I didn’t get to film my “Lunchtime Diaries” yesterday — I was out with coworkers — but I’m back. These daily reflections have become small pauses in my life: tiny corners of time where I exhale, reset, and remember that I’m a human being before anything else.
This week has felt heavy. Anxiety clings to me as I wait for my Waymo rides, rush through the city, and try not to crumble under pressure. But it’s Friday. And even if I’m tired, I’m still grateful.
🌞 Morning Check-In
I’m headed to the clinic.
Today, I’m hoping for calm — a slower heartbeat, a clearer mind, a little more presence.
Part of my anxiety comes from uncertainty. I don’t know where I’ll be a year from now. Or six. I don’t know if the universe is listening to what I’m manifesting. But I’m learning to surrender — to trust that what is meant for me will arrive in its time.
I want to feel proud of the person I’m becoming:
not just as a provider, but as a human being.
Good morning, everyone. It’s me — Jas
Another day, another Waymo Diaries. I didn’t make it to Lunchtime Diaries yesterday — coworkers, lunch, life — but I’m here now, hopeful that today will be gentler. Lately, I’ve been stressed out, waiting on my Whimo, wondering about money, wondering about timing, wondering about life. But I’m heading to work. It’s Friday. I’m tired, but I’m here.
This week has been a blur — a beautiful blur — filled with patients and stories and humanity. One thing I’ve learned over years of being a nurse before becoming a nurse practitioner is this: patients are more than symptoms to chart. They are people trying to stay alive in a world that keeps shifting beneath them.
And lately? The anxiety is everywhere.
Tech workers losing jobs and insurance. Government workers unsure of their future. Families struggling with the cost of groceries — I see it at Costco, at Trader Joe’s — every little thing creeping upward. Stress rising with it. Mood shifting. Lives tightening.
Every day I sit with people who are scared — not about lab results, but about life.
And somehow, it has become an honor. Because they trust me with their fears. They allow me to witness their trembling hands, their fragile breaths, the moment their voice breaks. And when appropriate, I ask gently,
“Can I hold your hands?”
Not everyone wants to be held. But sometimes, touch is a bridge back to being human.
That is the gift of having been a nurse first — I learned the healing in silence, the power of active listening, the sacredness of presence.
I don’t want to be remembered solely as “the mental health nurse practitioner” or “the LGBT provider” or “the trans healthcare NP.” Yes — that is part of my work, and I’m grateful. But my true brand — the legacy I’m building — is authenticity. I want to be remembered for being human.
Because being a provider doesn’t erase being a person. I feel their pain. I carry their stories home with me. I care deeply — sometimes too deeply. And that can hurt. But I never want to lose that part of me. I never want my patients to be afraid of me just because I wear a name badge.
I want them to know that if bad news comes, I will sit with them — human to human — not diagnosis to diagnosis.
Do I have all the answers? Absolutely not. I don’t know where I’ll be one year from now — or three. And I’m learning that not knowing is okay. I’m learning to surrender. To trust that the universe is still shaping the pieces I haven’t seen yet. And maybe letting go of control is the cure for my anxiety.
Later — finally — Lunchtime Diaries.
Mongolian beef in a quiet corner. Just me. My food. My thoughts. And honestly? Peace.
I used to be the girl who ate tiny bites on dates to look “cute.” Now? I take big bites. I enjoy the meal. I show up for myself. Because this — these little rituals — they’re what help me keep going through burnout and stress. They remind me that life is still beautiful. That food still tastes amazing.
ICU culture taught me how to devour a meal in ten minutes — thirty-minute breaks if you’re lucky. Funny how that discipline stays in your body years later. Funny how healing makes space again for pleasure.
Today’s reflection:
Vulnerability is not a burden. It is a gift.
So many of my patients say:
“I don’t want to bother my friends.”
“I don’t want to be a burden.”
I understand. I’ve been there.
When I was drowning, I thought asking for help made me weak.
But I am here today because I asked.
A friend from back home in the Philippines — someone I haven’t seen since 1999 — told me:
“I’ve been watching your videos. I was worried. Did I ever reach out when you needed help?”
And that message — years later — reminded me:
People do care. Sometimes we’re just too deep in the dark to see the hands reaching toward us.
When we ask for help, we are giving someone the opportunity to show up.
We are giving them a chance to save us.
A chance to love us in our most vulnerable form.
We are so used to hearing stories that end in tragedy — families saying,
“I wish I knew.”
“I wish they had told me.”
“I wish I could have helped.”
So what if we gave them that chance before the regret?
Mental health struggles are not attention-seeking.
They are life-seeking.
When someone says,
“I’m hurting.”
they are saying,
“I want to stay. Please help me stay.”
I’m nervous talking into a camera in public. People probably wonder what I’m doing — smiling, crying, rambling into my phone. But guess what?
I’m in my I-don’t-give-a-f* era.**
Because sharing my truth helps me survive it.
And if my truth helps someone else survive too?
Then this is exactly where I’m meant to be.
So I’ll keep recording.
Keep reflecting.
Keep showing up — messy and real.
Because we deserve to exist as humans — not performances.
Thank you for listening.
Thank you for seeing me.
Go step into the sunlight.
Get that vitamin D.
Breathe.
Live.
Ask for help.
Love loudly.
Eat big bites.
And don’t forget your phone, keys, or wallet.
I love you guys.
Until the next Filipina Nurse Practitioner Diaries. 🌈✨
Day in the life of a Filipina Nurse Practitioner 
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