Diagnosed with: Fibromyalgia, CSS, POTS, ME/CFS, CKD, Secondary Adrenal Insufficiency, Tachycardia, Labile Blood Pressure, TMJ, Dysphagia, Dysarthria, CYP450 Metabolism Variants, Endometriosis, Endosalpingiosis
Also managing: Insomnia, Anxiety, OCD, Depression, ADHD, CPTSD, Potassium Depletion, Chronic Diarrhea

Where things stand: Still fighting forward — disabled and unable to return to work while learning what recovery may look like.
What we’re up against: Medical care and basic living expenses while my disability case moves forward.
Fuel for the fight: Give, share, or pray as you’re able. Every bit helps.

And to those already in my corner — thank you for being part of this fight.

One Year Later • February 2026 Update

It has been a year since one of the biggest health scares in my life — my second adrenal crash of 2025. While we've seen improvements, I'm still unable to work and waiting on disability approval. We continue to face significant medical and living expenses.

My original story was shared by my mom months later, in June. I’ve started and stopped writing updates more times than I can count — cognitive fatigue is real — but I want to mark this milestone.

Before anything else, I want to say thank you.

Last year, my mom, Lucas, and you all stepped in to hold our lives together when I could not. You didn’t just offer help — you showed up in steady, practical, exhausting ways that quite literally carried us through 2025. I am deeply aware that I am still here because others were willing to stand in the gap.

To everyone who has prayed, given, shared, checked in, or quietly supported us — you are part of our survival story. I do not take that lightly.

One Year Ago

A year ago, I was bedbound, medically unstable, and a frequent flyer at the ER. What we now understand as secondary adrenal insufficiency had pushed my body into repeated crashes. I could barely speak or walk most of the time. Pain was constant. My nervous system felt like it was in a perpetual emergency because my body was not producing the hormones required to regulate basic function.

I was fired from work, living upstairs, and largely isolated. I kept believing each illness or crash would be the last one — that the next appointment would bring answers or stabilization. Instead, everything familiar — work, routine, church, community — fell away at once. Lucas and my mom became my consistent, daily caregivers.

There were moments I genuinely did not know if my body would recover enough to stabilize. Survival became the only goal.

I also withdrew more than I should have. I thought I could outlast it quietly or solve it alone. I’m learning that isolation doesn’t create stability — it just makes the fight lonelier.

A Year Later

A year later, I am learning how to live inside this body instead of just survive it.

That does not mean I am cured — or ever fully will be. It means there is more understanding than there was, that I get to continue exploring how much I can truly recover. There are diagnoses where there used to be uncertainty. There is language for what is happening inside my body. There are patterns I can recognize sooner.

Last December, thanks to the generosity of my mom’s church, neighbors, friends, and family — I was able to move downstairs. That might sound small, but it changed everything. I can step outside without fear. I can touch the ground, feel grass under my feet. My world is no longer confined to an upstairs apartment except for necessary outings. While I didn’t realize the toll and recovery time required after the move, my mobility now looks different — fragile, limited, but present.

My energy is still extremely finite. I live in small, carefully guarded windows. I am learning pacing. I am learning the cost of overdoing it on good days. I am identifying flares earlier. I am not crashing in the same catastrophic way I was last year.

This is the longest stretch I have had without a major medical emergency. Small, but still counts!

It is not flashy progress.

It is incremental.

And it matters.

What won’t our God do.

Changes & Adapting

Over the past year, our lives have shifted in ways we never imagined. Lucas recently moved in with his dad. That wasn’t his initial exit plan, but the ongoing stress of daily caregiving has taken a toll. He needed a change of pace to protect his health. We are all still adjusting — through the good & hard. While it is the best decision for him, it’s not easy on any of us. For me, home feels different. I miss him terribly. LeBron James went along with him on this new adventure. Kurt Catbain stayed behind to keep me company, but the house is quieter without them. We miss The Boys.

God continues working through these crises — providing gifts that may never have come otherwise. Some relationships have been restored and reconciled in ways I never expected. Some have grown deeper. Others have changed or quietly fallen away. 

I’ve started finding small ways to contribute again. Selling my belongings online is a tiny act, but it feels like reclaiming life that was lost — something I wanted but was too sick to do a year ago. I’ve gone on a few short outings that aren’t strictly medical or necessary. I’ve walked outside independently. I’ve worn hard pants (a.k.a. jeans) a few times this year, which might sound silly, but for me marks real progress. I’ve gained new levels of empathy and am able to encourage others and receive encouragement in new support groups.

I now have a new case manager who coordinates care, counseling, and resources — slow process but huge relief. These wins build on the progress made after moving downstairs: fragile mobility, small windows of energy, baby steps toward independence.

Progress is slow but steady. I am learning patience in ways I never anticipated, navigating systems not built for people in my position.

Through all of this, I am learning the limits of my body and boundaries I need to set. Saying no more than yes even when I don’t want to, recognizing when I need rest before exhaustion, and gently recalibrating expectations — for myself and for others — all lessons I practice daily.

Endurance Hope is the theme:
Leaning on God, living intentionally, embracing incremental progress, and holding fast to the truth that my life now looks different from what it once did — but it is still my life, and I am worth fighting for. Far from perfect, but still here.

Looking Forward

While this past year has been full of challenges stacked on years of building illnesses, it has also been full of miracles and lessons — about patience, endurance, and the quiet ways progress shows up. Recovery doesn’t always look linear. Some days a win is as small as taking a step outside, wearing jeans, or finishing folding laundry. Other days it’s reminding myself that rest is progress, holding boundaries, saying no, or simply surviving a day without a crash. Each of these is a victory, and they remind me that progress is measured in persistence, not perfection.

Your Support

Your support has been the bridge between survival and slowly learning to live within my body’s new bounds — between the overwhelming chaos of illness and the small moments of regained independence, all anchored in faith — because words are still hard for me. Your continued support helps cover medical care, staying housed, and filling gaps left by lost income while I navigate disability and stabilization.

As we continue this journey, I ask only that you walk alongside us in whatever way feels right, if you’d like to, by keeping us in your thoughts, praying for our family, sharing our story, or giving if you’re able. Every act matters and is received with gratitude beyond words.

My journey is far from over. My body has new limits, my energy requires careful management, and life continues to present unexpected challenges. But with God, my family, friends, and this community of support, I do my best to face each day with Endurance Hope — embracing small wins, honoring my body’s needs, and holding fast to the belief that incremental progress matters in a very busy world.

Not in a place to give? Sharing my story helps reach others who may be able to — and that makes a real difference in this marathon of endurance hope.

Thank you for being part of this journey. We are still here, still in this fight — together.

* My mom, Sharon Humphries, created this campaign on my behalf in June 2025.
Funds raised will go to supporting my medical journey and Endurance Hope. 

Original Campaign Story

LeeAnn's Healing Journey

Hello, our beloved daughter LeeAnn is facing a tough medical journey, and we need your help!

For the past several years, LeeAnn (also known as Laney by some nicknaming loving friends) has been struggling with an undiagnosed, debilitating illness. However, we are struggling to find a clear answer or even direction that allows her to stabilize day to day.

Despite her determined spirit, her condition has progressively worsened, leaving her bedridden most days. As a result, she was fired from her job as a graphic designer at Life.church. Prior to that she ran her own digital marketing & design business for 17+ years. However, her primary care providers and local specialists have only been able to provide limited support so far.

As a family, we are doing everything we can to help LeeAnn continue her life with dignity and care, but we need your assistance to cover medical and living expenses for her and her son, Lucas, who is her primary care giver while also trying to work and attend school. 

Our goal is to raise funds to help LeeAnn get the proper medical attention and support she needs to regain her strength, active lifestyle, and ability to return to work or plan otherwise. Your contribution, no matter how big or small, will bring us one step closer to making this happen. A prayer and a share would be a tremendous blessing.

Thank you for considering supporting LeeAnn on her healing journey. God bless you!