

I don’t know what motherhood with CF and CFRD will look like yet. I know it will come with new challenges, new adjustments, and new fears.

But pregnancy has already taught me something powerful: my body is not just something to manage — it’s something to honor.

Carrying twins has transformed my relationship with my chronic illnesses from one rooted in control and caution to one grounded in trust, respect, and awe. I am still learning, still adapting, still navigating uncertainty — but now I do it with a deeper sense of belief in myself.

And that may be the greatest gift this pregnancy has given me.

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