We’re looking forward to introducing you to Ashley A.. Check out our conversation below.
Hi Ashley, thank you for taking the time to reflect back on your journey with us. I think our readers are in for a real treat. There is so much we can all learn from each other and so thank you again for opening up with us. Let’s get into it: What are you being called to do now, that you may have been afraid of before?
What I am being called to do now is step fully into psychiatric and behavioral health nursing. The shift began when I became an RN and finally allowed myself to pursue the specialty that had been on my heart for years. Back when I was an LVN running my business, I always felt drawn to psych, but I never followed that feeling. I was scared. I worried about the stigma. I worried about what people say about working with homeless individuals or people living with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, addiction, or PTSD. I thought it would be too heavy, too dangerous, too unpredictable.
But once I stepped into this world, everything changed. My patients, the ones I once felt so intimidated by, became the people who touched me the deepest. They are not scary. They are vulnerable. They are human beings who spend most of their lives feeling invisible and unheard. Many of them live with severe mental illness and trauma without family, support, or even a safe place to sleep at night. Some are confused. Some are hurting. Some are so used to being dismissed that kindness feels foreign to them.
Now, when I care for them, whether it is for one shift or as one of our frequent flyers who returns often, I want them to feel like they matter. I want them to walk away knowing that someone saw them and listened to them. I want to be one of the few people in their world who helps them feel human again. Even if that moment is small, even if it is brief, I want to make a difference in a way they can feel in their spirit.
This calling became even more personal when I became a mother navigating my own daughter’s mental health journey. In 2011, my daughter attempted suicide. Today, she continues her healing and is currently in therapy, doing the work to understand her emotions and find her way forward. Walking through that pain with her changed me forever. It gave me a deeper understanding of mental health, of fear, of love, and of what it means when someone is battling something you cannot physically see. It made me want to show up for other families the way I wish someone could have shown up for us in those early years.
That is why I am currently going to school for my Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner degree. This path does not feel like a career pivot. It feels like a purpose that grew out of everything I lived through. It aligns with who I am becoming. More grounded, more empathetic, more willing to stand in the hard places with people who feel like no one else wants to.
My past as a business owner also prepared me for this next chapter. Running my own brick and mortar taught me leadership, organization, and the legal and operational side of building something from nothing. One day, I plan to open my own psychiatric practice offering telehealth and in-person practice under the collaborative agreement with a psychiatrist. A place where people of all backgrounds, whether homeless or housed, wealthy or struggling, walk through the doors and feel safe, accepted, and seen.
I am being called to do the work I once feared. And now I step into it fully, because that fear turned into compassion, and that compassion turned into purpose. This is the work I was meant to do.
Can you briefly introduce yourself and share what makes you or your brand unique?
My name is Ashley, and my story has evolved through many chapters, but every chapter has shaped the person and purpose I carry today. I began my professional life as an entrepreneur with a thriving beauty-based business, but life eventually led me toward a calling that felt much deeper and more personal. I am now a psychiatric and behavioral health nurse, working with some of the most vulnerable individuals in our community, including those living with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, severe depression, PTSD, addiction, and homelessness.
What makes my work unique is the connection I build with people who are often overlooked or misunderstood. Many of my patients come to us feeling abandoned by society, unheard by the world, and unseen as human beings. Some have no family. Some are fighting invisible battles that no one has ever asked them about. Whether I am caring for someone for only a few hours or whether they are one of our frequent flyers who returns often, I want each patient to feel like they mattered to someone that day. I want them to feel heard, respected, and human again, even if they have forgotten what that feels like.
My purpose in this field is deeply tied to my own life. In 2011, my daughter attempted suicide, and today she continues her healing journey in therapy. Walking through that darkness with her opened my eyes to the realities of mental illness, the silence so many families live with, and the desperate need for compassion in spaces where people often feel judged. It reshaped me. It made me more empathetic, more grounded, and more determined to be a source of safety and understanding for others.
I am currently pursuing my Master’s Degree to become a Psychiatric Mental Health Nurse Practitioner, building toward my long-term goal of opening my own mental health practice. My past experience as a business owner taught me the operational, legal, and leadership skills needed to build something from the ground up. This time, though, my work is rooted in humanity. My brand is not a product. It is my purpose, my story, my lived experience as a mother, and my commitment to serving people that society too often ignores.
If there is one thing I want readers to know about me, it is that every patient, every moment of compassion, and every story I am trusted with has shaped the direction I am moving in. I am working toward a future where mental health care feels safe, accessible, and full of dignity for the people who need it most.
Amazing, so let’s take a moment to go back in time. What relationship most shaped how you see yourself?
The relationship that shaped me the most was the one I had with my Papa, Felino Acampado Jr. My grandfather raised me as his own, and everything I know about strength, humility, resilience, and love came from watching him live his life with grace. He did not finish elementary school in the Philippines, yet he built a career through discipline and grit. He started as a ramp boy for Philippine Airlines, worked his way into Cargo and Sales, became a Cargo Supervisor, and eventually rose to become the Terminal Supervisor at Mactan International Airport. I used to tag along with him at work when I was little, watching him start his day at 4 in the morning, finish by noon, then come home to cook, care for our family, and love me in the most consistent, quiet ways. He never complained. Even when I was 8 and he had a heart attack that put him in Perpetual Succor Hospital for days, he came home, rested briefly, and went right back to work the next morning. That was my first lesson in perseverance. That was the man who shaped my standard for what it means to keep going.
His presence shaped me into a woman who knows how to endure storms and still stand tall. His absence changed me in a different way. He was called to heaven in August 2022, just after I passed my RN license, and losing him shattered me but also fueled something inside me. Earlier that year, in February, I flew to San Antonio to place my college diploma in his hands. Even through the fog of dementia, he lit up with pride when he saw me. I promised him I would finish my BSN and show him my bachelor’s diploma next. In his final days, his dementia had progressed into Alzheimer’s, yet he still remembered me. I was the only one he remembered. I reminded him of my promise to finish my bachelor’s and he told me, as clearly as he could, that he was proud of me and always would be. When he passed, I felt a part of me break, but I also felt a fire ignite. Everything I have done since then has been my love letter back to him. He is the heartbeat behind my drive, my education, my nursing career, my healing, and every chapter I step into.
His influence extended into how I survived my divorce and rebuilt my life. Watching him live with endurance taught me that even when life collapses beneath you, you can rise again. When my marriage ended, I felt like my world was falling apart. I questioned my worth. I wondered if I failed. But then I thought of my Papa, of how he overcame poverty, illness, and hardship, and how he never let life’s weight dim his purpose. That reminder helped me pull myself out of my lowest seasons and become a stronger woman, a better mother, and a person who refuses to shrink herself to fit anyone’s comfort. His love taught me boundaries. His strength taught me self-respect. His sacrifices taught me I deserved more than survival. And his belief in me taught me to believe in myself again.
His relationship shaped the way I parent and the way I love. It taught me to show up for my children the way he showed up for me. It taught me patience, compassion, and presence. It also taught me what kind of love not to tolerate. His goodness showed me that love should feel safe and steady, not chaotic and painful. As I’ve grown older and healed from so much, I see now that his purpose in my life was to give me a foundation so strong that even heartbreak could not break me. His impact strengthened my confidence, sharpened my drive, and reminded me that I come from a line of quiet warriors.
His relationship didn’t just teach me to be stronger. It taught me to be softer too. To lead with empathy and humility. To love people even when life has been unkind to them. To rise without losing my humanity.
If I could summarize the impact of my Papa’s relationship in one sentence, it would be this:
He taught me that no matter what life takes from you, you can rise from the ashes with dignity, heart, and purpose; because he raised me to.
What did suffering teach you that success never could?
Suffering taught me lessons that success could never touch. My divorce forced me into a reality I never imagined for myself. It stripped away the image of the family I fought so hard to hold together and left me alone with a truth I had been avoiding for years. I spent so long carrying the emotional weight for everyone, trying to keep the peace, trying to be the glue for a home that was already breaking. I kept telling myself that I had to stay for our kids, that the discomfort I lived with was worth it if it meant they grew up with both parents under one roof. But in trying to save the picture, I lost myself. I was made to feel like the problem for things I did not cause. I kept shrinking, silencing myself, and bending just to avoid conflict. And no amount of success in other areas of my life could teach me what those moments of suffering did.
The deepest cut came from our daughters. They are young, and their innocence made everything sharper. There were nights when they asked why I was no longer at their dad’s house or why I couldn’t just come back or if I still loved their dad. Hearing that from the small humans you love the most breaks you in ways nothing else can. But it was through their questions, their tears, and their ability to speak their feelings out loud that I found a strength I didn’t know I had. They became my mirror. They forced me to grow. They made me realize that love doesn’t disappear just because a household splits in two. I learned to look them in the eyes and reassure them that you can be loved in 2 houses, that I am still their mommy in every sense, and that nothing about my love for them would ever change. If anything, it grew deeper. They taught me resilience in its purest, most honest form.
Suffering taught me that I never had to choose between being strong and being soft. It taught me boundaries. It taught me truth.
It taught me self-respect in a way success never could. And perhaps the most liberating lesson of all is that I do not need to be understood or validated to be at peace. I have been painted as the villain in stories where I never even shared my truth nor was my side of the story asked. And I am finally at a place where I am not bothered by that. I would rather be the villain in someone else’s narrative while living peacefully, thriving quietly, healing deeply, and raising my children with intention than be seen as a victim trapped in a narrative of victimhood.
Suffering taught me that survival is not enough. You have to rise. You have to rebuild. You have to reclaim your voice. And when you do, you realize that the life you create afterward will be stronger, softer, and more aligned than anything success alone could ever have taught you.
I did not just survive that chapter. I rose from it. And that is something only suffering could have taught me.
So a lot of these questions go deep, but if you are open to it, we’ve got a few more questions that we’d love to get your take on. What truths are so foundational in your life that you rarely articulate them?
One of the deepest truths I live by is that pain can shape you in ways comfort never will. I rarely say it aloud, but suffering taught me more about who I am than any form of success ever did. That truth changed how I move through the world and how I show up for my children and my patients. I understand what it feels like to break quietly, to hold everything together for everyone else, and to rebuild yourself in silence. Because of that, I care for people differently. I listen differently. I see them differently.
Another truth I carry is that peace is sacred. I protected everyone else’s peace for so long that I lost my own, and finding it again became one of the hardest and most healing journeys of my life. That truth guides me in nursing. When my patients come in anxious, frightened, confused, or angry, my goal is not to control them; it is to offer peace in a world that has consistently taken it from them. Even for a moment, even for a breath, even for one shift. I know what it feels like to crave stability, and I try to be a calm place for people whose minds are not giving them any.
A 3rd truth is that real strength is choosing yourself when staying would destroy you. I learned that through my divorce and through rebuilding my identity as a mother. I rarely articulate this truth, but it shows up in how I hold space for patients who feel trapped by their circumstances, by their past, or by their pain. I never judge them for staying in places that hurt them. I understand it. And I also gently remind them that their story is not over, and that they are allowed to choose a life that does not hurt them anymore.
Motherhood gave me another quiet truth: my children do not need a perfect mother, they need a healed one. That truth is the foundation of my compassion as a psychiatric nurse. I know what it’s like to love someone who struggles with their mental health. I know the fear, the hope, the waiting. I know what it feels like to be on the other side of the hospital door. So when I care for patients with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, PTSD, or addiction, I never see just the diagnosis. I see someone’s child. Someone’s parent. Someone who is loved deeply by someone who might be praying for them at that very moment. And I treat them the way I would want my own to be treated.
And finally, the truth that has shaped me the most is this: everyone deserves to feel human. No matter their past. No matter their symptoms. No matter their mistakes. I do not articulate this often, but it sits at the center of everything I do. Many of my patients live lives most people cannot imagine. Some feel invisible. Some feel unheard. Some have been rejected so many times they no longer expect kindness. My foundational truth is that dignity is a form of healing. That seeing someone, truly seeing them, can be medicine.
These truths guide every part of my life. They shape me as a mother, as a woman who rebuilt herself, and as a nurse who believes that even small moments of humanity can transform someone’s entire day. These are the truths I carry quietly, but they are the foundation of everything I do and everything I am becoming.
Okay, we’ve made it essentially to the end. One last question before you go. How do you know when you’re out of your depth?
I know I am out of my depth when the version of me that is usually strong, calm, and grounded suddenly feels like she is drowning in her own silence. I feel it in my body first. My chest gets tight, my head starts to hurt, my vision becomes blurry, I feel my body ready to collapse, my thoughts race, and everything around me starts to feel louder than it truly is. I start slipping into survival mode, the same mode I lived in during my hardest years, my divorce, motherhood, working night shifts with only a few hours of sleep, fighting to keep myself steady for my children while carrying emotional weight that no one could see.
Being out of my depth feels like when too many people need me at once and I forget that I am a person too, not just a mother, not just a nurse, not just someone holding everything together. It is when I catch myself functioning on autopilot, giving, fixing, holding, managing; until I realize I have not taken a breath for myself in days sometimes weeks. It is when I find myself trying to be everyone’s anchor while ignoring the fact that I am rapidly sinking.
I also recognize it in my emotions. I know I am out of my depth when I start absorbing energy that is not mine. When my children are struggling and their emotions sit heavy on my heart. When my patients’ pain lingers with me long after I clock out. When co-parenting challenges make me question my worth or strength. When my mind becomes louder than my own voice.
But the biggest sign is when I stop hearing my intuition. She has saved me from so much. She whispered when it was time to leave my marriage. She guided me when I felt alone. She pulled me through nursing school, through grief, through rebuilding myself. through the toughest moments of my life. When her voice becomes faint, that is when I know I am overwhelmed.
The difference now is that I no longer ignore those signs.
In the past, I would push through everything just to prove I was strong.
Today, I honor my limits, because strength is not drowning silently. Strength is knowing when to pause, breathe, ask for help, or simply remind myself that I am human.
Knowing when I am out of my depth is part of my legacy. It is how I teach my children that emotional awareness is as important as emotional resilience. It is how I show them that growth is not about perfection, but about recognizing when you need to step back and recalibrate. It is how I remain grounded in a life that demands so much of me.
And it is how I continue and how I keep going, not by pretending I never fall, but by knowing exactly when I need to catch myself before I do.
Contact Info:
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ashleyaye
- Other: If my journey resonates with yours or you’re finding your way through your own pain and growth, my Instagram DMs are always open. You deserve to feel supported. You are not alone.
