For most of my life, asking for help has been one of the hardest things for me to do. I’ve always tried to carry my burdens quietly. But now, with what finally feels like a real light at the end of the tunnel, I realize I can’t reach it alone.

I’ve been sick for my entire adult life.

My symptoms began when I was just 17 years old. At first, we didn’t realize how serious things would become. But over time, it became clear that this wasn’t something temporary—it was the beginning of a long and exhausting journey.

I was born and raised in Kentucky, where I grew up learning that basketball comes second only to Jesus… and even that’s sometimes debatable. My daddy was a Methodist minister who now runs his own ministry, and my mom dedicated her life to caring for me. First as a stay-at-home mom, and eventually as what has essentially become a full-time nurse.

We never had a lot of money, but I learned early to appreciate the simple things in life. I’ve always loved caring for stray animals that found their way to me and watching things grow in the garden. I’ve always had a deep love for life.

But chronic illness slowly began to dim that spark.

Starting in 2012, I began a long cycle of surgeries, specialist visits, and treatments. We went anywhere we could find answers, even places like the Mayo Clinic, hoping someone could finally explain what was happening and give us a path forward.

But answer after answer never came.

There were surgeries. Failed treatments. Endless appointments. Mounting medical bills. And slowly, the will to keep fighting started to fade.

Then in May of 2020, everything changed.

I was rushed to the ICU after suffering catastrophic damage from ruptured ulcers. By the time I reached the ER, I had nearly bled to death and was going into sepsis. There were moments when it was unclear whether I would survive.

Somehow, I did.

During those long days in the ICU, I had nothing but time and my thoughts. I held onto memories of my great-grandmother and drew strength from her example. Something inside me told me my story wasn’t finished yet—that there was still something ahead worth fighting for.

In the years since then, I’ve continued searching for answers. Sometimes it felt like I would take two steps forward only to fall ten steps back. Medications didn’t work. Diets didn’t help. Lifestyle changes never seemed to stick long enough to bring lasting relief.

It was heartbreaking watching others move forward with their lives while I was still stuck fighting just to get through the day.

But along the way I found something unexpected—music and community that helped carry me through the hardest moments. A song called “Damocles” by Sleep Token became something like an anthem for my journey. And through that music I found friends who helped me learn something I’ve always struggled with: that it’s okay to lean on others and ask for help.

And now, for the first time in years, there is real hope.

This year I finally found a doctor who believes she has identified the root cause of my illness. Not only that—she has a treatment plan that she is confident could finally allow me to live a normal life.

A life where I can work.

A life where I can support myself.

A life where I can visit friends, enjoy everyday moments, and live without constant pain.

But there is one major obstacle standing in the way.

To begin treatment, I need to move into a completely mold-free environment. That means starting fresh—purchasing land, placing a double-wide home, and creating a safe space where my body can finally begin to heal. On top of that, there are the costs of the medical treatments required to clear the mold from my system.

The possibility of finally living a healthy life almost feels unreal. I’ve spent a lot of time trying to process what that future could look like.

And this isn’t just about me.

My parents have sacrificed so much walking this journey beside me. My mom, especially, has become very ill from living in the same mold-contaminated environment for so long. Moving would help all of us begin to heal.

They have carried this burden with me for years. I want more than anything to help lighten that load.

So for the first time, I’m asking for help.

Any support—whether through donations, sharing our story, or simply keeping us in your thoughts—means more than I can put into words. Every bit brings us one step closer to a fresh start, a safe home, and the chance at a life that until now has always felt just out of reach.

Thank you for taking the time to read my story and for helping me hold onto hope.

Below is a breakdown of what we will be using the donations for.

Treatment will be $7-10,000

Furniture that needs to be replaced will be around $15,000

A small piece of land is around $20,000

A new double will cost us between $160,000 and $200,000

Most everything we own will unfortunately needs to be replaced.