For those of you who don’t know me, my name is Jessica—and I’ve learned what real strength looks like the hard way.
I grew up watching the strongest person I’ve ever known—my mommo—fight breast cancer for nearly a decade. The doctors told her she had only two or three years left, but she refused to listen and she conquered nine. Losing her in 2017 nearly broke me, but it also showed me what courage really looked like.
A few years later, life threw me the same battle in a far crueler form. At 28, I was diagnosed with brain cancer—an inoperable tumor wrapped around my brainstem. The doctors told me that removing it would leave me unable to move or speak. In March 2023, I had a biopsy that caused permanent numbness on the right side of my face, constant dizziness, and severe headaches. I went through six weeks, 5 days a week of radiation that caused me to have more dizziness, nausea everyday to the point I was only 80-90 lbs, and jolting headaches but I never stopped fighting.
Today, that fight has reached a new stage. On January 30th, 2026, I learned my tumor progressed to an aggressive grade 4 glioblastoma. It has grown rapidly within the past 2/3 months (2 centimeters to be exact) and my doctors warned that the next progression could make me paralyzed, unable to speak, or care for myself. Hearing those words felt surreal—but they didn’t break me. They lit a fire. Every day, I battle endless vertigo, nausea, body aches, and exhaustion. Some days, even crossing the room feels like climbing a mountain. I refuse to let this disease—or these circumstances—define me. I’m still the woman who works hard, loves fiercely, and never gives up.
I have too much to fight for: more kayaking seasons to live through, more hikes to take, more weddings to celebrate, and one special pup—my babie Kaylie—who still needs her mommie. I want to see my best friend become a mother and be part of that new life. I still have dreams left to chase, and I don’t plan on stopping now.
My doctor made one thing clear: time is critical. The treatment we’re pursuing could give me a real chance—not just at more time, but at life beyond this diagnosis. I’ve always fought my battles head-on, but this time, I need help to keep fighting.
To everyone who has reached out, donated, or simply sent love—thank you. Your support reminds me daily that I’m not alone in this. I may be facing one of the fiercest opponents imaginable, but I’m still standing. And with your help, I intend to keep standing for a very long time.
