How they became my superpowers  and why I now see them as gifts.

When I was nine, my parents made a decision that changed everything. They moved our family to the United States from Viet Nam: leaving behind familiarity, community, and language; without knowing a single word of English. They did it for one reason: to give my brother and me a better future. That leap of faith was the most impactful decision they ever made, next to having me.

And today, it’s been 30 years since that momentous choice.

Three decades of challenge and grace.

Three decades of resilience, theirs, and eventually, mine.

At the Time, It Felt Like a Disadvantage

I remember being the quiet kid in class who couldn’t understand what the teacher was saying.

I remember the shame of not knowing what “homework” meant and not doing it, not out of defiance, but because I simply didn’t understand.

I remember sitting beside my classmates, yet feeling the thick, invisible barrier of culture, language, and custom between us.

I remember my parents struggling to navigate a new world with unfamiliar systems, paperwork, and accents.

I remember feeling “other,” learning to read facial expressions and signs before I could read words.

For a long time, I saw that experience as a disadvantage.

Then Came Another One: RA and Sjögren’s

Years later, I would face another unexpected challenge, this time, as physician. In 2023, I was diagnosed with rheumatoid arthritis and Sjögren’s syndrome. It started subtly: a swollen toe, a tender knuckle, a frozen shoulder I blamed on yoga. I was a rheumatologist. I should have seen it coming.

But the truth is, autoimmune diseases don’t always shout. Sometimes, they whisper, quietly reshaping your life until the change becomes impossible to ignore.

That diagnosis marked another turning point. Another moment where what seemed like a disadvantage would eventually reveal itself as something more.

Unfair Disadvantages Forged Into Strength

Those early challenges (immigration, language barriers, chronic illness) were unfair disadvantages. They weren’t chosen. They weren’t easy. I saw my disadvantages as weaknesses, and I worked hard to change that every single day. The very things I once tried to hide or overcome have now become the strongest parts of me. They became the furnace in which my greatest strengths were forged.

Here’s what they gave me:

• Empathy that isn’t theoretical: the illnesses I treat are the ones I carry, too. I listen with different ears now, shaped by the swelling I’ve seen in my own hands, the pain I’ve walked through, the fatigue I’ve had to respect.

• Resilience that runs deep: built from navigating unfamiliar worlds at a young age.

• Adaptability and grit:  shaped by years of being the outsider and learning to thrive anyway.

• A cross-cultural lens: from moving to the US from Viet Nam, living in Japan, climbing Mount Fuji, and learning to feel at home in more than one place.

• Consciousness of the American Dream: not just living it, but understanding what it took to get here.

These are my unfair advantages now. Not because they were handed to me, but because I lived them, wrestled with them, and was strengthened by them.

Today, I Stand on the Shoulders of Their Sacrifice

Every patient I see, every advocacy effort I lead, every word I write is shaped by the path my parents carved out of courage. They gave me a new beginning when I was just nine years old. They didn’t speak the language, but they spoke hope and love fluently. And they trusted that, one day, I’d find my voice.

To Anyone Feeling at a Disadvantage Today

Let this be a reminder:

What feels like your greatest disadvantage today may one day become your most unshakable strength.

Pain can become empathy.

Isolation can become insight.

Hardship can become fuel for purpose.

You may not be able to see it yet, but trust me, it’s there.

And to My Parents: Thank You

Thank you for the courage it took to start over.

Thank you for the quiet sacrifices I’ll never fully know.

Thank you for choosing a future I now get to live, not just as a doctor, but as someone who sees people deeply, because I know what it feels like to be unseen.

Here’s to 30 years and to all the strength that began in silence.