Life & Work with Mckenzy Barrett of Lenexa – Kansas City

Today we’d like to introduce you to Mckenzy Barrett

Hi McKenzy, please kick things off for us with an introduction to yourself and your story.
it’s hard to sum up everything that has shaped me into who I am today because so much of my life has been defined by love, loss, resilience, and this drive to keep moving forward, no matter how heavy the past has been. But I think at my core, I’m just a small-town girl from Wakefield, Kansas, trying to live a big life with the promise I made to my dad all those years ago.

Growing up in Wakefield, my life was full of energy. I was always busy—always moving. I played every sport I could, I played music—piano, flute, guitar—and I was the drum major in our high school band. I got to be a part of the musicals and plays, and I was even homecoming queen. I was always the first to jump in and give something a try, and I loved that feeling of being part of something bigger than myself. I was also a competitive horse show jumper, traveling across the country to compete in equestrian events. The discipline, focus, and grit I learned from that experience really shaped the way I approach everything in life. My brother and I, we’re very close—he’s only a year and a half older than me—and we’ve always been there for each other through thick and thin. My sister’s relationship with our family has always been complicated, and I won’t go into the details, but suffice to say, it wasn’t the healthiest environment growing up, and that’s something I’ve had to navigate and process over time. The trauma I went through in my childhood sometimes crawls up my spine and whispers into my ear, reminding me I will ever fully be okay with the toxic issues my sister caused me and I pray someday she can find her way back to herself long enough for me to decompress the heavy baggage it causes me to carry.

But the biggest influence in my life, the one that changed everything for me, was my dad. When I was six, he was diagnosed with cancer. For years, I watched him fight, and I watched him suffer. I spent so many nights in hospital rooms holding his hand, my small fingers wrapped around his, hoping for some kind of miracle. I didn’t understand what his diagnosis really meant back then. I was too young to really grasp that one day I would lose him. But we had our little rituals, and one of the most precious memories I have is of us watching the hummingbirds outside the clinic window while he was getting chemotherapy. It became our thing. Hummingbirds came to symbolize the connection between life and death, between him and me—a symbol of hope and endurance. To this day, whenever I see a hummingbird, I feel him with me.

My dad was my rock. He was a man of wisdom, and he planted so many seeds in my heart—things that didn’t make sense when he said them, but over time, as I grew, they became clear. He planted seeds in our minds that overtime grew into a beautiful garden of wisdom, he knew he wouldn’t always be around to give those pieces of advice. I always told him if he would just hold on and wait for me, i would grow up and become a doctor or nurse and I would find a way to save his life. He believed in us so fiercely. He believed that I would become a doctor and find a way to save him, and I promised him I would. But that wasn’t a promise I could keep.

We lost him when I was 11. That day is something I’ll never forget, because it’s the day I became a different person. I was just a kid, but I had to step into a grief so heavy, it felt like a weight I’d carry forever. I promised him I would go on and save others, even though I couldn’t save him. That promise has stayed with me, and it drives me every single day. I remember when he said to me “Mac, your dad is going to die.” I was shocked because the taste of the kiss of death was bitter and I wasn’t ready to swallow it yet. I did a good job spitting that truth out for many years, refusing to swallow what I knew would poison my happiness. But in that moment, the truth of death wrapped herself around my lips and inevitably i knew the only way to get rid of the taste was to swallow it. I fear the truth of my fathers death is something I have spent most my life choking on. I was a girl choking on a womans grief, I know i will carry this grief in my blood.

The loss of my dad shook my family to the core. My mom, who’s the most incredible woman I know—so strong, so kind, so loving—fell apart. She lost her soulmate, and it broke her in a way that’s hard to explain. We didn’t have much money growing up, and after my dad died, things only got harder. I didn’t realize just how bad it was until I was in high school. We were constantly behind on bills, the fridge was often empty, and the house that used to be filled with laughter and love now felt like a tomb full of memories I couldn’t escape. I remember sneaking into the school locker room early to shower before class because I was so embarrassed about our home situation. But what’s wild is that none of my friends knew the depth of the despair I was carrying. I hid it so well.

My best friend, Sam—she’s my soul sister. She was always there for me, even when I didn’t know how to be there for myself. When I was 16, our house burned down while I was at a horse jumping competition. It was 2 a.m. when Sam called to tell me. The thing is, I didn’t feel devastation. I felt relief. That sounds so twisted, but it’s the truth. My childhood home was gone. The house that no longer felt like home. It was no longer a place that reminded me of my dad every time I walked through a door. And as terrible as it sounds, part of me was just grateful to be free of that constant weight. I needed a fresh start.

I threw myself into everything I could control: my studies, my sports. Anything to keep me moving forward. I couldn’t afford to go to medical school, so I started working as a CNA at the hospital in Manhattan, Kansas, and also at an online pharmacy. I worked my ass off. I saved up enough money to move to Kansas City in July of 2022 to attend nursing school. I didn’t know anyone. I left behind my friends, my family, everything familiar. But I knew it was time. I had to do what I promised my dad I would do—save others.

Now, I’m about to start working in the pediatric ICU at Children’s Mercy. I’m excited and nervous, but most of all, I’m just determined. I want to be the kind of nurse who makes a real difference. When people think of me, I hope they think of someone who is resilient, kind, empathetic, silly, outgoing—a small-town girl with a big heart and a soft soul. I want my dad’s legacy to live on in the work I do and the lives I touch.

I could easily let the bitterness of my past define me. It would be so easy to stay angry and resentful for everything I lost. But I refuse. Because I am lucky. I’m lucky that I had the privilege of loving my dad so deeply, and I’m lucky that I get to live, to carry his memory, and to honor the promise I made to him. Grief is a heavy coat, but it’s a coat I wear with pride. It’s love wrapped in pain, and it will always be a part of me.

Life is fair because it is unfair to all of us. The unfairness binds us together, makes us appreciate what we have while we have it, and reminds us to keep going, even when it feels impossible. I’m here because of my dad. And I’m going to do everything I can to save the others, just like I promised.

Looking ahead, my biggest goal for 2025 is to start a nonprofit organization for cancer patients and their families—one that offers not just financial support, but a place of real community. It will be a safe haven for those who are suffering, offering therapy, daycare resources, food resources, and overall care for families going through the unimaginable. I want it to be a place where people can breathe when the weight of cancer is dragging them under and they cannot catch their breathe. A place of light and warmth for them, even in the darkest of times. I plan to call it The Kirby Foundation, named after my dad, and the symbol of the foundation will be a hummingbird—just like the one that connects me to him and reminds me that even in the hardest moments, there is still hope.

Outside of all that, I love spending my time at local farmers markets, trying new things at coffee shops, and staying active with workouts. I’m passionate about giving back, and I volunteer with organizations like Lead to Read KC and Newhouse, because I believe in the power of community and in the importance of being there for one another. Time spent with friends and family is invaluable to me, and I cherish the moments I get to share with the people I love. Four quarters is better then 100 pennies to me, the friendships I have I value and cherish deeply, the people who sit at my table in my life know they have earned their seat. It is no longer open seating in my life. I have worked hard to build a community of people surrounding me who are passionate, kind, loving humans that want to see my success just as badly as they want to see theirs, a true place of support.

I’m working every day to make sure I live up to the promise I made to my father. And I’m determined to create a world where no one has to walk through cancer alone.

I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
No, it definitely hasn’t been a smooth road. If anything, my journey has been full of twists, turns, and challenges I never saw coming. But I think that’s what has shaped me the most, honestly—the hard parts. They’ve tested my strength, my resilience, and my determination in ways that I never imagined.

The most obvious struggle, and the one that has had the biggest impact on my life, was my dad’s illness. Watching him fight cancer for years, knowing that there was nothing I could do to stop it—that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to face. And then losing him when I was just 11, well, that completely shattered me. I was a kid carrying grief I didn’t know how to process, and I had to grow up fast. But it wasn’t just the loss—it was the way everything fell apart afterward. My mom was devastated, and we struggled financially, emotionally, and in so many other ways. The weight of that loss lingered, and I often found myself feeling like I was stuck in a fog. It’s easy to look at people’s lives from the outside and think they have it all together, but no one knew the depth of what I was going through. I carried that grief in silence, not always knowing how to reach out for help, afraid that no one would understand.

Then, there was the fire. My childhood home burned down when I was 16, and while I felt relief in a twisted way because I no longer had to face constant reminders of my dad’s absence, that loss was still hard. It was like another layer of my past being stripped away. I had to face the reality that everything I had known up to that point was gone—physically and emotionally. I had to start over in ways I wasn’t prepared for, and that meant finding new ways to process grief, to rebuild, and to move forward.

Financial struggles were another major hurdle. After my dad’s death, we were left in a tough spot. We had no savings, and my mom had to navigate the overwhelming task of providing for us on her own. I didn’t realize how bad it was until high school, when I began to see just how much we were struggling. But I didn’t let that stop me. I became determined to make something of myself, to rise above the circumstances, and to carve out a future where I wouldn’t have to worry about survival.

And the road to nursing school wasn’t exactly smooth either. I knew I wanted to be in healthcare, but the financial barriers were huge. My family couldn’t afford college, and I didn’t want to take on a mountain of student loan debt. So, I worked—really hard. I got my CNA certification, worked at a hospital, and saved up for years to move to Kansas City and attend nursing school. I had to sacrifice a lot during that time—time with friends and family, time to just relax and be a teenager. But I was determined to do what I promised my dad I would do, and I wasn’t going to let anything stand in the way of that.

Even now, there are days when I feel overwhelmed—days when the weight of my dad’s loss still feels like a heavy coat I can’t take off. But I’ve learned to live with it. Grief doesn’t ever fully go away, but it evolves. It becomes something you carry with you, something that shapes you and drives you forward. And while it’s been a long, hard road, I can look back and see how each struggle has made me stronger and more determined to honor the promises I’ve made, not just to my dad, but to myself.

The biggest struggle I face today is probably finding balance. Nursing school, working at the hospital, planning for my future, and trying to build a nonprofit from the ground up—there are days when it feels like there aren’t enough hours in the day. But I’ve learned to rely on the people around me, my family, and my friends, to keep me grounded and remind me of why I’m doing all of this. I’m constantly moving forward, but I have to remind myself to pause, take a breath, and appreciate the small victories along the way.

So, no—it hasn’t been easy. But I wouldn’t change a thing. The struggles I’ve faced have made me who I am, and they’ve given me the passion and the drive to keep pushing, to keep helping others, and to keep my dad’s legacy alive in everything I do.

Appreciate you sharing that. What else should we know about what you do?
I’m currently pursuing my career in healthcare as a nurse, and that’s where my heart lies. Specifically, I’m working towards a position in the Pediatric ICU at Children’s Mercy in Kansas City, which I’m beyond excited for. I specialize in pediatric care, and I’m drawn to this field because of the impact I can make in the lives of children and their families. There’s something so humbling and meaningful about being part of a child’s healthcare journey—whether that means helping them recover, supporting their families during tough times, or just offering comfort in moments of need.

What I’m most proud of is that I’ve been able to keep my promise to my dad while also building a career that feels true to my purpose. He believed in me, and I’m determined to honor that belief in everything I do. I’ve seen firsthand the profound impact a compassionate, kind healthcare provider can have on a patient and their family. I’m known for my empathy, my ability to connect with people, and my deep sense of responsibility to make a difference in the lives of those I care for. I think that’s what sets me apart—while many people go into healthcare because of a passion for science or medicine, I’m driven by something much more personal.

Growing up with my dad’s illness, I saw just how much emotional support is needed, not just for the patient, but for their entire family. I understand the emotional toll that illness can take on people, and I want to be there for families in a way that goes beyond just the physical care. I want them to know that they’re not alone in what they’re going through. I want to be that person who holds their hand during the toughest moments, who offers a listening ear, or who helps them find strength when they feel like they have none left.

Another thing that sets me apart is my commitment to creating real change. I’m not just content to be a nurse—I want to be an advocate. As I mentioned, my biggest goal for 2025 is to start a nonprofit organization called The Kirby Foundation, named after my dad. The foundation will support cancer patients and their families by providing a safe haven—a place where people can find therapy, childcare, food, and resources for navigating the immense challenges of cancer treatment. I want it to be more than just a place of care; I want it to be a community. A space where people can grieve, heal, and connect with others who truly understand what they’re going through. I think that’s one of the things that’s missing in healthcare—while there’s a lot of focus on physical recovery, there’s not always enough emphasis on emotional and community-based recovery. The Kirby Foundation will fill that gap, and it will be a place of hope, just like the hummingbirds my dad and I would watch together.

I’m most proud of the fact that even though I’ve faced so many challenges—grief, financial hardship, personal loss—I’ve managed to keep pushing forward. My dad’s memory and his legacy drive me every single day. What sets me apart is that I bring more than just technical skill to the table. I bring my heart, my story, and a deep understanding of what it means to suffer and to heal. I think people can sense that when they interact with me. They know that I truly care, and that’s what I want to be known for. Not just as a nurse, but as someone who is committed to making a difference, both in healthcare and in the lives of those who are struggling with the challenges of cancer and illness.

In the future, I hope that when people think of me, they think of someone who is resilient, empathetic, and kind—someone who didn’t let her past define her, but instead used it as fuel to make the world a better place. I hope I’m remembered as someone who always saw the person, not just the patient, and who worked tirelessly to help others, especially those who are suffering the most. And I truly believe that’s what sets me apart: my dedication to using my experiences, both the painful and the beautiful, to bring hope and healing to others.

Is there a quality that you most attribute to your success?
If I had to choose one quality that’s been the most important to my success, it would be resilience. Life has thrown me so many challenges—grief, financial hardship, loss—but through it all, I’ve learned how to keep moving forward. Resilience doesn’t just mean bouncing back from tough situations; for me, it’s about adapting to adversity, learning from it, and using those experiences to fuel my growth and determination. It’s about finding strength in places I didn’t even know existed.

My dad’s illness and death really shaped the way I view resilience. As a young girl, I watched him fight cancer with everything he had, and even though he knew he was terminal, he never gave up. He kept pushing forward, teaching us how to be strong in the face of pain, how to keep living even when everything seemed to be falling apart. When he died, I had to dig deep to find that strength within myself, and though it took time, I realized that resilience isn’t about never feeling broken—it’s about being able to keep going even when you are.

That resilience has carried me through some really dark times. After my dad passed away, when my family was struggling financially, when my childhood home burned down, and when I felt overwhelmed by the weight of all the responsibilities I took on—resilience was the thing that kept me from staying stuck. Instead of giving in to bitterness or despair, I chose to move forward. I threw myself into my studies and my work, determined to build a future for myself and keep my promise to my dad that I would make a difference in the world.

But I think what makes resilience truly powerful is that it’s not just about personal strength; it’s also about leaning on others when you need to. Resilience is built in community, not isolation. I learned that through my relationships with my family and friends. My best friend Sam has been my rock, my lifeline through so many of those tough moments. And my mom—she’s an example of resilience in its purest form. Even when everything felt impossible, she kept fighting for us. I’ve learned that it’s okay to lean on people, to ask for help, and that resilience is a shared strength, not just an individual one.

Looking back, I see that resilience has been the thread that ties everything together. It’s what has allowed me to keep pushing toward my goals, even when I didn’t know how I was going to make it through. It’s what has kept me going in nursing school, as I work my way toward my dream of making a difference in pediatric healthcare and launching The Kirby Foundation. And it’s what continues to drive me to honor my dad’s memory and the promise I made to him.

In the end, I think resilience is more than just a quality—it’s a mindset. It’s about embracing the tough moments and using them to shape who you are. Without it, I wouldn’t be where I am today. I wouldn’t have been able to keep moving forward, and I wouldn’t have the determination to make a lasting impact on the world, like I’m hoping to do with my future nonprofit.

Contact Info:

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