ABOUT

ORIGIN STORY

My journey to creating The Way of Yin began long before I knew what it would become. It started with a body that refused to be ignored—a body that has always been my greatest teacher. At 13, during the tender transition into my fire years, I was diagnosed with an autoimmune condition after surgery, and it was my first lesson in listening.

Growing up in a household where silence was the norm and order was the rule, I carried the weight of expectations and repression. My military dad brought structure, while my Asian mom carried the dual burden of cultural expectations and her own unhealed traumas. Like many daughters of immigrant mothers in the West, I grew up navigating the tightrope of filial duty and the pressure to excel—a balancing act that left little room for emotional expression or exploration.

Yet, amidst the silence and the weight of expectations, my mom gifted me something profound: the ancestral knowledge of her lineage. While she couldn’t teach me the skills of emotional alchemy—her own wounds made that impossible—she passed on the healing wisdom of herbs, acupressure, and the rhythms of care that had been handed down through generations. I remember the smell of herbs simmering on the stove, her hands pressing on acupoints to ease my belly aches, and the quiet reassurance that there were ways to heal beyond what Western medicine offered. These moments became the seeds of my own healing journey, a lineage I will forever be grateful for.

My healing journey has been one of cycles upon cycles—a rhythm familiar to all of us as cyclical beings. It’s a constant dance between the strong hustle messages of our environment and our bodies’ insistent calls to slow down, to listen, to not leave ourselves behind. But for many of us, especially empaths, the external pressures feel overwhelming. We come into this world permeable, absorbing the energies around us, often without the tools to set boundaries or protect our sensitive nervous systems. I was no exception. My physical body began to suffer, a living signal that something was deeply out of harmony.

I did my best to respond with the wisdom I had—herbs, acupuncture, and other natural remedies—because Western medicine only brought heavy side effects and no real solutions. I soon followed the call to acupuncture school, seeking to deepen my connection to the healing practices I had grown up with. But life, as it often does, threw me a curveball. Just as I was finishing school, my two young boys were diagnosed as autistic. It felt like overnight; my life became a whirlwind of research, hypervigilance, and therapists in our home for hours every day. My body, pushed beyond its capacity and tolerance, finally stopped me in my tracks. I had pulled from my resources too much, and it was again time to listen.

Through it all, my lineage of East Asian medicine became a balm for my frazzled nervous system. It offered me practice, ritual, and ceremony—a way to reconnect to the magic of interconnectedness, to the philosophy that everything is woven together. But it was more than that. It was a call from my ancestors to deepen, to grow even quieter, to listen ever deeper to the undercurrent of melodies calling me home.

This call led me to a profound realization: the endless list of modalities and protocols, while helpful at times, had become a source of stress themselves. What I needed wasn’t another external solution—it was a complete shift in the way I was living and existing. The deeper I listened, the clearer it became to truly tend to myself, I needed to hook into the current of life itself—the womb continuum, the cycles, the rhythms, the elements.

While my practice is not perfect—because we are all human, and none of us have it all figured out, not even practitioners—I found a map to always navigate my way back. And the beauty of this map is that it doesn’t require money, purchases, or external tools. It only requires softness and being. The Way of Yin is born from this knowing. It’s an invitation to slow down, to listen deeply, and to reconnect with the timeless wisdom of our bodies and the Earth. This is not about perfection or expertise; it’s about coming home to ourselves, together.

Thank you for being here, for showing up with an open heart and a willingness to listen. I want you to know that I am not a guru or an expert—I am a fellow student of the womb, of the Earth’s language, and of the rhythms that guide us. I am here with you, riding the tides alongside you, learning as we go.

This journey is not about having all the answers or achieving perfection. It’s about returning, again and again, to the softness of being, to the wisdom that lives within us and around us. Together, we can navigate the cycles, honor the rhythms, and find our way back to the map that has always been there, waiting for us to remember.

Welcome to The Way of Yin. I’m so grateful to be here with you.