I was born in Nanjing, China, into a family that survived the kind of historical trauma that nobody wanted to talk about. From the jump, I was the family's emotional processing unit—highly sensitive, deeply receptive, which overtime manifested as chronic illnesses and anxiety. At 17, this free-spirit with big dreams begged my parents to let me move to the U.S. alone. (And they let me. Yes. I'm still shocked.)

My path has been beautifully nonlinear: building a sense of self in a country that wasn't mine, climbing the ladder of engineering at Salesforce only to say it’s not for me and pivot to healing arts, surviving multiple life crises and spiritual emergencies that would make excellent TV drama. And here I am—integrated, alive, sharing from the wild intersection of light and shadow.

I know intimately what it's like to be told you're "too much"—too sensitive, too ambitious, too creative, too weird. I know the particular flavor of hard that comes with being an Asian woman, an immigrant, neurodivergent, carrying a million beautiful ideas while the world keeps asking you to keep quiet and sit down. I know the electric aliveness that comes when you stop shrinking and start exploring all your multifaceted, contradictory, gorgeous selves.

It's possible to be uniquely you. To have fun. To be imperfect. To be "too much" and discover that's actually just right.

I show up for all possibilities of you—with tenderness and with faith that within our pain lies our light, and within our light is our gift for the world.