Small Pieces of Me: July to Now
A note before you read — September 20, 2026
This one is personal.
This blog talks openly about exhaustion, health struggles, running a business, family, and some of the harder parts of the last few months. There's also some cursing because, well... sometimes "fuck" is the appropriate word.
I've been told before that maybe I shouldn't get too personal on a business website because it could turn potential clients away.
Maybe that's true for some people.
But Kayla Cares has never been about pretending I'm some perfectly polished company with a perfectly polished owner. I'm a real person caring for real people, and sometimes real life is messy.
Nothing in this blog changes the standards I hold myself to when caring for my clients. If anything, a lot of what you're about to read is about how seriously I take that responsibility—and what I've learned about needing to take better care of the person doing the caregiving, too.
So if you're looking for one of my normal educational or caregiving blogs, this isn't that one.
This is just a piece of me.
I've been trying to figure out how to write about the last few months.
Not because one huge, life-changing thing happened.
Honestly, it's almost the opposite.
It's been a hundred little things.
Work.
Family.
Hiring.
Health.
Money.
Cars.
Doctors.
Clients.
Things going wrong.
Things going right.
Things I thought I had figured out, only to realize I absolutely did not.
And through most of it, I've said some version of:
It's fine. I'll figure it out.
And I usually do.
But I'm starting to realize that figuring it out doesn't mean it didn't take something out of me.
July Was Full
July was a lot.
Not necessarily bad.
Not necessarily good.
Just full.
At the time, I thought life was going pretty well. There were normal hiccups here and there, but I was happy.
I was working.
Kayla Cares was growing.
Life was moving.
It just felt like every single day had something.
I swear I hit every red light.
Every train.
Every little delay that could possibly happen.
Nothing catastrophic.
Just enough little things stacked on top of each other that I constantly felt like I was trying to catch up.
At the time, I remember thinking:
Holy shit, life is busy.
Looking back now?
That's almost funny.
I thought that was busy.
I thought that was full.
I had absolutely no idea how much more life was about to fit onto my plate.
I Was Already Trying to Find Help
Hiring actually started before all of this.
Back in May, I tried a contract-to-hire situation with someone who had worked for another caregiving company that had gone out of business.
We had a mutual friend.
She covered some of my clients while I was in Texas visiting family, and I thought maybe this could work.
Then she basically ghosted me.
And somehow, one of my first problems as an employer became:
How the hell do I pay an employee who won't let me pay her?
I had her check written.
I couldn't get her to meet me.
I couldn't get an address from her so I could mail it.
I finally messaged our mutual friend basically asking, What the fuck is going on? I'm trying to pay her.
Eventually, I paid her through Venmo because I couldn't get her to meet me or give me an address.
So that was hiring attempt number one.
Then August came.
And I tried again.
Maybe This One Will Work
By August, Kayla Cares had grown enough that I really needed another person.
I hired someone who was in nursing school.
I thought she was going to be a great fit.
And for a little bit, I had that feeling of:
Okay. I found someone.
Maybe I could breathe a little.
Maybe I could accept another family.
Maybe eventually I could have a day off without rearranging half my life.
Then I went camping with my family.
With two days left of the trip, she quit.
And because apparently timing likes to have a sense of humor, I had terrible cell service.
So there I was at a campsite trying to call families, explain that the person I'd hired had quit, figure out schedules and make sure everyone was taken care of.
There were things we hadn't agreed on.
One of them was drive time.
She wanted hourly pay from her house to the clients' houses plus mileage.
I understood the mileage.
Driving adds up.
I was willing to pay mileage.
But I couldn't agree to hourly wages beginning when someone left their own house to drive to work.
To this day, I don't completely understand everything that led to her quitting.
And maybe that's part of why it bothered me so much.
I thought I'd found help.
And then suddenly I hadn't.
You don't always get to choose when something falls apart.
Sometimes you're given two days off, you're camping with your family, and the business still finds you.
And I've Kept Trying
Since August 1st, I've had 15 applicants.
I've interacted with every one of them.
One was the person I hired who ultimately quit.
Seven interviews were scheduled.
Four people didn't show up.
Two of those interviews still hadn't happened yet when I started writing this.
Two other people backed out before we even got to the interview.
One person interviewed with me and had mainly worked in food service within hospitals. She wanted to see what caregiving was actually like, so we arranged for her to follow me with a client.
She never showed up to the client's house.
And I had two newer applicants I was still waiting to hear back from.
I don't say any of that as some nobody wants to work anymore speech.
That's not how I feel.
I'm willing to train the right person.
And I've also had to look at what I'm doing.
Could I communicate things better?
Could I explain the position differently?
Am I asking the right questions?
Is there something about my hiring process that needs to change?
Because every application still gives me that tiny little bit of hope.
Maybe this is the one.
Maybe this is someone I can trust.
Maybe I can finally say yes to another family.
Maybe I can get a day off.
And when it doesn't work out, that little bit of hope disappears again.
Then I Started Questioning Myself
After the August employee quit, I didn't just question her decision.
I questioned mine.
How could you hire someone who could do that to these precious clients?
Did you even think this through?
Did you jump to hire somebody because you were desperate for help?
Then I had to remind myself:
No.
I didn't.
I'd already turned down two people before hiring her.
I didn't hire the first person who walked through the door.
But that didn't stop my brain.
Maybe I picked the wrong person.
Maybe I wasn't clear enough.
Maybe I didn't answer her questions correctly.
Maybe I wasn't a good enough boss.
Maybe there was something I should have noticed.
Dawn, the owner of Care-A-Ride, even sat in on the interview with me.
She's good about speaking up when I'm not being clear or when I'm struggling to explain something.
I had help.
I still questioned myself.
That's something I'm learning about myself through all of this.
When something goes wrong, I don't just ask:
What happened?
I ask:
What did I do wrong?
And sometimes I ask it over and over until I've found ten different ways to make something my fault.
There have been days I've questioned whether I should have started Kayla Cares at all.
That thought has crossed my mind more times than I'd like to admit.
It still does.
On the really exhausted days, I find myself wondering:
Am I giving these families the version of myself they deserve?
I hold myself to this expectation that because I chose this, because the business is mine, I should always be happy.
Energetic.
Patient.
Bubbly.
But lately, some days I'm just tired.
Then I feel guilty for being tired.
These aren't just names on a schedule to me.
They're people I care about.
Their families trusted me with someone they love.
And when you care that much, it's really easy to start wondering whether being human somehow means you're failing them.
And Then the Motor Blew
Wednesday, August 12th.
Matt and I only had one vehicle—his pickup.
On days we both needed a vehicle, we borrowed one.
Not ideal, but we'd done it before.
That day I had clients in Rapid City and then a client in Sturgis to end my night.
Matt was working in Rapid.
I stayed in Sturgis because I had tickets to see Lainey Wilson at the Buffalo Chip.
My stepdad was supposed to go with me. He's a huge Lainey Wilson fan, but the day before, he found out he couldn't come because of work.
I was disappointed for him.
Meanwhile, if I'm being completely honest, I was really excited about Halestorm opening.
So Matt was going to take his ticket.
Matt got out of work early because they weren't busy and called me to say he was going to take a coworker home since it was on the way.
About twenty minutes later, my phone rang again.
This time he was panicking.
The truck had gone ka-klunk.
White smoke.
It slowed down.
Stopped.
Wouldn't start.
Wouldn't move.
"What do I do?"
The truck was about fifteen minutes from home.
So I had to go get Matt.
And I completely missed Halestorm.
I remember thinking:
Could this day get any worse?
Apparently, the universe took that as a challenge.
Because then we got a massive downpour at the concert and ended up standing in a field full of water.
At first, we didn't know how bad the truck actually was.
My stepdad is a mechanic, so he came down that weekend and looked at it.
It needed a motor.
Cool.
So then came pricing a motor.
Labor.
Fluids.
Everything else.
And eventually the question became:
Is this truck even worth putting that much money into?
Matt and I talked about it for maybe two days before realizing we didn't really have the luxury of waiting.
My work requires a vehicle.
Matt needs transportation to work.
Borrowing vehicles wasn't a permanent solution.
My stepdad started looking at vehicles at the dealership where he works.
He found one that looked perfect.
It sold before I could even get approved.
At that point I was about ready to give up.
Fuck. Just my luck.
Then my stepdad called.
They'd just gotten another trade-in.
He sent me pictures while they were checking it over.
A 2024 Nissan Rogue.
With warranties, it was around $25,000.
And yeah...
Damn.
But I needed a vehicle.
So I bought it.
Without seeing it in person.
Without test driving it.
Without sitting in it.
Without even walking around it.
I trusted my stepdad.
He delivered it the following weekend.
In nine days, Matt's pickup went from making a weird noise and blowing white smoke to me owning a 2024 Nissan Rogue I'd never actually seen.
There wasn't really time to process any of it.
Something happened.
I figured out the next step.
And I kept moving.
The Other Job People Don't See
Kayla Cares isn't my only job.
I'm also a supervisor for Care-A-Ride.
And I want to make something really clear here:
I absolutely love Dawn.
I love working with her.
She helped me start Kayla Cares.
She's answered more questions than I can count.
She's sat in on interviews with me.
She's helped when I've struggled to explain something.
None of my frustration is toward Dawn or Care-A-Ride.
I'm just fucking tired.
In July, I worked 11 days for Care-A-Ride.
Usually it was around one ride a day, maybe two hours.
Some days were closer to four.
In August, I worked six days, averaging around four hours, sometimes more.
And by September 19th, I'd already worked six days for Care-A-Ride with six more still scheduled.
And those aren't replacing Kayla Cares days.
They're being stacked on top of them.
Before clients.
After clients.
Between clients.
Care-A-Ride hired someone toward the middle or end of August.
She trained at the end of August and beginning of September.
And I could finally see a little breathing room coming.
She was almost ready.
She was supposed to start working independently.
She quit the day before.
Dawn had already accepted rides expecting that we'd have another driver.
Those families still needed transportation.
And I couldn't leave Dawn to just figure it out.
That's not who I am.
So I've moved my own Kayla Cares clients around to make room for Care-A-Ride clients.
And that's part of why I'm tired.
Not cute tired.
Not I need an extra cup of coffee tired.
Really, really tired.
The version of Kayla showing up lately is still Kayla.
She's just running on a lot less.
Sometimes Rearranging a Schedule Costs More Than Hours
Monday, September 21st is supposed to be a big day for my family.
At the end of August, my little brother was attacked by a dog.
My family has court that day.
I was supposed to take the day off and stay with my two younger brothers.
I'm not going to be able to.
Because that Care-A-Ride employee quit, I'm scheduled for around six hours in the car that day.
Then I still have around seven hours with my own clients.
And during all of that, I'm going to be worrying about my little brothers.
Feeling like I'm failing them.
I'm going to feel like I'm failing my dad and stepmom because I can't be there for them either.
And one of the families I'll be driving for Care-A-Ride that day is also one of my Kayla Cares clients.
I'm the one who helped set that ride up.
I knew they needed it.
And when I arranged it, I believed we'd have someone available to drive them.
So what am I supposed to do now?
Leave Dawn scrambling?
Leave a family I personally told we could help without transportation?
Or disappoint my own family?
There isn't always a good choice.
Sometimes there's just the choice that keeps the most things from falling apart.
Usually, I do make it work.
But sometimes making it work for everyone else means disappointing someone I love.
Sometimes that person is my client.
Sometimes it's my family.
And sometimes it's me.
A Little Breathing Room
There was one day in all of this that felt different.
Labor Day.
I talked to my families and told them I desperately needed a day off.
Most were completely understanding.
A couple needed a little more persuasion.
But I got my day.
Matt and I originally planned to take our paddleboards to Sylvan Lake.
Then we checked the weather that morning.
High of 57 degrees.
Absolutely not.
So we changed plans.
We drove into Wyoming and went hiking.
Six miles.
Almost 600 feet of elevation.
We took Athena, our old pit bull, and Juniper, our puppy.
It was my first real hike in forever.
And after everything happening with my leg, it was also a test.
For about three hours, I wasn't the owner of Kayla Cares.
I wasn't the supervisor for Care-A-Ride.
I wasn't trying to cover a shift.
I wasn't rearranging clients.
I wasn't answering some emergency.
I was just Kayla.
And Matt was just Matt.
For three uninterrupted hours, we got to be Matt and Kayla.
Husband and wife.
Two normal people walking through the woods with their dogs.
And you know what?
The world didn't fall apart because I wasn't working.
That day reminded me that underneath all these job titles, there is still a person.
And she needs some of my time too.
But that hike meant something else because of everything my body had been putting me through.
When My Body Became Another Question
At the end of June, I had a client slip.
Her dog ran underneath her bed, knocked her leg out from underneath her, and she fell toward me.
She hit my knee.
To be fair, that knee wasn't exactly perfect before this happened.
I've had some instability since horseback riding accidents back in high school.
But this hurt it enough that suddenly it was affecting my ability to work.
Walking hurt.
Stairs hurt.
Squatting down to pull up a client's clothes hurt.
My work is physical.
People rely on me to be able to move, bend and assist them safely.
That made taking care of my own body more important than I'd probably been treating it.
I had my leg checked at the beginning of July.
My ankle had also been stiff and causing problems, so we checked that too.
I had X-rays done on both.
Not many answers.
So on July 7th, I started physical therapy.
Twice a week.
An hour each time.
I did that until September 15th.
My knee got stronger.
It healed.
Eventually, I got the okay to stop PT.
My ankle didn't.
It wasn't getting better, so they eventually ordered an MRI.
And that's when I finally got an answer.
I had broken my ankle.
I actually know when I did it.
At the time, I thought I'd sprained it.
So I kept going.
Over the last year, though, the pain has gotten worse.
When I found out I'd actually broken it, I laughed.
Because of course I did.
Of fucking course I broke my ankle and thought I sprained it.
I see the podiatrist in October to figure out what we're going to do.
I've already been told to prepare myself for the possibility of surgery.
And yeah, I'm worried.
Who wouldn't be?
But my brain immediately goes beyond being scared of surgery.
It's my right foot.
If I have surgery, I won't be able to drive.
If I can't drive, I can't get myself to work.
I'll probably end up back in physical therapy.
And financially, Matt and I would literally be down to one income.
So when someone says surgery, my brain hears:
How the fuck am I going to make this work?
Apparently My Teeth Wanted In Too
Because my knee and ankle weren't enough for July, my teeth decided they wanted to participate too.
One of my upper molars cracked.
That's actually the only reason I went to the dentist.
We discovered that a wisdom tooth had come in and was pushing against that molar.
So I ended up having two teeth pulled.
And I still had clients scheduled afterward.
That's when the lack of backup really hit me.
I needed recovery time.
My clients still needed care.
And I didn't have another caregiver I could simply call to take my place.
I did what I've gotten really good at doing.
I figured it out.
But going to the dentist opened another can of worms.
I still have three wisdom teeth.
And apparently getting those removed isn't going to be as simple as just pulling them.
The nerves run between the roots.
There's also a possibility that my wisdom teeth could be contributing to the migraines I've been dealing with.
Before starting medication, I was getting migraines once or twice a week, and they could last two to three days.
They interfered with everything.
Working.
Driving.
Existing.
Thankfully, medication has helped tremendously.
I still get headaches, but they're a lot better.
Since starting the medication, I've only had maybe five migraines that I've really struggled to power through.
That's a huge improvement.
But the wisdom teeth are still another question waiting to be dealt with.
Then There Was My Stomach
On July 21st, I had an upper scope.
I'd been dealing with vomiting.
Not occasionally.
Daily.
Eating could make me throw up.
Even drinking water could do it if it wasn't cold enough.
And by cold, I mean cold.
Room-temperature water could make me sick.
My water needed a lot of ice.
They found a hiatal hernia, but that didn't explain everything.
They thought I might have celiac disease.
I don't.
That's good news.
But once again, we crossed something off the list without actually answering the bigger question.
Then why is this happening?
And it still happens.
These are ongoing symptoms I've been working with my doctors to understand, and I've learned ways to manage them.
Sometimes that means slowing down, breathing through the nausea, chewing gum or taking a minute in my car before my next visit.
And I've also had to learn the difference between symptoms I know and manage regularly and being genuinely too sick to safely work.
There have been times I've called out.
Food poisoning?
Yeah, I'm staying home.
A migraine bad enough that I can't safely function?
I'm not going to pretend I should be taking care of someone else.
That's part of caregiving too—knowing when pushing through stops being responsible.
And Then There Was the Scary Stuff
Then I had my third abnormal test.
Because of that, along with my family history and higher risk, I had to start seeing cancer doctors.
There's something different about hearing that you need to start seeing oncology.
Nobody was telling me I had cancer.
But that word still carries weight.
There were appointments.
Scans.
Waiting.
Thankfully, my scans came back clear.
I'm okay.
I'll see them again next year.
And I'm incredibly grateful for that.
But a clear scan doesn't erase what it felt like getting there.
It doesn't erase hearing that something was abnormal again.
It doesn't erase knowing this was the third time.
So yes, I'm okay.
But that doesn't mean I wasn't scared.
The Surgery I Can't Make Time For
Then there are my tonsils.
I've had tonsillitis enough times that I have scarring on them, and they need to come out.
My doctor told me I'd need around two weeks off work.
Two weeks.
Doesn't sound that crazy, right?
Then I did the math.
Two weeks off for me means finding coverage for at least 44 regular client visits in 14 days.
Forty-four.
That doesn't include the clients I squeeze into my schedule for things like showers.
It doesn't include extra visits.
And it doesn't include Dawn's Care-A-Ride clients.
So right now, I'm trying to figure out how to create enough reliable coverage to make that time off possible.
And if my ankle needs surgery, I'll be facing that problem again.
That's probably one of the harder things for me to admit.
I've built a business around taking care of people, and I'm learning that part of making that business sustainable is creating enough coverage for me to take care of myself too.
That's become another reason hiring matters so much.
I don't just need another caregiver so Kayla Cares can grow.
I need another caregiver so Kayla can occasionally stop being one.
What “Powering Through” Actually Looks Like
I keep saying I power through things.
I don't want that to sound inspirational.
Because it's not.
Sometimes powering through means managing the chronic symptoms my doctors and I are already working on while still getting through my day.
It means sitting in my car between clients with my foot elevated.
It means finding ten minutes to close my eyes when a headache starts.
It means chewing gum because sometimes that helps the nausea.
It means listening to my body and learning when something can be managed—and when I actually need to stop.
Appointments themselves became another thing I had to fit around clients.
I've been late to clients because an appointment ran over.
I've been late to appointments because I was with a client.
I've even left a client's house halfway through their scheduled time, rushed to an appointment, and then gone straight back to their house afterward to finish the rest of their time.
That's how ridiculous my schedule has gotten.
Matt sees some of it.
He sees me when I finally get home.
But I don't tell him about every little problem throughout my day.
I don't call him every time I'm nauseous.
I don't report every ten-minute car nap or every time my ankle hurts.
My family doesn't hear most of it either.
They don't live here.
And my dad and stepmom already have enough going on with my dad's workers' comp situation and the endless pain he's dealing with.
I don't want to add everything happening with me onto their plate too.
So a lot of the time, I handle what I can.
Then I come home.
I Know Something Has to Change
And maybe this is the hardest thing for me to write.
The hardest part mentally isn't wondering whether I'm strong enough to keep pushing.
It's recognizing that this pace isn't sustainable for my body.
My doctors have told me to slow down.
My body has definitely told me to slow the fuck down.
Knowing that and actually figuring out how to create room to slow down are two completely different things.
I tried to think about the last time I was actually able to just be sick.
Not rearrange clients.
Not think about schedules.
Not worry about who needed what.
The last time I can really remember was September of last year.
And the reason I completely stopped was because I was hospitalized.
An upper respiratory infection had turned into pneumonia.
Then I ended up with sepsis.
Apparently, that's what it took for everything to completely stop.
That's not a flex.
It's not me saying:
Look how dedicated I am.
Honestly?
It's fucking terrifying when I see it written down.
Because I don't want it to take something that serious for me to recognize that I need rest again.
And I think that's one of the biggest things these last few months have forced me to admit.
I don't just need help because my business is growing.
I need help because I'm one person.
One person who has doctors' appointments.
Who gets hurt.
Who gets sick.
Who needs surgeries.
Who has a husband.
Who has a family.
Who sometimes needs to sleep.
Who sometimes needs to be the patient instead of the caregiver.
Building reliable backup isn't admitting that I can't do my job.
It's part of making sure I can keep doing the job I love well.
I love what I do.
I love my clients.
And because this work is physical, taking care of my own health has to become part of taking care of them too.
But My Body Carried Me Six Miles
And that's why I keep coming back to that Labor Day hike.
Six miles.
Almost 600 feet of elevation.
My knee did amazing.
My ankle started hurting during that last mile—which makes a lot more sense now knowing it was actually broken.
But I did it.
After months of doctors.
X-rays.
Physical therapy.
Dental work.
Migraines.
Vomiting.
Scans.
Appointments.
Pain.
And questions.
My body carried me six miles through Wyoming with my husband and our dogs.
And I was so fucking proud of myself.
That hike didn't magically fix anything.
I still have appointments coming.
I still have an ankle to figure out.
I still have wisdom teeth to deal with.
I still need my tonsils out.
I still don't have answers for everything.
But for those six miles, my body carried me.
And for three hours, I got to just be Kayla.
I think I needed both of those things more than I realized.
Because these last few months have taught me something I'm still trying to accept:
Figuring everything out isn't the same thing as being okay.
I'm really good at saying:
It's fine. I'll figure it out.
And most of the time?
I do.
But every time I figure something out, it takes a little piece of me with it.
And maybe that's why I'm finally writing all of this down.
Because somewhere between taking care of my clients, helping Dawn, worrying about my family, trying to hire, buying a car, sitting in doctors' offices, going to physical therapy and figuring out the next problem...
I need to make sure there are still some pieces of Kayla left for Kayla.
— Kayla
