I didn't have a blueprint, either
Twelve countries, seven languages, three master's degrees, a yellow bike and car with blacked out windows so people would stop staring.
This is the real story behind the coaching, detours and all.
Hi, I'm Christina.
Before I became a coach, before the degrees and certifications and professional bio that make my path sound much more organized than it felt, I was a kid in Southern California imagining a life that felt bigger, stranger, and more beautiful than the one in front of me.
I was obsessed with Lisa Bonet, Vogue, fashion designers, music, Depeche Mode, and the idea of living somewhere else. I wanted the bohemian life, and I also wanted the clothes, which probably explains more about me than any formal bio ever could.
The first chance I got, I left. I moved from Southern California to New York, and then I kept going into other countries, other languages, other spaces and other versions of myself I had to meet, before I knew what to do with them.
From the outside, that can sound romantic.
Sometimes it was. I was also not floating around the world in a linen scarf waiting for meaning to find me. I was working, applying for fellowships, taking on serious roles, managing projects, building partnerships, and trying to be useful in places where I did not always know the rules yet.
I have held real jobs, worked with governments and global organizations, managed complex projects and multi-million-dollar portfolios, and did work that mattered.
I have also negotiated rental contracts in five languages, which should count as an advanced degree.
My life has been nonlinear, and it has never been random. I was building something, even when I could not fully explain what it was yet.
At the same time, I was figuring out the ordinary human things that never show up in a bio: how to make friends, how to ask for help, how to understand a system, how to feel at home, and how to keep trusting myself when I was the first person in my family to choose this kind of path.
I was the first in my family to go to college and the first to move away, so there was no one I could call and ask, "Is it normal to feel proud and lost at the same time?"
I had to figure out a lot as I went. I learned to read situations, find the person who knew how the system really worked, listen for what was not being said, and make things work even when the instructions were incomplete or nonexistent.
That scrappiness has served me. So has the spiritual part of me, not in a shiny, performative way, but in the sense that I have always believed there is information in discomfort, that certain paths call to us before they make sense, and that a life can be unconventional without being accidental.
One of the clearest memories I have is moving to Japan and living in a small apartment in the middle of a rice field.
I remember looking around and thinking, "What am I doing in the middle of nowhere without speaking the language?"
I had to teach at a school, build a daily life, and figure out how to communicate in a place where I was always aware of being seen.
People stared at me all the time, so yes, I had a bright yellow bike...
I also had a car with blacked-out windows that I sometimes drove to the grocery store across the street because I just wanted five minutes of privacy.
That contradiction still feels true:
I wanted the adventure, and I also wanted somewhere to disappear.
I wanted the world, and I also wanted a door I could close.
Eventually, I found my rituals. I walked to school through the snow while the crows seemed to laugh at me every morning. I rode the yellow bike to the beach on Sundays, and I found a path that worked for me.
That is something I understand deeply now. You do not always feel at home first. Sometimes you build the path before the place feels like yours.
I tried to fix discomfort by becoming extremely qualified. I love learning, and every day I find new things to research, get distracted by, and entice me. I also know how easy it is to turn learning into a very elegant form of avoidance.
I have three master's degrees. I am a certified yoga teacher. I learn languages. I still somehow manage to do two or three certifications a year.
For years, when I felt unsure, I looked for something outside myself to solve it: another course, another plan, another language, another move, another saved post, another small hit of clarity that faded by the end of the week.
I know that loop well because I have lived inside it with notebooks and very sincere intentions.
At one point, mid-career, I joined Peace Corps and lived in a village with unreliable electricity and no running water.
Strangely, or maybe not strangely at all, that was when I came most alive. There were fewer distractions, less performance, and less noise. I had to be present with the life in front of me. I also had the chance to hold women's hands as they gave birth, which to this day are some of my best memories.
That taught me something I still use in my work now: sometimes discomfort is not a sign that you are failing.
Sometimes it is information. It may be telling you that you are trying to live a nonlinear life with tools designed for a straight one.
That is why I work the way I do.
Most people come to me with the thing they can name: English, a meeting, a move, a new role, a difficult conversation, or the feeling that they are not quite themselves in the room. That is where we start, and it is rarely where we stay.
When someone says, "I need more confidence," I do not immediately believe confidence is the problem. I want to know what they need confidence for, which room they need it in, which language they are using, who is in front of them, and what they think will happen if they are fully seen.
When someone says, "I need better English," I want to know what they actually want to say. I want to know what conversations matter to them, what ideas they care about, what kind of professional they want to be, what happens to their body when the stakes get higher, and whether the environment they are trying so hard to succeed in is actually allowing them to come through.
When someone's mind goes blank in an interview or meeting, I know the problem may not be preparation. Sometimes they are judging themselves based on what they imagine other people are thinking about them. They are not just being judged; they are judging themselves being judged, which is exhausting.
This is why I work across language, communication, culture, leadership, and transition. People are not divided into tidy categories. A language problem can be a pressure problem. A communication problem can be a belonging problem. A career decision can be tangled up with a country, a visa, a family expectation, a relationship, or a version of yourself you are trying not to lose.
I support globally minded professionals who are living, working, leading, or building a life across cultures, countries, languages, and unfamiliar systems.
Some of my clients use English at work and want to communicate with more precision, ease, and authority. Some are adjusting to a new country, role, workplace, or stage of life. Some are native English speakers abroad. Some have never moved, but work in global organizations or professional cultures that make them feel like outsiders in rooms where they are more capable than they sound.
Many of them are successful on paper, which is exactly why the problem can feel so confusing. They are not starting from zero. They are often educated, experienced, thoughtful, and really smart. It is just that the room, language, culture, role, or system has changed, and suddenly what they know is not coming through as clearly as it should.
There is a gap between who they are and what is coming through. My work helps close that gap.
I listen closely, and not just to the words. I pay attention to the pauses, the moment someone laughs but does not quite mean it, the words they avoid, and the place where their energy changes.
My background in journalism taught me not to stop at the first answer. Coaching taught me to trust the client's wisdom. Language work taught me that communication is never just vocabulary when identity, pressure, culture, and belonging are involved.
We slow things down, look at what is actually happening, and then build something useful. Sometimes that means finding the exact sentence for a meeting. Sometimes it means understanding why that sentence feels impossible to say. Often, it means both.
I do not hand people a script and call it support. A script can help for a moment, but it cannot teach you how to trust yourself in the room. This work is practical, but it is not shallow. It is personal, but it is not therapy. It is structured, but it is not a formula pretending to know your life better than you do.
That is why I work the way I do.
Most people come to me with the thing they can name: English, a meeting, a move, a new role, a difficult conversation, or the feeling that they are not quite themselves in the room. That is where we start, and it is rarely where we stay.
When someone says, "I need more confidence," I do not immediately believe confidence is the problem. I want to know what they need confidence for, which room they need it in, which language they are using, who is in front of them, and what they think will happen if they are fully seen.
When someone says, "I need better English," I want to know what they actually want to say. I want to know what conversations matter to them, what ideas they care about, what kind of professional they want to be, what happens to their body when the stakes get higher, and whether the environment they are trying so hard to succeed in is actually allowing them to come through.
When someone's mind goes blank in an interview or meeting, I know the problem may not be preparation. Sometimes they are judging themselves based on what they imagine other people are thinking about them. They are not just being judged; they are judging themselves being judged, which is exhausting.
This is why I work across language, communication, culture, leadership, and transition. People are not divided into tidy categories. A language problem can be a pressure problem. A communication problem can be a belonging problem. A career decision can be tangled up with a country, a visa, a family expectation, a relationship, or a version of yourself you are trying not to lose.
I support globally minded professionals who are living, working, leading, or building a life across cultures, countries, languages, and unfamiliar systems.
Some of my clients use English at work and want to communicate with more precision, ease, and authority. Some are adjusting to a new country, role, workplace, or stage of life. Some are native English speakers abroad. Some have never moved, but work in global organizations or professional cultures that make them feel like outsiders in rooms where they are more capable than they sound.
Many of them are successful on paper, which is exactly why the problem can feel so confusing. They are not starting from zero. They are often educated, experienced, thoughtful, and really smart. It is just that the room, language, culture, role, or system has changed, and suddenly what they know is not coming through as clearly as it should.
There is a gap between who they are and what is coming through. My work helps close that gap.
I listen closely, and not just to the words. I pay attention to the pauses, the moment someone laughs but does not quite mean it, the words they avoid, and the place where their energy changes.
My background in journalism taught me not to stop at the first answer. Coaching taught me to trust the client's wisdom. Language work taught me that communication is never just vocabulary when identity, pressure, culture, and belonging are involved.
We slow things down, look at what is actually happening, and then build something useful. Sometimes that means finding the exact sentence for a meeting. Sometimes it means understanding why that sentence feels impossible to say. Often, it means both.
I do not hand people a script and call it support. A script can help for a moment, but it cannot teach you how to trust yourself in the room. This work is practical, but it is not shallow. It is personal, but it is not therapy. It is structured, but it is not a formula pretending to know your life better than you do.
A little more, officially.
I am a Certified Leadership and Performance Coach, Certified Neurolanguage Coach, and CELTA-certified English language teacher. I hold three master's degrees in Global Health Delivery, Management, and Journalism.
I have worked across journalism, international development, global health, consulting, academia, leadership, communication, language, and coaching. I have coached and taught professionals across four continents, including NGO leaders, government officials, founders, engineers, doctors, lawyers, psychologists, HR professionals, teachers, and people building lives far from where they started.
Those credentials matter, but they are not the whole story. What makes my work different is that I understand how quickly smart people can start doubting themselves when the environment, language, culture, or system changes. I also know how to sit with someone in that confusion without rushing them, fixing them, flattering them, or turning their life into a worksheet.
A little more, officially.
I am a Certified Leadership and Performance Coach, Certified Neurolanguage Coach, and CELTA-certified English language teacher. I hold three master's degrees in Global Health Delivery, Management, and Journalism.
I have worked across journalism, international development, global health, consulting, academia, leadership, communication, language, and coaching. I have coached and taught professionals across four continents, including NGO leaders, government officials, founders, engineers, doctors, lawyers, psychologists, HR professionals, teachers, and people building lives far from where they started.
Those credentials matter, but they are not the whole story. What makes my work different is that I understand how quickly smart people can start doubting themselves when the environment, language, culture, or system changes. I also know how to sit with someone in that confusion without rushing them, fixing them, flattering them, or turning their life into a worksheet.
The real life me
I am a coach, language nerd, yoga teacher, and horror movie fan. I am equally happy in a beautiful hotel or off-grid.
I can spend hours in home decoration stores, invested in color, texture, and objects with no obvious practical purpose.
I love making a home beautiful, even though I do not cook and am not, spiritually or literally, the tidiest person in the room.
I care about good conversations, strange objects, beautiful spaces, clear thinking, and the moment when someone finally says the thing they have been hesitant to say.
Mostly, I care about helping people stop becoming smaller in order to fit somewhere new, because adapting should not require disappearing.
If you are trying to find your words, your footing, or your way across cultures, we can start there and see which path unfolds for you next.