I used to wonder where I truly belonged.

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Born in the U.S. to Chinese parents from Northern Vietnam, I existed between two cultural worlds—each demanding loyalty, yet neither offering refuge. I learned early how to adapt: honor my heritage in silence, and perform my “Americanness” with a smile.

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In Southern California, my parents recreated the world they had left behind. Their community required no assimilation—it traveled with them. But for me, the lines weren’t so clear.

At home, I was too American.
At school, I was too Asian.
Too outspoken. Too emotional. Too much.

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When we moved to Iowa, there was nowhere left to hide. No cultural echo chamber. No duality. Only a stark pressure to fully become what I never chose.

My vitiligo, my body, my voice—all betrayed my effort to blend in. I wasn’t “Asian enough” for my family, and not “American enough” for everyone else.

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And yet—true power began when I stopped forcing a shape that wasn’t mine.
When I no longer clung to fixed identity but embraced something eternal.
I became formless.

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✨ Too Much. Not Enough. Still Chosen. “The rigid break. The flexible endure.”“Whoever exalts himself will be “Whoever exalts himself will be humbled, and whoever humbles himself will be exalted.”
— Matthew 23:12

 

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🧍‍♀️ 1. Before Jesus Found Me

In college, I floated—weightless, rootless, performative.
I drank and smoked not for pleasure, but proximity. I borrowed language, laughs, and likes—anything to belong, even if the belonging was fake. But the more I contorted, the less I recognized myself. The rooms were full, but my soul was vacant.
I was everywhere—and nowhere.

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🔒 2. When I Tried to Reach for God, Something Tried to Stop Me

Every time I leaned toward God, something pulled me back.
Not doubt—darkness.

Sleep paralysis gripped me during nights I tried to pray. My voice silenced. My body frozen. My spirit pleading.
I now know: this was warfare.

The enemy does not attack the irrelevant. He attacks what threatens him.
Even then, I carried destiny. Even then, I was marked.

But the key wasn’t to fight harder. It was to stop resisting the transformation and let God shape me.

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👨‍👩‍👧 3. Family: Estranged but Not Forgotten

I distanced myself from home.
Skipped holidays. Dodged phone calls.
I told myself: better to be alone in my dorm than misunderstood in my own house.
Until September 2011—when I learned my father had cancer… and I was the last to know.
That moment shattered my illusion of control.
I wasn’t protecting myself. I was punishing myself.

Pain has a way of calling you back to what matters.

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🧬 4. Being Asian American and Christian Today

I no longer play tug-of-war with identity. I am not a label. I am a living witness. I eat with chopsticks. I speak English. I think in layers. I cry in Spanish. I am the daughter of immigrants. The daughter of God. I’ve walked through fire and didn’t burn. I shifted shapes and finally stopped pretending. This is what being Asian American and Christian means to me: Resilient. Refined. Free.

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🌿 5. What Healing Looked Like

Healing didn’t arrive with fanfare. It came in whispers. In strangers who prayed for me silently. In therapists who named my buried pain. In scriptures that told me: I didn’t need to be a warrior—I was a daughter. God invited me to stop striving. To let Him father me.
I began to receive love I once rejected: A door held open. A hand on my back. A man who honors. A life where I don't perform.
Not because I’m incapable—but because I’m beloved.

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🎙 6. What I’m Doing Now

I now lead a ministry called God’s Toddler—because the most powerful thing I ever did… was become small again.
Childlike. Trusting. Open.
I walk others through the fog of identity, through confusion, through silence.
I write devotionals for the overlooked. I intercede for the exhausted.
And I pray others will learn this truth sooner than I did:
You don’t need to prove your place. You already have one.

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🕊 7. To My Younger Self

To 7-year-old Connie…
You are not too much.
You are not too loud.
You are not too strange.
You are not wrong.
You don’t have to hide behind quietness or please everyone to be safe.
You are not forgotten.
You are not a phase.
You are not lost.
You are chosen.

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Jeremiah 29:11 New Living Translation (NLT)

11For I know the plans I have for you,” says the Lord. “They are plans for good and not for disaster, to give you a future and a hope.

 

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