About Me.

I grew up in Shanghai, China.

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From a young age, Bruce Lee was my hero. I was fascinated by strength, discipline, and the idea that martial arts could shape who a person becomes.

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When I told my parents I wanted to learn combat sports, they discouraged me.
“Sports are for people who aren’t good at school,” they said.
“Yoga is more suitable for girls.”

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At 12 years old, I wrote in my diary:

“One day, I want to become a world champion in Taekwondo.”

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I didn’t get the chance to train much growing up. But I made a quiet promise to myself — when I became an adult, I would finally choose my own path.

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At 19, that promise came true.

I began boxing while studying abroad as an international student at Oberlin College. I started competing quickly — and lost far more fights than I won.

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At the same time, I was struggling deeply outside of the gym. I felt intense performance anxiety speaking English. I was afraid of saying the wrong words, afraid of being judged. I didn't think I belong.

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Training became my refuge.

Inside the gym, I didn’t need perfect English.
I just needed to show up, move, and fight.

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Later, my coaches introduced me to Jiu Jitsu and MMA. That was the beginning of a much longer journey — one that was far from linear.

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I stopped training Jiu Jitsu more than once.

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Not because I didn’t love it, but because my mental health suffers from it. I struggled with comparison, injuries, losses, and the loneliness of being a woman navigating a culture that sometimes didn’t know how to hold vulnerability. There were times I got severely injured in a training session or compeititon, the responses I received were often harsh or dismissive. And I was told "too sensitive."

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I began to wonder whether I truly belonged in the sport I loved.

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During this same period, I attended graduate school at Vanderbilt University, earning my degree in human development counseling.

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Through years of psychological training — and my own therapy journey — something shifted.

I started to see that Jiu Jitsu was never just about winning or losing.

It was a mirror.

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It revealed resilience and fear, confidence and self-doubt, joy and disappointment. The mat became a place where personal growth unfolded in real time.

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Jiu Jitsu stopped being a task I had to succeed at.
It became a relationship I could grow with.

I still have days when Jiu Jitsu feels hard — when I doubt myself, feel frustrated, or question my progress. But underneath those moments, there is now a quiet confidence:

I know I will keep showing up, keep growing, and keep learning lessons that go far beyond technique.

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From that realization, this work was born.

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I created this initiative to support women — especially those who start Jiu Jitsu as adults — in building a healthier, more sustainable relationship with the sport.

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Because Jiu Jitsu can be more than performance or pressure.

It can be a path toward confidence, belonging, and self-trust.

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My goal is not only to help you grow on the mat, but to help you carry that growth into your career, relationships, and everyday life — so that wherever you go, with or without Jiu Jitsu, you know you have the strength to keep evolving and facing challenges with confidence.