When I was little, I wrote in my diary like it was my full-time unpaid job. I poured in every emotion, every dramatic childhood crisis, every “I’m-running-away-but-actually-I’m-just-going-to-the-backyard” moment. I even had one of those tiny diaries with a tiny lock that a bobby pin could open—but still, it felt secure. It was my little private universe.
Then, life happened. Time zoomed by. Somewhere along the way—between becoming a dentist, running a business, raising two kids, loving one husband, and driving an hour each way to work like I’m commuting to another dimension—I stopped keeping up with myself. I became disorganized, overwhelmed, and just… tired.
I started spending any tiny free moment doom-scrolling shorts and YouTube videos like I was earning reward points for it. My days felt busy but strangely purposeless. My life wasn’t crashing, but it definitely felt like it was drifting without a GPS signal. I needed direction. Or at least a mental map.
So I started thinking—really thinking—about who I am. My identity, my likes and dislikes, my purpose, my… everything. You know, just casual 12 a.m. thoughts when I know that I have to go to sleep to go to work next morning.
Then this question hit me:
“If someone asks me, ‘Tell me about yourself,’ what do I even say?”
It’s supposed to be an easy question. Most people answer with their name and where they’re from. Easy. So I tried:
“My name is Youngchi, and I’m from South Korea.”
Okay, good start. Then what?
Every version of this answer sounded like a dentist’s bio from an office website.
“I’m 43, I’ve lived in the U.S. since 2004, I’ve been married 15 years, I’m a working mom of two (a 5-year-old boy and a 2-year-old girl), I like running, yoga, pilates, reading, and Korean TV shows…”
See? Corny. Cheesy. Nothing that screams “wow, she’s so fascinating.”
But the truth is—that is me. And there’s nothing wrong with that.
This whole “trying to understand myself” project has been an ongoing mental hobby of mine for a few years. Some people call it a midlife crisis; I call it “a highly introspective chapter with occasional snacks or wine.” Whatever the name, I realized I didn’t want all these thoughts stuck swirling in my head endlessly.
I want to take them out, unravel them, re-thread them, and see what they mean. And I know I’m not alone. There are so many women—so many moms—who feel this same quiet confusion, this same desire to grow, to reset, to rediscover themselves while juggling 12 different roles at once.
So I thought: Why not create a space for us?
A place to laugh, vent, reflect, regroup, and remember who we are—before life pulls us in every direction again.
That’s why I started this blog.
Here, I’ll write about cultural identity, motherhood, family, the chaos and comedy of balancing life, and the very underrated art of self-care. I will talk about vulnerability and acceptance and resilience— stories about falling over, being embarrassed and weak, accepted the reality, then getting back up and keep going.
My hope is simple: to let my inner voice out into the world—and maybe help another mom feel a little more seen, understood, or at least less alone.
And ultimately, I want to build a community where we can share stories, wisdom, frustrations, tiny victories, and the truth about what it really means to be a mom, a woman, a person trying her best.
So I named this space MOMSORI (MOM + SORI).
“MOM” isn’t just about mothers—it also stands for Meaning, Order, and Momentum, the three things I’m desperately trying to find in this beautiful chaos called life.
“Sori” means sound or voice in Korean.
MOMSORI is a place for moms to let their voices out, rediscover themselves, and find meaning, order, and momentum again—one story at a time.