It’s Tuesday — my work-from-home day — which means I get to breathe in my own space. I show up for my patients with compassion, even when I’m still learning to show up for myself. Between inbox messages and phone calls, I catch moments of stillness… and today, I needed them.
The coughing, the throat-clearing — that’s anxiety, I know it. My body speaks before I do. I’m grieving someone I loved, someone who left… and in that leaving, I gained clarity. What I gave wasn’t reciprocated. And that’s okay.
I’ve been gaslit. Unseen. Unheard.
Yet here I am — still choosing softness.
Losing someone doesn’t mean losing me.
This is my soft era.
This is me choosing openness, even when it hurts.
This is me building community, laying healthier foundations, and exploring who I’m becoming.
This is me — the real Jasmine.
Not perfect. Not filtered. Not edited. Just human.
Even when others walk away, I refuse to abandon myself.
I let myself feel:
• It’s okay to grieve.
• It’s okay to be lost.
• It’s okay to fall apart and rebuild again.
I joke about being a “delulu YouTuber” with 30 loyal viewers — but those 30 see me. They believe in authenticity. They remind me that it’s worth being visible.
Sharing my truth is terrifying… but necessary.
Mindfulness, Meditation & Relearning What Matters
A Personal Journal Entry — Extended Version
Over these past few weeks, mindfulness and meditation have become the quiet anchors holding me together. Every morning, before the world pulls me in a thousand directions, I sit still with myself. I breathe. I listen. I reconnect with all the parts of me I used to silence — my truth, my rawness, my sensitivity, my emotions, my softness, my ability to love deeply.
For the first time in a long time, I’m not running from my feelings. I’m sitting with them. Naming them. Honoring them.
People stigmatize emotions so easily.
“Attention-seeking.”
“Too much.”
“Dramatic.”
But emotions are human.
Emotions are information.
Emotions are truth.
And I’m learning to stop apologizing for mine.
Changing My Environment to Save My Sanity
One of the biggest lessons I’ve learned this year is this:
If the world feels overwhelming, step out of the room.
Literally.
I started taking “lunchtime diaries” walks because I realized I couldn’t stay locked inside a clinic room or behind a computer screen for hours. My body knew before my mind did — I needed sunshine. I needed fresh air. I needed to see something alive and moving instead of blinking notifications and EMRs screaming my name.
So I step outside.
I let the sun warm my skin.
I listen to the wind.
I watch people going about their day — laughing, rushing, living.
And every time I do, I’m reminded:
There is a world outside my burnout.
There is beauty outside my exhaustion.
There is life outside my deadlines.
Yes, I’m saving for the future.
Yes, I dream of stability, maybe even a home one day — something I can pass on to future kids or grandkids.
But what’s the point of saving for life if I’m not living life right now?
I ask myself that all the time.
I don’t want to live decades sacrificing joy for a version of “someday” that may never come. I want to live today — in small ways, simple ways, soulful ways.
And part of honoring myself means acknowledging my grief, too.
I’m grieving the loss of a friend — not through death, but through distance, silence, and the realization that I wasn’t a priority in his life. And while that hurts deeply, I’m proud of how I’m showing up for myself through it. I let myself feel. I let myself cry. I let myself be confused. I let myself be human.
And then I step outside.
And the world holds me while I heal.
Learning to Believe in Myself Again
Creating content has been a strange, emotional journey. There are days when I record videos and my throat tightens from anxiety. I hear myself clearing my throat over and over — a small but real sign of how nervous I still am.
I wasn’t always like this. I used to hide everything behind a quiet smile, telling only my closest friends how I really felt. Being vulnerable online feels like walking outside naked — no armor, no mask, just my story, my truth, my voice.
Sometimes I second-guess myself:
“Should I even post this?”
“What if people judge me?”
“What if I look stupid?”
“What if I overshared?”
But every time I hit upload, I remind myself:
I’m allowed to be seen.
I’m allowed to take up space.
I’m allowed to be imperfect.
I’m allowed to exist out loud.
And even if my words come out messy, even if my thoughts go in circles, even if my videos aren’t perfectly polished — that’s who I am.
Raw. Imperfect. Growing.
And still worthy of being seen.
The Darkest Moment I Survived
There was a time when the darkness inside me felt heavier than everything else in my life. A time when my thoughts scared me. A time when I felt like I was drowning in silence.
I posted something vulnerable online — not for attention, but for connection. A cry for help that I hoped someone, anyone, might hear.
I didn’t expect the person who answered.
It wasn’t my closest friends.
It wasn’t the people I thought would show up.
It was a coworker.
Someone I barely interacted with.
The police knocked on my door — a welfare check.
And I remember freezing, not out of fear, but out of shame.
Shame that I posted.
Shame that I felt so weak.
Shame that someone thought I needed saving.
Shame that I wasn’t “holding it together.”
But why do we shame ourselves for needing help?
Why do we shame seeking attention when sometimes attention is the one thing that saves a life?
That moment saved mine.
To this day, I don’t know who made the call. But I want to thank them. Because they chose to care when they didn’t have to. They chose to act when others stayed silent.
Their one action gave me another chance to exist.
Another chance to heal.
Another chance to be here, sharing this story with you.
What I Tell My Patients About Mental Health
As a Nurse Practitioner, I talk about mental health every day. And one question I always ask during new patient visits is:
“Who would you call if your thoughts ever became overwhelming?”
Most say family or friends.
But then I ask:
“What if you can’t reach them?”
Because I know — sometimes the people you expect won’t show up.
And sometimes the ones you barely know will.
So we talk about safety plans.
We talk about 988 — the mental health hotline.
We talk about the emergency room when you don’t feel safe.
We talk about staying around people instead of isolating.
We talk about telling someone because someone always cares.
You are not too much.
You are not a burden.
You are not unlovable.
You are not alone.
I’m here because someone saw me when I was fading.
Let this be a reminder that you matter too.
The Beauty in My Everyday Life
Despite everything — the grief, the healing, the transitions — my life is still full of small joys that keep me grounded:
• Morning walks with my little Dots, her tiny paws tapping on the sidewalk
• Filipino breakfasts that comfort my soul — especially alamang (alamang is life, always)
• San Francisco fall weather — crisp air, orange leaves, sweaters, warmth
• Cooking, even when I burn something (often)
• Stopping to watch sunlight hit the trees just right
• Being outside, breathing, existing
• Finding beauty in the quietest parts of my day
These small moments keep me alive.
They remind me that life is not just the big things — it’s the little ones that save us.
Still Grieving, Still Loving
Losing my friend emotionally — realizing the connection wasn’t what I thought — has been its own kind of heartbreak.
I cared deeply.
Maybe more than he knew.
Maybe more than he ever cared for me.
And now I see clearly:
I wasn’t a priority.
I wasn’t chosen.
I wasn’t valued the way I valued him.
That truth hurts.
It stings in places I can’t even put into words.
But clarity is also healing.
Even though he’s gone, I still love him in my own quiet way. Not in a desperate way, not in a clinging way, but in a gentle, soft, mature way — wishing him happiness from afar, rooting for him silently.
That’s who I am — loving, loyal, wholehearted.
I don’t regret loving him.
I only regret not loving myself sooner.
Rebuilding Myself at 37
I’m learning that I’m allowed to choose myself.
I’m allowed to rebuild.
I’m allowed to start over.
For years, I shaped myself to fit into other people’s expectations. I built my identity from what others wanted from me — softening myself here, shrinking myself there, performing roles that never belonged to me.
And eventually, I lost myself.
Now, at 37, I’m finding my way back — slowly, beautifully, bravely.
I am rebuilding myself with authenticity.
With emotional courage.
With softness.
With honesty.
With love.
People may leave.
People may reject me.
People may misunderstand me.
But I haven’t left myself.
I am still here.
And that is what matters most.
Ending the Day With Gratitude
So thank you — for reading, for watching, for listening, for being here.
This is my message.
This is my truth.
This is my story.
This is my heart — raw, messy, honest, whole.
And sharing it feels good.
Really good.
Thank you for seeing me.
Thank you for hearing me.
I love you.
Have a beautiful day.
Day in the life of a Filipina Nurse Practitioner 
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