My Journey

Sept. 21st - The day I lost my hair..

Over the past several weeks, I’ve been sharing pieces of my journey through breast cancer - the appointments, the treatments, the emotions, and most of all, the ways God has met me in the middle of it all. Some days have felt almost normal, while others have left me broken and clinging to His promises.

September 21st became one of those deeply difficult days, a day I had hoped wouldn’t come so soon…the day I lost my hair.

I know many have walked similar roads, and sometimes the rawest parts of our story are where God’s comfort shines the brightest.

Sunday, September 21st

Ever since this journey began, my heart has been anchored in Daniel 3 — the story of Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego in the fiery furnace. Their courage gives me strength, because they remind me of a truth I need every single day: we are never alone in the fire.

I also clung to the passage that “not a hair on their heads was singed.” With my thick hair, I prayed that might be my story too — that somehow I could be spared this part of the journey. Deep down, I hoped and hoped that maybe, just maybe, I wouldn’t have to face it.

But today, I did…. Today I lost my hair…

This morning started like any other. I brushed my hair, and just like the past few days, more and more strands gathered in the bristles. I kept telling myself, It’s okay — I have thick hair and still have plenty of hair left. But this time was different.

I hopped in the shower before my 8-year-old’s volleyball game that was to take place in a few hours, and as I started washing my hair, it happened…. I felt it instantly…my hair matted together.

At first, I was in denial, trying to pull it apart. But then reality settled in. This was it — the day I prayed would never come. It felt too soon. Not today. Not now.

And as the water ran down, so did my tears. I stood there in the shower, holding the reality I wanted to avoid for as long as possible. I wanted to stop time in that moment, but I couldn’t. The truth was undeniable: this part of the journey couldn’t be delayed any longer.

It was heavy. It was heartbreaking. And honestly, it was something I begged God to take away as I stood there.

When I got out, I ran to my room and looked in the mirror. That’s when the twins came home from their homecoming night in Elgin. When I came out to see them, they noticed my face and asked what was wrong.

I broke down. I put my face in my hands and through tears, I said, “I think I have to shave my head today.”

Corbin came and hugged me first, and then Addyson. The three of us stood there hugging as I cried. Addyson looked at me and said, “Mom, you will look beautiful no matter if you have hair or not. It will be okay.” Her words made me cry even harder, because sometimes kindness pierces deeper than anything else. I told them, “I know… it’s just really hard right now.” Their love carried me even as I felt like I was falling apart.

A little later my mom arrived to help. I had a large, matted section of hair clumped together on my left side. I had already tried leave-in conditioner, oils, brushing, and combing—anything to loosen it. My mom gently started working from the bottom with the comb, saying, “I think we’re going to have to cut some, Kaylen.” I didn’t care about losing length if it meant saving some of my hair. So she trimmed a little and we tried again—more oil, more conditioner, more careful combing.

For at least an hour, we sat there trying to break apart the matted area. But with every touch, I felt it tightening, matting worse, and deep down I knew the truth: I wasn’t going to save my hair. The realization broke me again and again. At one point Addyson held me while crying herself, saying I wasn’t my hair, that I was beautiful no matter what. She felt my sadness, my grief, and she wanted me to know that it was going to be ok.

Eventually, I called Nikki and asked if she could help. I went over to her house, and she gently tried combing through what was left. But with each stroke of the comb, more hair fell away. She finally looked at me and said, “Kaylen, I think we are going to have to buzz it.” The mats were too close to my scalp, and my head was beginning to hurt with every pull.

I broke down again, but I knew she was right. I told her, “Just do it. I know it needs to happen.”

So there I sat, Kleenex in hand, tears streaming, as the clippers buzzed through my hair. Nikki hugged me and said she was sorry, but this was just another step of the journey I never wanted but had to walk. When it was over, I couldn’t bring myself to look in the mirror. I wasn’t ready yet. I knew that when I did, it would make everything even more real.

Afterward, I went home. My mom and twins were there, and they were the first to see me. They encouraged me and said that I really should look. After their little “pep talk,” I gathered my courage to go over to the mirror. Slowly, I peeked from the corner. Then finally, I looked at myself head on. To be honest, it didn’t seem real. It didn’t even look like me. I didn’t know who this person was. I had never seen myself with short hair. But the longer I stood there, emotions high, staring at myself in the mirror, deep down I knew it was going to be ok.

I flashed back to when I was in grade school and wanted to have Halle Berry’s popular short haircut. I never went through with it, but that was the last time I ever imagined myself with short hair. And then, to add a touch of humor, I thought of how much money I had just spent getting my hair from almost black back to my natural color of dirty blonde—just before my diagnosis.

Just like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego, I am reminded that God doesn’t always remove the fire. Sometimes He allows us to go through it, not to break us but to show us that He is with us in it — the Presence that holds us up when the flames feel too hot. The path before me is not without pain. It strips me of comfort, humbles me deeply, and moments that feel unfair. But still, I choose faith—I choose to believe in God’s goodness, to stand on His promises.

As Daniel 3 ends with Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego walking out of the furnace unharmed, I hold onto the hope that I too will come out of this season refined—not because I was spared from the fire, but because God was and is with me, beside me, through it all. Losing my hair feels like shedding layers of who I once was, losing a piece of myself, a part of my identity. But I also know this: my identity isn’t in my hair, or my appearance, or even my strength. My identity is in Christ. And as I sit and reflect on this day, I feel like God is telling me He is doing something new in me, even here, even now. This moment is painful and humbling. But that is all it is — a moment. I believe God is writing something greater. On the other side of this, I will rise with deeper strength, stronger faith, and a new purpose in my life.

A Prayer

Lord, when the fire feels too hot and the journey feels too heavy, remind me that You are with me.

Help me see beyond what I’ve lost and cling to who You are.

Strengthen my heart, renew my spirit, and let my life be a testimony that even in the fire, You are faithful.

Even when I don’t understand, I choose to trust You.

Amen.

November 10th - update

It’s been a few months since I’ve shared an update, and honestly, I’m just so thankful to say there hasn’t been much to report. That alone is something to be grateful for.

My typical weekly treatment days on Thursdays start early and last around 5 hours — I’m usually at the hospital by 8:30 a.m. for labs around 9. Then I meet with the nurse, followed by the PA or doctor, who decides whether treatment is a go based on my lab results. The main challenge lately has been my white blood cell count and absolute neutrophil count (ANC). These are what help fight infection, but chemo tends to knock them down. So, to help boost them, I’ve been traveling weekly on Fridays and Mondays for a shot in my arm to activate my bone marrow. It’s been a bit of a roller coaster — one week they rise, the next they drop again — but through it all, God continues to sustain me.

One day during my regular appointment, after my nurse finished taking my vitals and asking all the routine questions, she paused for a moment. Then she looked at me and said, “Kaylen, you’re doing really good.”

I smiled and said, “thank you.”

She looked right at me again and said, “No, Kaylen — I mean it. You really are. I want you to know how good you’re doing. This isn’t easy — these treatments are hard, the long days, and then balancing work, raising kids, and just… life— but you’re doing so good.”

Her words caught me off guard. I don’t always stop to see how far I’ve come. Most days, I’m just in “go mode,” focused on doing what needs to be done: drinking enough water, eating well, taking care of my kids, showing up for work. I move from one thing to the next, trying to hold it all together.

But her words reminded me to pause. To breathe. That its ok to let the weight of everything settle, and to simply be still. Before she left to get the doctor, she leaned in and gave me a gently hug. It might have seemed small, but it carried such comfort and grace. That simple hug reminded me that even in hard places, God sends reminders of His love through the hands and hearts of others.

Nurses out there: you are a gift. You are a light in someone’s day, even when you might not realize it. The compassion you show, the comfort you bring, and the hearts you touch leave an impact that lasts far beyond the hospital walls. Even in the moments that might seem ordinary or routine, what you do matters deeply. Thank you. Thank you for your kindness, your strength, your patience, and your heart. You truly make a difference.

Every bit of strength she saw in me - I will always give the glory to God. Because it truly is all Him. Every ounce of strength, moment of peace, bit of perseverance…every step forward, and smile through the exhaustion and uncertainty— that’s Him.

These are moments when I stop and think - it can ONLY be HIM! I know I could never have handled this apart from His strength. Like I’ve shared before, I truly believe God was equipping me long before this season began - strengthening me in ways I didn’t even realize, shaping my heart to trust Him deeper, and reminding me that His grace is always enough (2 Corinthians 12:9). So I continue to give all the glory to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ - the source of my joy, my peace, and the strength that carries me through each day. He is my steady ground when everything feels unsteady, my calm in the storm. Even in the hardest moments, there’s still peace and joy to be found when you lean on Him.

John 14: 27

“Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives.

Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid”

As I write this, I have only two more treatments left in this first 12-week phase — praise God! And here’s the most incredible news… When my doctor and I checked recently, neither of us could feel the lump anymore. God is so, so good!

Next, I’ll have an MRI the day before Thanksgiving to see what the scans reveal. After that, I’ll begin my second round of chemo — a stronger treatment given once every three weeks for four cycles. I won’t lie — I’m nervous. scared… The “what ifs” try to creep in..What if this regiment is harder? What if the side effects are worse? The unknown again..

But even in those moments of fear, I remind myself that it’s okay to be human — to feel weakness, to wrestle with worry, to have moments of doubt. God gave us emotions, not so we’d stay trapped in them, but to bring them to Him. When I do, His peace meets me there.

I may not know what lies ahead, but I rest in knowing the One who holds it. Even when I can’t see the full picture, I trust that God is working behind the scenes - every tear, every prayer, and every moment of uncertainty into something beautiful. His plan is far greater than anything I could imagine, and even in the waiting, I know He is writing a story of healing, hope, and purpose.

Ephesians 3:20

“Now to him who is able to do immeasurable more than all we ask or image, according to his power that is at work within us”

Lamentations 3: 22-24

“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.

I say to myself , The Lord is my portion; therefore I will wait for him.”

Turning my Battle into Purpose

I’ve had many people tell me that I should write a book… and if only you knew how bad I was at English, you’d probably laugh - I barely passed! haha… Yet that’s what amazes me about God. Sometimes the things we think we could never do become the very things He calls us into.

From the beginning it has always been on my heart, how I can help others. How can I make a difference for someone walking through their own battle. I’ve been praying, asking God to show me what I can do—how He might use my journey to support someone else in theirs.

And then the idea came to me … a devotional.

So I began writing. It’s a 30-day devotional, with each day including an encouragement, a verse, and and a prayer. My hope is that one day I’ll be able to give them to patients in treatment, include them in treatment kits being sent out, or have hospitals hand them out to anyone walking through a hard season. I don’t know all the details yet, but I know in my heart this is something I want to do. And with each day I write, I feel a little closer… a little closer to offering hope to someone who truly needs it, and a little closer to being able to support someone else in their own fight.

Below, I’m sharing the introduction—why I’m writing it—and a letter to you, the reader. Over the next few days, I’ll share a few of the daily entries as well.

Thank you, truly, for supporting me and walking alongside me in this journey. Your love and prayers mean more than I can ever express.

Introduction: Why I Wrote This Book

Where Faith Meets the Fight

I’ll never forget the morning it all began. I was lying in bed, the house still quiet, my kids fast asleep, when I felt a gentle nudge in my heart — the kind that can only come from God. It was simple: “Check your breast.” I almost brushed it off, but something told me to listen. And that’s when I found it — a small lump that would change my life forever.

A few weeks later, I heard the words no one ever expects to hear: “You have breast cancer.”

In August 2025, I was diagnosed with triple-negative stage 2 breast cancer. At that moment, everything stopped. I was a mom of four, a teacher, a daughter, a friend — living an ordinary life. And suddenly, my world shifted into appointments, scans, treatment plans, and questions that had no easy answers.

There were days I felt strong, and there were days I felt like I was falling apart. Nights when fear would creep in and mornings when I had to remind myself that God was still in control. But through every moment — the chemo chairs, the tears, the prayers whispered in the dark — one truth became unshakable in my heart: God was holding me through it all.

He met me in every tear, every sleepless night, and every quiet prayer whispered in fear. I didn’t always feel His presence, but looking back, I can see His hand in every detail - the timing, the people, the small moments of peace that showed up right when I needed them.

That’s why I wrote this devotional.

Because I know what it feels like to be scared, to not know what tomorrow holds, and to wonder if you have the strength to keep going. I know what it’s like to sit in the quiet and just whisper, “Lord, I can’t do this without You.”

This isn’t a book about having perfect faith or being unshakably strong. It’s about real faith — the kind that wavers but still shows up. The kind that keeps believing even when your body feels weak and your heart feels tired. It’s about the place where faith and the fight come together, and somehow, God makes something beautiful out of it.

Each devotional in these pages comes from my own journey — moments of fear, surrender, hope, and peace that could only be written by a faithful God. My prayer is that through these words, you’ll feel His presence the way I have — close, comforting, and constant. That you’ll know He’s in your story just as much as He’s been in mine.

If you’re walking through your own battle right now — whether it’s cancer, grief, pain, or a storm you didn’t see coming — I want you to know this: you are not alone. God is with you in every breath, every tear, and every step. He’s in the waiting, He’s in the treatments, He’s in the tears, and He’s in every heartbeat that keeps you going.

You don’t have to be strong every day. You just have to keep showing up — heart open, hands lifted, trusting that the One who brought you to this moment will carry you through it.

He is your strength when you feel weak.

He is your peace when you feel afraid.

And He is your steady anchor when everything around you feels uncertain.

I pray these pages remind you that hope is still alive - and that even in the fight, your faith can grow deeper than you ever imagined.

I’m walking this journey with you — one day, one prayer, one promise of His faithfulness at a time.

With love and faith,

Kaylen

A Letter to the Reader

Dear Friend Walking Through This…

If you’re holding this devotional, my heart already feels connected to yours. Because I know what it’s like to face the unknown, to lie awake at night with a thousand thoughts racing through your mind, and to wonder if you have the strength to face another day.

Maybe you’ve just received a diagnosis that took your breath away.

Maybe you’re sitting in a waiting room, praying for good news.

Maybe you’re halfway through treatment, exhausted in every way possible.

Or maybe you’re standing beside someone you love, trying to be strong when your heart is breaking.

Wherever you are right now, I want you to know — I understand. I’ve learned that even in the hardest seasons, God is still so near.

There were days when I felt completely empty — when I didn’t have words to pray or energy to be brave. But those were the very moments when God reminded me that my faith didn’t have to be perfect; it just had to be present. He didn’t ask me to have all the answers. He simply asked me to trust Him — one moment, one breath, one heartbeat at a time.

Friend, your battle might look different from mine, but the same God who carried me is carrying you too. He sees every tear, every fear, and every tiny act of courage you make just by getting up today. You are seen. You are loved. And you are never fighting alone.

My prayer is that as you read these pages, you’ll find more than encouragement — you’ll find companionship. Through each verse, reflection, and prayer, you’ll feel God’s gentle presence whispering, “I’m right here.”

So take it slow. Some days you might read one devotional. Other days, maybe just one sentence. That’s okay. Let this book meet you where you are — in the waiting, in the fight, or in the healing.

Because this is where faith meets the fight —

and it’s where you’ll find that He’s been with you all along.