I grew up in a very small village in Vietnam, where the rivers run slow and the people run deep. It was a small, quiet place that taught me two things early: that hard work is not optional, and that caring for others is not weakness.
I carry both of those everywhere I go. Into every research paper. Every training room. Every stage I stand on.
Long before I studied leadership in any classroom, I was learning its most important lessons at home from my brother, who lives with a disability.
He taught me that patience is not passive. It is the most powerful leadership skill there is. That real change takes time: the leader who last are the ones who slow down enough to listen and show up consistently.
He also taught me that meaningful work is never about credentials. It is about who you are able to help, and why you chose the path that brought you there.
Those two lessons have shaped everything I do.
My brother never stood at a podium. But he is still the best teacher I have ever had.
In my village, the expected path for women was simple: marry, build a stable home, stay close. My parents hoped for that for me. They wanted me to be happy in the way they understood happiness.
I chose a different path.
After nearly a decade building a career in Vietnam's private sector, working with multinational companies, I made one of the hardest decisions of my life. I moved to the United States, alone, to pursue an education that would let me contribute to something larger than myself.
My family had no roadmap for what I was doing. They supported me anyway. I am here because of them.
There were nights, too many to count, staring at books and articles, feeling like I had walked into a puzzle with no picture on the box. The language was new. The systems were new. Everything required twice the effort just to keep up.
But I kept going. I used those early mornings and quiet nights to build something that no classroom could give me: a researcher's discipline, a practitioner's instinct, and a resilience I could not have earned any other way.
Every obstacle, whether a language barrier, a cultural difference, or an exhausting night of coursework, became evidence of what I was made of.
This wonderful journey taught me 1 undeniable truth: GRIT is the key to keep going...
Entering information technology (IT) as an Asian woman, an immigrant, and a minority meant earning my place in rooms that were not built with me in mind. It felt familiar. That was exactly the world my brother had navigated his whole life.
That parallel was not lost on me. It gave me something no degree can teach: I know what it feels like to be underestimated, to work five times as hard just to be seen as equally capable.
That understanding is not a disadvantage. It is exactly what makes me effective at helping organizations navigate change with empathy and purpose.
During my MBA and doctoral research journey, I have been advising small business owners as a consultant at the SBDC for nearly 7 years. I work alongside entrepreneurs who are smart, motivated, and under-resourced. They need practical solutions, not polished frameworks.
That experience keeps me grounded. It is why my approach to AI is about finding what actually works for the people sitting across from me.
Today, I am completing a Doctor of Public Administration at the University of La Verne, with research focused on responsible GenAI in local governments. My dissertation produced an assessment tool grounded in interviews with 30 senior IT leaders across cities, and that tool is now the basis of a pilot program helping cities understand their AI readiness and chart a responsible path forward.
I advise public sector leaders. I teach future public administrators. I speak at national and international conferences. I was selected as a 2025 ASPA Founders' Fellow by the American Society for Public Administration. I publish practical articles that people can actually use.
And I am just getting started.