It’s a Wednesday morning.

I’m writing on a picnic table at a park. My skin is both cold from the howling wind and hot from the spring sun. I can hear birdsongs accompanying my pen and paper, and see rolling clouds from the corner of my eyes.

I am not busy today. I’m free as a bird but tentative to take flight. That’s why I made myself come out of the house.

Instead of pretending to be busy at a computer screen, what my heart really wants is to be outside and exploring.

Having all this space scares me. What is leisure? Is it supposed to be part of life, or something we make time for? How did it turn into something to be afraid of, or even ashamed of?

I find myself in a weird limbo. A luxurious, abundant, and somehow jarring limbo.

My body feels connected to the earth. Spring is sprouting in my bones.

It is new to me. To get to keep all of this energy and space for myself instead of giving it away.

Everything that needs to be done is already done.

What is this feeling, then?

Am I waiting for something?

I am waiting for all the seeds to come out as wildflowers, madly devouring the hills.

I am waiting for the moment when I’m ready to become a mother.

I am waiting for my schedule to fill up with meetings.

I am waiting for news. Expecting more bad ones about the wars. Not knowing when to look online and when to look away. But my eyes still secretly search for good news.

There is a certainty to these things. I know they will happen. I may not know the exact details. Time moves me forward regardless of how I wait.

But how does one wait?

Maybe waiting is an art.

Waiting, receiving, enjoying, and relaxing. These are simple yet aspirational words. I’ve said them to myself many times.

But saying it is not the same as sitting right here, journaling for however long I want.

My identity used to fall apart when there was space and freedom. But it makes me smile to realize I’ve changed. Today, right here, I feel more myself than ever. In a way beyond words.

I have been working on this old habit of living in the future. I would feel distracted and agitated to brute force to where I want to go, regardless of timing and if I was ready. I am surprised to find today that waiting is the antidote to future-living. It keeps me in the present.

I look around me. The earth simply waits for spring. It doesn’t work for it. It’s the same hills that just weathered a rare winter snow. Now they’re beaming with soft, lush green at me.

I’m going to go hike them right after I’m done writing. I don’t know exactly where and how long. But I’m going.

Wars are raging. Some people can’t stop the pursuit of more money and power at the expense of countless others. It is overwhelming to me to process what’s going on in the world. I don’t know if a human brain is designed to hold it all.

I often feel helpless when I think about the country and the world. I refuse to put all my attention on what’s breaking. My working solution for that is to dream.

I can’t help but dream what would change for humanity if we all had this ability to wait? To connect with the land and feel its abundance? To read the rhythms of nature, of one’s life, and deeply trust the timing?

Nature is right here all around me. Still grounded, peaceful, and still just waiting for spring to happen.

In my personal life… Yes, I have more time, and I also have less in some ways right now. Last time I went through a client recycling phase like this a few years ago, I panicked and spiraled. I have faced uncomfortable feelings this time: uncertainty, fear, impatience, vulnerability…

But if I take these feelings out on a field trip in this massive space surrounded by nature, and I don’t rush them, don’t make them go away… They reveal.

That I have enough, I am enough already. I am here now, feeling beyond the riches that revenue numbers can buy me.

I feel a profound sense of peace and clarity seeing these words flow out of my pen.

I know the woman I am leaving behind. I can see who I am becoming on the horizon, but I love the in between, too.

Chinese New Year (春节) has always been a happy time for me. Growing up in China, I always looked forward to the time. I was eager to see all my family together around the table. The best part was the dozens of dishes that my grandma made from scratch.

If I close my eyes now, I can almost hear her rustling around the kitchen all day. She moved about that tiny space with military-like precision and discipline. She was on her feet all day, barely resting, to put together this meal for all of us.

She would turn on the vent fan on max before she heated up her wok so hot that the oil bubbled viciously. Then, she would fry a number of delicious ingredients till the aroma seeped out of the kitchen. She made this traditional Sichuan CNY food called 什锦, which basically means mixed pot. It had 10 different ingredients that were all cooked separately and then braised together in chicken soup. One of the staples in the mixed pot was her homemade meatballs.

I can hear her big knife chopping away on her thick wooden cutting board, probably splitting the fat chicken that she’d make into soup. I can still imagine what her cutting board looked like, wrinkled and well-seasoned like her forehead.

The week leading up to the Chinese New Year was serious business to her.

She would browse the stock of all of the tricycle-flower-salespeople, and pick the best-looking and most aromatic wintersweet flowers (腊梅花). They came in red, pink, and yellow, and she always got the yellow ones. They would be pruned and placed in a vase on her dining table, way before she started to prep her food.

She would’ve already purchased all the red decorations and taped them to the wall. Two poetic lines about the upcoming Zodiac year vertically down the front doorway, and then an auspicious four-word sticker horizontally across.

She made a special trip to the bank so that she could get brand new red 100 RMB bills to stuff into her grandchildren’s red envelopes. Grandma was a stickler for the condition of the bills. Any bent corners or old bills were not acceptable. After all, this was one of the rare times in the year when she got to show her love to her family in all these ways. She didn’t have much, but she refused to cut corners on those thick red envelopes that she handed out.

Of course, she would make a visit to the neighborhood hair salon. Never the modern big ones, but the tiny shops that had the best deal. She dyed her white ends ink black, and permed her hair so tall that no winter wind would move a single strand.

In the past weeks, I felt a gnawing sense of uncertainty reading all these articles about A.I. taking all of our jobs. I found myself jumping into panicked action and overwhelm. I felt out of control that society is heading somewhere unknown very quickly.

But when I close my eyes on this day, I am at her table again.

Grandma’s bustle of getting Chinese New Year dinner together stopped the moment we all sat down. She would take a big breath and look at everyone around the table with joy and satisfaction. If she was tired, she didn’t show it. She remembered every one of our favorite dishes. She was not a very talkative person, but somehow she made sure everyone felt included, either with a chopstick full of sausage stuffed in our bowls or another nag around getting more rice.

The night would end well past midnight, because she would offer to cook the grandchildren midnight noodles. She knew my cousin would never say no to her famous minced pork noodles, and I would beg to stay for as long as my cousins.

Eventually, she would walk us downstairs to say goodbye.

We would wave back at her, bellies full and warm.

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Being sick is…

Helplessness. Depression. Rawness. Disappointment. Uncertainty. Loneliness. Forcing you to be in the present moment because you don’t know if you’ll be well enough to make plans. Guilt about not being able to do basic household chores. Canceling things. Grief and longing for the person you are when you’re feeling good. Fear around unrealized dreams. Overthinking. Impatience and rage.

Being sick is also…

So much hope. Resilience. Awe at how your body is still fighting so hard. Gratitude for the better days and the real ones who stick around. Great time for fantasizing or getting lost in a fictional world. Boredom as a bedrock for creativity. Joy for things that we take for granted. Love. Forgiveness. Growing patience.

Being sick is a portal for the brave.

There is no guarantee that you’ll come out. But if you do and you don’t lose sight of the fact that everything is here to teach you, you will be changed.

Being sick taught me how to live.

I don’t say that lightly. I know the deep, dark hole that being ill drags us into, so that we must face our mortality and fragility alone.

I had cancer when I was 18. The recovery was very straightforward. It gave me the gift of witnessing my own endless reserve of courage.

People in my immediate family had cancer. Some eventually met their end, and I wish I could ask if being sick taught them anything besides suffering. Some recovered and found a new life.

I thought I understood sickness back then.

I was wrong.

There were always signs in hindsight. My signs were like a breadcrumb that trailed for years.

Rounds of acute infections. PMDD. Insomnia that came and disappeared. Angry, painful cystic acne. I stopped being able to tolerate gluten and dairy out of nowhere. It is unheard of for someone from China to have gluten sensitivity. Then, as 2025 started, all of the signs started to get louder at the same time.

I started to catch a cold or flu so often that at one point, I had been sick more days than I was healthy. I struggled to keep up with my old workout routines. When I wasn’t sick, I was drowning in brain fog and fatigue. I was maxing out on the amount of medication I could take for environmental allergies, and they still weren’t helping fully. I needed to have an energy budget. I had to pick one or two things I wanted to do in a day. On the worst days, I couldn’t do much at all.

All of these things seemed small individually, but together, they stopped me in my tracks. Health became my biggest focus.

The hardest thing to do when you have no energy is to try to find out why it’s happening.

I went to many doctors’ appointments. Some offered a little bit of insight. But the traditional medical system couldn’t take me very far. They could confirm that my system was indeed fighting something, but they didn’t know why. Nothing big seemed to be off.

While that’s a relief, it’s also an impossible riddle. How could I feel like I can barely function, but doctors are telling me everything is ok?

Sick people are some of the easiest to take advantage of. I was desperate for any clue, and misplaced my hope many times.

Finally, a turning point came. There was a breakthrough in my understanding of what’s going on.

I read the book The Lady’s Handbook for Her Mysterious Illness. Author laid out a meticulous model of how the different systems within our bodies worked, and her own story of being misdiagnosed for years. I had some of the exact same symptoms that she would categorize as WOMI (Woman of Mysterious Illness), who often have complex chronic symptoms that go undiagnosed.

Here’s what I learned.

We all have something called the HPA axis. It is an interconnected system with our hypothalamus, pituitary gland, and adrenal gland that work together to respond to stress. Stress can be both psychological or physical (like food intolerances, environmental allergies, or sickness). Once there is too much stress, the HPA axis first overfunctions by producing extra cortisol, the life-saving stress hormone, to get us out of dangerous situations. If that continues too long without going back to baseline, the HPA axis gets taxed to a point that it starts to produce very low levels of cortisol.

Through some testing, I learned that I was at the very end of this spectrum - very low levels of cortisol.

When our HPA axis dysfunctions, it also starts to send signals to our hormonal and digestive systems. Gut gets worse, hormones get dysregulated. And then, in turn, worse digestion and hormones are perceived as stress by the HPA axis, making it harder to bounce back.

Again, tests confirmed it. I had severe gut dysbiosis and some hormone imbalance.

After months of searching, I had a language and a reasonable explanation for what’s going on.

I thought treatment would be straightforward.

Not so fast.

I placed high hopes in functional medicine, a researched framework to treat the whole human and their root causes. I paid thousands of dollars out of pocket for supplements and advanced testing. I thought following the supplements religiously would get me out. At one point, I took over 20 pills a day.

In a few months, I was directionally getting better. I was finally able to walk 10K steps a few times a week and do 2-3 low-impact workout sessions. That was a huge win for me. But I was slowly losing confidence in my provider.

She overprescribed my dosages even after I challenged her. There was a lot of fear-mongering. While she helped me in some ways, she also made some critical mistakes that cost me weeks of recovery. I was not going to let anyone bulldoze how my body heals again.

As a service provider and a coach myself, I know it is difficult to find a provider who’s able to accurately attune to the person in front of them in any industry.

True healing, whether it’s in a coaching session or a doctor’s office, is enabled by the presence of the provider. Are they able to show up with compassion and discernment? Do they respect the person in front of them and are also not afraid of ruffling feathers for the highest transformation? Sometimes, doctors and coaches show up with unchecked ego. They project a sense of “you must do what I say”, which puts the client or patient in a disempowered position.

The thing is, I believe we already know more than we think. Our bodies have an innate wisdom of how to heal. Our souls know exactly where to lead us to a bigger and more beautiful life. That’s why when I take a turn in the coach seat, I will fight hard for my client to follow their own truth instead of listening to someone else, even when that someone else is me.

Many of these failed experiences taught me a lot about how to be a better coach. We all want a kind and present human in front of us. We want providers we can trust, someone who can take feedback and admit what they don’t know. Genuine care goes a long way.

So, with that realization, I made the decision to let my functional medicine doctor go and finally took my health into my own hands. While I’m sure there are amazing providers out there, I was tired of looking.

I used the internet and AI to come up with a new supplement routine. I documented and adjusted my dosages day by day. I still went to a few selected specialists to get help, but always in partnership, never fully deferring ot their suggestions without critical thinking.

Only I had the ability to piece together the whole picture. Only I was the one living day in and day out in this body.

However, I intuitively knew that supplements weren’t going to take me all the way.

When complex chronic illness entered the picture, it was telling me I needed to change how I live.

It was difficult. My old beliefs around ambition and success put up a huge fight. Still does that sometimes. But at the end of the day, I decided that the body is more important.

Healing is…

All the tangible things, like a better diet, the right supplements, testing, medicine, and exercise.

Healing is also…

All the intangible ways I’m changing.

• I stopped treating my illness as a problem and started to enlist my body as a partner

• I decided that slowing down is a way to live

• Lots of therapy in trauma work and learning how to regulate the nervous system

• Energy and spiritual work to rewire the way I see the world

• Learning how to set boundaries more and more gracefully

• Getting out of situations and people that weren’t healthy for me

• Prioritizing things that make me feel alive, like it’s medicine, because it is. Writing this newsletter is one of these things

• In my business, the shift is from optimizing for the highest conversion to the highest alignment. Misaligned clients were draining my energy

• Say no, a lot, even when it brings me grief and disappointment

• Radically accepting the fact that healing is not a straight line

Ultimately, the lesson of being sick is this.

My energy is the most valuable thing. It is health. It is life force. It is the most powerful creative force I have.

Being sick is an opportunity to really understand living.

I’m more alive than I’ve ever been. It is very vulnerable to put all my bets on myself in this way. Far more vulnerable than when I decided to become an entrepreneur. But I trust that my life is taking me to where I need to be. This time, it isn’t about how to build a business. It’s about how to build a life.

So, where am I now?

I have not declared victory on health. Health is not a milestone or destination. It is a relationship that needs daily nurturing. I still have little energy sometimes, but I’ve been having way more good days.

Healing is a privilege that many don’t have. I’m grateful that I have it. That only fuels my determination to be more in service of others.

I’m thankful for my body. Even though it was having a hard time, it never stopped working night and day to get healthier.

If you’ve read until this point, I’m also grateful for you. It’s been a hard story to write, but an important one to share. When I started this newsletter, one of my intentions was to create at the edge of what’s most alive and vulnerable for me. Thank you for your time and energy to meet me at this edge.

If you know any woman in your life with a similar group of unresolved and undiagnosed symptoms, I am happy to speak to them about my experience. I probably won’t have the answers, but I’d love to lend a listening ear as a friend. If you are this woman, I invite you to hear what your body is telling you. Try not to wait until later. Later is harder than now.

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With Love,

Sabrina

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Two years ago, I could run 8 miles at a time.

Earlier this year, I started to lose my energy. I loved running, but I couldn’t run 2 miles without feeling debilitated the next day. Fatigue and depression set in. Turns out they’re like identical twins. If you don’t have energy, it’s very easy to be sad. I couldn’t tell who’s who anymore.

I stopped running. I also stopped sprinting in life.

I am getting healthier and having better days. The trial and error of how I’m still getting my health back is a story for another time.

One day, I will run 8 miles again. But I will never live my life the way I did before.

Let me paint you a picture of an old me. I was constantly thinking and worrying about hitting my weekly goals. I would use most of my waking hours listening to podcasts and reading. I was addicted to growing. Conversations about work dominated dinner conversations. When clients stopped working with me, it gave me an existential threat every time.

I was trying to run away from the tumultuous sea of fear inside my heart, the one that felt like I was going to capsize if I wasn’t working hard enough. I was sending myself on an endless journey to prove myself to the external world.

Spoiler alert: it’s impossible.

Slowing down has a rep. It’s what we do to recover from stress and burnout.

Social media makes us see it as spa days, bed-rotting, and vacation. We expect to regain speed after slowing down in our lives.

But I want to rebrand slowing down for you.

Slowing down has no end. It is a way of living.

It is not about stepping away from life.

It’s about stepping so deeply into your soul and dreams that you surrender control to it. It’s learning to read the vast wisdom of your heart, mind, soul, and body to make decisions that lead to transformational growth.

It’s the most audacious act of faith. When you slow down this way, you are trusting that you can create what you want in a state of relaxation. That your power is in your peace, not in fight or flight.

How rebellious is that in a world that is milking our fear and rage?

Slowing down is…

Being willing to really look at ourselves and feel into ourselves. Not just our emotions, but our bodies, our ideas, our aspirations, and our spirit.

Do we really know the majestic being inside of all of us?

Do we know which part of us is in charge right now?

Do we question why we take certain actions?

Do we stop and check if the most valuable resource we have, time and energy, is spent in alignment?

Do we know what alignment feels like?

Modern society wants to tell us that alignment looks the same to everyone - success and money.

The truth is, we all want different lives. We all have unique tastes of beauty and personalities. But we all want the same things. We want love, connection, creativity, and belonging.

Those same things do not exist in the speeding up. It is only available when we’re present. No wonder so many of us are feeling increasingly isolated and anxious. The current way of living is making it harder and harder to access those same things.

Have you ever thought about the idea that there’s more love around you right now than you can possibly imagine? What if the earth loves you, the air loves you, and the people in your life love you more than you know?

Slowing down allows us to notice these things. To become filled with something far more enduring than success and money.

So I guess sprinting in life is chasing something outside of us. If we’re chasing, then by default, it’s something that we don’t have. We live in a state of lack.

If we are willing to slow down, we start to become richer in our internal world. If we sit in the having, then we live in a state of abundance.

Slowing down is waking up to the reality of life. You have all the power. What you seek was inside of you all along. You get to have any type of life that you want to have. And you don’t have to prove yourself to anyone else. That decision can be made right here, right now.

If this sounds good, how do you make it practical?

There’s no prescription. No meditating 5 times a week and no retreat will get you there. Those things can be a start, but slowing down is your responsibility and practice alone. It’s like deciding to be a kind person - it’s about exuding kindness in everything you do.

It starts with the why. Why do you want to slow down? You have to be clear, and you have to feel it in your body. If you aren’t clear about the why, work on that first.

If you know your why, then it’s about deciding to be aware. Watch and observe the life you have.

You will have to decide to feel everything. That’s the hardest part. Our feelings and sensations, especially the uncomfortable ones, hold the biggest truths about where we want to go.

What you need to know is already in your life. It’s just a matter of slowing down to notice them, and then giving yourself time and space to figure out the next steps.

Sometimes we tell ourselves we don’t know what to do, because confusion is easier to face than confrontation. I’ve been there.

If that’s true, are you willing to see what you need to see?

Turns out, I was sick because I was not living the life that fills me with life force.

Yes, there were some physical roots. But I really believe the true root cause lies in the choices I made. I was giving so much in my job as a coach and in my life, and I wasn’t arranging enough things to fill me up. I wasn’t really connected to my desires and my needs.

Now that I am, information comes pouring in. I started to listen to them and take action, even though they looked nothing like what I was used to doing in my old life. Now, my life is for my enjoyment first and foremost.

This year, I learned to surf. I started a band. I recently began learning how to do pottery. Those are some of the proudest things I’ve done, because it was so hard to reach into something new from the place I was in.

And then, all of a sudden, I have a life that I love. I am still on the journey to slow down more, to get healthier, and to be filled with more of my life force.

Now, when I feel afraid, anxious, or lost, the first thing that I do is slow down. Slowing down always gets me where I need to be.

If this piece calls to you, will you slow down with me, too?

With Love,

Sabrina

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For years, a dull ache plagued my heart.

It pulled me to ask questions about life, humanity, the psyche, and consciousness. All the time.

Who am I?

What is the meaning of life?

What is my purpose?

What is my offering to the world?

Where is my life leading me?

The courage to ask those questions took me to unimaginable places. From living my life in Chinese to English. From the gloomy city of Chengdu to sunny California. From the life of an accountant, to someone working in tech, to now a coach. From someone working a 9-5 job to a business owner. From a beginner to a master, then to a beginner all over again.

The very act of asking those questions again and again is vulnerable. They can also be used against us.

The questions brought me pain when I couldn’t answer them. There were times when I lost sight of who I am and where I am going. During those days, the ache intensified and turned into a yearning.

Last week, I went to a restaurant I used to love in LA’s Koreatown. I remembered the last time I visited. I was still in my partying days. That year, I walked into the establishment, frowning from the blinding sunlight. I was probably hungover and dead tired.

When I walked in last week, I was clearheaded and calm. I could almost taste my youth. Her beauty, her unsureness, her resilience, and her big heart. I wished I could hold her hand in that moment.

As I sat here in Los Angeles, a place I once lived for 5 years, a wave of understanding hit me.

I know who I am now.

I know that I’ll get lost again, but I am not worried. I know that I’ll be found.

And you know what, this sense of knowing had nothing to do with understanding my perfect career, relationships, or next steps.

I used to be obsessed with solving the concrete details of life. I was rushing them to materialize out of thin air.

I know who I am now because of answering this one simple question again and again.

Who am I to myself?

When I feel down, do I have the compassion and grace to catch myself?

Do I have the confidence and tools to regulate my nervous system?

Do I choose to see myself, again and again, and be the parent to my inner child that I’ve always wanted?

Do I believe in my vision over others?

Hell fucking yes.

This past year has been a brutally honest training course around my relationship with myself. I listened to my critic and asked her to stand down. I rocked my scared inner infant to sleep during many insomniac nights. I listened to my intuition, and I believed in myself.

In order to know who I am, I have to become the most important person to myself. Non-negotiable.

And you know what, my understanding of my life opened up.

I once thought I was meant to be an entrepreneur for the rest of my life. While that could still be true, so many parts of my essence came back to me.

As a child, I was a little bit too loud and overly excited.

I am a singer. An artist. A writer. A storyteller.

I am a vessel for energy to move through to reflect back the beauty of our earth and our humanity.

I love being a helper, but I also love being cared for and receiving.

I love connections and social activities. I love belonging to something.

I love moving my body.

When I decided to be the most important person to myself, I began working towards building safety for all of me to come back alive again.

Safety, turns out, is the most beautiful catalyst to creativity.

I don’t know where my life is leading me yet, but I know it is towards more things that I love and more things I will learn.

I know that when I forget who I am next time, I can always resort to taking great care of myself, again and again.

Who I am isn’t what I do. It’s how I relate to myself. How I relate to myself serves as a blueprint for how I relate to the world.

The younger me would’ve given a million thanks to know who I am.

So, if you feel lost at the end of this year, around where your life is going…

Stop asking yourself what’s the next action.

Start asking yourself, who are you being to yourself right now?

If you’re at war within yourself, call a truce. Put an end to tolerating self-inflicted shame, judgment, and criticism to the best of your abilities.

You know yourself best. Think about how you can create the best day or best hour to make yourself feel safe, cared for, and inspired.

What you are is what you create.

If you’re in fear, you create fear.

If you’re in love, connection, presence, and grace with yourself, that’s the undertone of the life you create. In this space, the next thing to do will easily appear to you like taking a next breath.

With Love,

Sabrina

Hi friend! I’m back writing, and I’ve decided to make this previously private newsletter public. The truth is, my art is meant to be a community act rather than a solo act. My writing is telling me that it wants to live out there in the world.

If you’re recently added, welcome :) I am so excited that we’re connected this way. After a very busy summer, my heart couldn’t wait to be back with this corner of creativity.

Have you ever had an experience where a moment lasted forever?

Time isn’t created equal.

There are already so many moments from yesterday and the week before that are lost to us forever.

Other times, a moment feels like an eternity. I think of those as deep time.

I keep on thinking about one of those deep-time moments I had recently.

My 30th birthday just passed. This year, I wanted to do something meaningful and unique. Birthdays are one of the few remaining publicly understood rituals in our time.

When people come together for the same intention of celebrating someone’s birthday, there is already a focused energenic field. I wanted to take advantage of this field and refine the intention even further. When there is a refined, aligned, and focused intention, all the energy from the event can be used towards transformation.

In other words, there is already a wave of birthday celebrations. I could celebrate my birthday by swimming in that wave, or I could grab a surfboard and surf a little bit further.

I decided to surf it.

It wasn’t just a birthday party. I wanted it to be a sacred event that changes me.

This year, my intention was to really celebrate who I am now. I knew that I carried old limiting beliefs and ideas. There were wins and growths that I hadn’t integrated yet. I was ready for the next chapter of dreaming, creating, and challenging myself. So I needed to upgrade my consciousness software to the most present version possible.

The party was an open mic. Friends and family shared beautiful pieces of art and creativity. It filled me with laughs, warm fuzzy feelings, and tears.

From my seat, there was a clear highlight. A moment that felt like it expanded to infinite depth.

As the last performance, I sang a song called 成都 (Chengdu) in Mandarin.

Chengdu is the name of my hometown. The song was about romantic love that was lost in the city of Chengdu. But in this case, it represented my longing for my homeland.

The lyrics talk about how parting each year in September was heartbreaking. I remembered how I left China for college every September after a satisfying summer break. It talked about not being able to ever take something away from Chengdu, and I thought of my family who were still alive and those who were not. I thought about my memories, the houses I grew up in.

When I opened my mouth to sing, I wasn’t just singing anymore.

There was so much emotion rushing out of my throat. I relished the air, sensations, and power coming through my voice. My whole body is vibrating with the story of my life, my parents, my ancestors, and my homeland.

I didn’t know that one moment could bring all of us together. I thought those moments were in the past, when my grandparents were still alive and we were all living in Chengdu.

But then, on a sunny, chilly afternoon in California, I felt Chengdu in my bones.

I felt my grandmother’s spirit with me. I felt her pride, her joy, and her essence alive in every cell of my existence.

My body was moving, time was moving, but my soul was still. My soul was present and taking in that deep moment.

The two halves of my name, Sabrina and 王子琴, each with its own history and language, found the center of my soul, where I am just me. They came together in this moment, where a song conjured my past and the performance grabbed the attention of my present community.

The girl who desperately wanted to be liked at the expense of her authenticity is met by the woman who is so alive because she gets to be herself.

In the deep-time space, I was all of the time and all of the versions of me. I understood who I am at my core - someone who is creative, loves connecting with others, and deeply feels.

What a gift it is to know who I am.

Now, weeks later, the gift of this sacred moment in time is still rippling out. Every time I think about that moment, I am brought back to the deep medicine that it gave me. I am learning about the power of ceremony, community, art, and so much more.

So much of what no longer serves me is falling away.

It has changed me beyond my wildest comprehension.

And now, that moment in time ripples out to you. Thank you for reading what I wrote and allowing this moment to be alive once again, bringing whatever that’s meant to be to your life.

Moments in time without intention are forgotten memories.

Moments in time with intention can be a miracle.

Life can be a miracle.

With Love,

Sabrina

P.S. I’d love to hear about your deep moments in time. Whether they just passed or if you’re creating one coming up!

Leave a comment

If you’re new, welcome :)

Buckle up, this is another real raw one.

I found it so hard to talk about this because I feared it would undermine everything I’ve built.

But the essence of the writing is that I tell the truth of my experience. So I will.

Identities are like clothes.

It’s been a long while since humans were comfortable walking around naked.

Every day, we get dressed in our identities. A hard worker. A good friend. A visionary. A helpful person. Someone who remains calm under pressure. The list goes on and on.

Ram Dass was a renowned spiritual teacher who popularized many Eastern religious and philosophical ideas in the U.S.

His main teaching is around becoming nobody. He argues identities are constructs of the ego. The ego finds these masks to make itself feel important. When we want to be someone so badly, we create suffering because our sense of purpose is externally derived. We are at the mercy of fulfilling that role, so we feel highs and lows with no end in sight.

He teaches that the goal is to become nobody. I understand that to be an inquiry into who we are without our identities. When we become nobody, we become in touch with the true essence of who we are - oneness and love in our soul.

This all sounds great, right?

The process to get to know our essence is different for everyone. For the earlier parts of my spiritual journey, it was mostly a pleasant and ecstatic experience. I could get into an alternative state of consciousness, or a soul consciousness, where I felt those amazing sensations beyond words.

While it was amazing to feel the essence of my soul, I wasn’t willing to let go of my identities at the time.

Then, in the past year or so, I became ready to take a look under the metaphorical hood.

I didn’t expect how hard it would be.

This is my real-life report of the road to growth. It is not all sunshine and bliss. It is much, much more - it is blood, sweat, tears, and heartbreak. It is humbling. It is intimate. It is darkness and shadow. It is some of the most painfully beautiful moments of life.

Becoming a coach is an identity made for someone like me.

My qualifications for becoming a coach started long before my professional career. It started when I was a highly sensitive being born into a family that didn’t have the tools to understand sensitivity, despite their love for me.

Finally, I could use the hypervigilance I’ve honed since I was an infant for good. I used to need to spot the smallest emotional shift for my safety, and now I do it to make others feel seen. I had to pattern recognize quickly to code switch to changing schools and countries. Now I use that skill to learn about someone’s company in record time.

I love humanity. I am moved by people’s ambitions, emotions, and their struggles. It’s second nature to me to figure out how someone’s mind works before they see it themselves. I had this unstoppable desire to see the best in people, to let them know they are loved, and to help them.

But the best part? I get to connect oh-so deeply with my clients, and make a real impact in their lives without being vulnerable myself. I was still authentic, but I didn’t have to take emotional risks. This is the coaching container by design. It would even be wrong for me to show up with my issues.

Things got a little more interesting after I became a somewhat successful coach.

It fed another identity of mine - to be exceptional.

When I first started coaching four years ago, I got a lot of doubts from potential clients. Can I trust you? Why are you so young? Do you have the experience?

Now, interactions have shifted. I can feel that sometimes people put me on an artificial pedestal. They are more so thinking… Can I afford her? It’s been a long time since I had to justify my credibility. My experience speaks for itself.

I liked feeling that way in the beginning. It was two birds, one stone: I got to be helpful, and I got to be exceptional. I felt confident and powerful.

Before long, the glory started to fade, and I started to feel uncomfortable.

Have you achieved everything you longed for, but ended up feeling less than you expected?

The last two newsletters detailed some of how I felt. TLDR: I was spinning out. I hit a point of depression that I didn’t fully understand, even though everything looked wonderful on the outside.

I started to wonder who I was besides those identities.

Being helpful and being exceptional did not ease the most tender parts of me.

I found that I had a hard time connecting with other coaches. Many of them come to me wide-eyed, wanting to hear something that will help their businesses. I desperately wanted to give them hope, so I hid the parts of me that were also struggling with some of the same issues with my business. Hello, dear old friend, impostor syndrome.

Yesterday, I received an email from a work connection after I briefly shared that I was struggling. She said, here’s my number, text me anytime.

That email made me cry. The kindness of someone I didn’t know very well hit a soft spot in my heart. Do you know what my next instinct is? I thought I'd better offer her something in return if I’m going to text her, as if I weren’t worth being helped.

I laughed a little bit at my logic while my eyes were still drying from tears.

I hid behind being a coach and being helpful.

Because there is still a scared little girl living in my heart. She believed that no one was ever coming to help her.

If I never tried to separate myself from my work and my drive to be exceptional, there wouldn’t have been this space for that little girl to cry, to vent, and to fall apart.

Admist of all this chaos, I started to find other pieces of myself that I used to deprioritize: an artist, a musician, a community leader, and a crier (sometimes in public).

I needed all these other identities, too.

I understand what Ram Dass is saying. I’m not disagreeing with him. Nevertheless, I believe that in practice, there are actually two parts to becoming nobody in this modern world:

1. The ability and willingness to let go of our identities - becoming nobody

2. The ability and willingness to embrace more identities - becoming anybody

The two ideas are inherently opposite of each other, and that tension creates a dynamic process where we continuously evolve. It is the full cycle of the death and rebirth of our identities. We get to know who we are through this process of endless shedding and creating.

If we only walk the path of dissolution, i.e,. becoming nobody, we would lose the joy of experiencing different parts of ourselves. I don’t regret becoming an exceptional coach one bit. Those identities empowered me and gave me the privilege of helping others.

If we cling to our identities like a lifeboat, we stifle the other possibilities of knowing our souls. I was so attached to my identities that they took over other parts of me. That left me wondering who the hell I was besides that. I needed to drown to learn that I could breathe underwater.

Through constant death and rebirth, we start to get in touch with the parts of us that are permanent. That is what many spiritual teachers describe as the soul, something of the realm of limitless love and oneness. Behind all of my best days and worst days, I found this vibrant will to live. That is my soul's life force in its purest form.

And you know what, Ram Dass? I’ve tried becoming nobody. I still need identities. I’m in the process of becoming somebody new. I will probably shed these identities again in the future, and that’s ok, too.

That’s part of the life game.

My friends, what are you becoming now?

With Love,

Sabrina

I felt hopeless and powerless. The way out seemed straightforward. I just couldn’t get out. I knew eventually, something would shift. But I guess I thought it would take a very long time.

The obvious question I asked here is “why”. Why was I feeling that way? I had many theories, but I found that the “whys” weren’t so helpful. It kept me stuck in explaining an uncomfortable state, instead of somatically experiencing it.

I kept free-falling. My old tools didn’t work as well. I was depressed and ashamed for feeling depressed, seeing how much privilege I had. I was self-proclaimed in having a great understanding of mental health. And here I was, where all of my understanding paled to the visceral heaviness that was weighing me down.

Last Monday, I arrived in a therapy session and started crying within the first minute. This is the first time I ugly cried in front of any therapist.

I do not like crying in front of people. I would much rather tell her my deepest darkest secrets than actually cry.

And mind you, I’ve worked with this therapist for three years and have a deep rapport with her. I rarely feel comfortable letting others see my deepest vulnerabilities, even when they deserve it.

But that day, I had no choice.

My therapist did a beautiful job witnessing me. It wasn’t just the words she said. It was her presence. I felt her genuine compassion while she was also holding a strong therapy container. In that container, my shame evaporated. I felt safe to fall apart in capable hands.

I’ve probably made countless people feel safe in my role as a coach and in my personal life as a recovering people pleaser, but I don’t know that I let many people hold me.

That session was painful because in that presence, my pain had nowhere to hide. I couldn’t push my feelings down anymore.

I had to feel it all.

After the session, I crawled into my husband’s arms and cried some more. I was so lucky to be held in a similarly kind, compassionate, and gentle way. He let me know it was ok to worry, and it helped him to know what was actually going through my head.

The next day, I was to go on a family trip to Banff. It wasn’t supposed to be relaxing. This is a trip where we planned everything for my parents. I was going to be a tour guide and translator, constantly switching between my Sichuan Chinese dialect to English for my husband.

On top of that, I hadn’t taken an extended vacation with my parents for a couple of years. I had come out of most of those trips exhausted and negative in the past.

So, I wasn’t expecting much. If I were to be honest, I was expecting myself to go to an even lower place.

I had very simple goals for myself:

1. If I feel overwhelmed, I will try to excuse myself as soon as I can.

2. I will text one friend a day about my trip.

I wasn’t really excited for this trip. Truth be told, I didn’t want to go.

When I saw the mountains for the first time, I thought they were both majestic and gentle. I said hi to them in my heart, and I felt welcomed immediately.

It was as if the mountains were saying to me: We were expecting you. Welcome. You don’t have to be anyone else but who you are today. Let us take care of the rest.

Wherever I looked, the mountains were there. They weren’t trying to heal me, to fix me, or to ask too many questions. They weren’t disappointed or hopeful. They were present. Just like how my therapist quietly and lovingly watched me over the computer screen as I let my tears fly.

These mountains watched me with dignity, even when I arrived there barely able to recognize myself.

Behind those beautiful and dramatic rock faces still streaked with June snow, I felt the spirit of the Universe. The spirit of God.

Like a mirror, I felt the spirit inside of my heart awaken.

Here I was.

There are two ways of getting somewhere.

The first way, we plot out every step. If we’re lucky, we get to where we want to be. But we’re controlling the outcome as much as we can. I lived most of my life thinking this was the only way.

The second way, we set out to do something and then let magic take the wheel. It’s like planting the seed in soil, and coming back to it a few days later and watching a green sprout peek out. It is a miracle.

The mountains gifted me with an unexpected healing in the second way.

I was expecting to get even more tired.

Instead, I started to feel the trickle of joy in my tired heart.

I woke up looking at the mountains and started to feel a reflection of my best self. Light, hopeful, and courageous.

In moments of tension on the trip, I quickly excused myself and regulated my nervous system. I was able to refuel. Goal #1 achieved.

I didn’t even do Goal #2 until the trip almost ended. I was pleasantly surprised that I was ok.

Another purpose of this trip was to reunite with my cousin, who moved to Calgary last year from China. I hadn’t seen this cousin much as an adult. For most of the trip, we found ourselves sharing memories of our childhood.

I’ve been away from China for more than 10 years.

Sometimes I forget where I came from. I put so much pressure on myself to be “perfect” and have it all figured out. But I’ve already grown in unimaginable ways. Being around my family showed me just how far I’ve come.

I looked at my cousin starting his life with compassion and understanding, remembering how I’ve built my life brick by brick, with a lot of help, since the day I arrived in the U.S. with a few suitcases.

Moreover, I remembered that I have more support than I think. My family may be very different people than me, but we all care for each other very much. I have with me the dreams and support of my ancestors. A family that came from struggle, resilience, and courage.

When I was deep in depression, I could logically summon up the idea of gratitude, but I couldn’t feel it in my heart, no matter how hard I tried.

But there in Banff, gratitude returned in my heart like a storm. I was grateful for every imperfect and enjoyable moment spent with my family. I was grateful for the life I have now.

I was even grateful for falling apart, so I can learn that I don’t have to put myself back together all by myself.

I now see that healing could take little effort on my part at all.

It could happen overnight, with the sprout growing so high from the seed of my life force.

The mountains didn’t force their will on me, but I could feel them whispering to me: You can do it, you will do it.

When I got home, I was, of course, exhausted from the travels. But I had a surprising discovery: I felt like myself, and I was whole.

Somehow, I remained myself during a trip that’s designed to trigger the old me when my reserves were already empty. If I could be myself in these circumstances, who am I now?

Where there was a pool of endless grief, I didn’t run from it. I bathed in the water of my tears and listened.

I am far from having answers or the “fix” to my problems. I know this won’t be the last time I break down.

But I’m back home energized, calm, and hopeful.

I know I’m going to figure it out.

Joy doesn’t have to wait till there is clarity.

Joy is right here in the thick of the journey.

Life is messy, disorienting, and full of ups and downs.

I am appreciative of this beautiful initiation process as I prepare to turn 30 later this year. I know that life was showing me all the ways that I wasn’t living in alignment, and ushering me to change them. Change is scary, and I became terrified of my big visions.

But I know now.

I’m already her.

She is brave, present, vulnerable, flawed, and full of passion for life.

With that knowledge, everything is possible, and everything will come in its own time.

I am grateful for the mountain-like humans and the human-like mountains in my life.

I hope I embrace the next time I fall apart like the mountains: without an agenda, strong and gentle, with deep belief that everything is going to be ok.

Love,

Sabrina