My name is Ashley Guillermo, and I started Project Ring when I was 16 years old.
Growing up, I often felt alone in my struggles with mental health. It wasn’t until I was placed in a therapeutic program in high school that I realized how many other people were silently fighting similar battles. The problem wasn’t that we were alone — it was that no one was talking about it. There wasn’t enough education, understanding, or support, and the stigma around mental health made so many of us suffer quietly.
Back then, I wish someone had told me what I know now: I wasn’t broken, I wasn’t weak, and I definitely wasn’t alone. I was bigger than my anxiety, my pain, and my fear.
Like many teens, I didn’t always cope in healthy ways. But on my 16th birthday, I made a promise to myself that my story wasn’t over. I got my first tattoo — a semicolon with a heartbeat leading into a butterfly. Inspired by the Semicolon Project, it symbolized continuation, survival, and hope. The heartbeat reminded me I was still here. The butterfly came from a therapy exercise where we drew butterflies on our skin instead of hurting ourselves — giving them names and purpose to protect them, and in turn, protect ourselves.
That same year, I started Project Ring.
What began as a small way to give back to the unhoused community has grown into something much bigger. Over the years, Project Ring has evolved into a grassroots outreach initiative focused on mental health awareness, breaking stigma, and providing tangible, real-world support to people who need it most.
Through handmade beaded bracelets, donations, and community support, I’ve raised thousands of dollars to fund housing assistance, clothing, food, hygiene supplies, and mental health resources for individuals and families in need. More importantly, we show up — in shelters, on the streets, at community events — meeting people face-to-face with dignity, compassion, and care.
Today, I work as a paramedic in Jersey City, and every shift reinforces why Project Ring matters. I see firsthand how mental health struggles, lack of resources, and homelessness intersect. I meet patients in crisis, people who’ve lost access to treatment, and individuals who simply need someone to advocate for them after the emergency is over.
Project Ring exists to fill that gap — to be the support that continues after the sirens stop.
Sharing my story is deeply personal, but I do it because if even one person reads this and feels less alone, it’s worth it. Your struggles do not define you. They do not determine your future. Healing is possible. Life can get better.
I know — because I’ve lived it, and now I get to help others believe it too.
