Have you ever done something your parents didn’t approve of — and for a moment, it felt like their love came with fine print?
Ever felt like no matter what you do, you’ll never live up to the expectations your family had for you?
Maybe you didn’t become the doctor, the lawyer, or the “good Christian” they hoped for.
Or maybe, like me, your life took a turn that made people clutch their pearls and pray for your soul.
If you’ve ever felt unloved, unseen, or unwanted because of your choices, this story is for you.
Because trust me — I get it.
I get what it’s like to feel like your worth is hanging in the balance between “what you’ve done” and “who they thought you’d be.”
I get what it’s like to sit across the table from your parents and feel their disappointment louder than their words.
People always ask me the same question, like it’s the elephant in the room everyone wants to poke with a stick:
“So… what do your parents think about what you do?”
Well, here it is.
My dad’s a retired pastor. My mom’s Korean.
And if you know anything about Korean moms, they’re basically born with a Bible in one hand, a wooden spoon in the other, and a PhD in guilt trips.
Put those two together, and let’s just say I was raised in a home where perfection wasn’t encouraged — it was expected.
So when your daughter grows up and becomes a pornstar, yeah… that doesn’t exactly fit the church bulletin.
I’ve been in the adult industry for over 13 years now.
My dad’s response? He doesn’t agree with it, but he’s never condemned me. He doesn’t weaponize scripture. He doesn’t treat me differently. He just quietly loves me where I’m at.
My mom? Whole different story.
She and I have gone 13 rounds in what I like to call The Ring of Judgment, Guilt, and Grace.
Think “WWE: Holy Smackdown Edition.”
Growing up, image was everything. My mom cared deeply about what her friends, family, and church members thought of me. In her eyes, my choices reflected her parenting, and that pressure followed me like a shadow. I was taught to smile, stay quiet, and never show emotion. Feelings were fine as long as they looked holy.
So I learned to hold everything in.
To this day, I still struggle with it — which is probably one of the reasons why I take acting classes, not because I’m trying to win an Oscar, but because I’m literally learning how to feel again.
Imagine that — almost 40 years old and learning how to cry without apologizing.
When I first entered the adult industry, my parents weren’t just hurt — they were heartbroken. They felt like they’d failed. My dad thought he was a bad father. My mom thought she was a bad mother. They felt judged by everyone around them. They thought I’d turned away from Christ, and that crushed them.
Meanwhile, I was crushed too — just in a different way.
I was hurt by their assumptions.
They thought I had lost my faith, that I was doing this behind Stephen’s back, that I was sneaking around like some secret sinner.
What they didn’t understand was that I never stopped believing in God. I just stopped believing in religion that made me feel like love had to be earned.
I was angry — angry that my mom’s love came with conditions. Angry that she said she’d love me if I quit. Angry that I was still expected to live perfectly, even when I was just trying to survive. Angry that I couldn’t just be seen as a daughter — not a disappointment.
And I knew if I kept carrying that anger, it would grow into bitterness, resentment, and hatred.
I didn’t want that.
I didn’t want to become the person who matched her pain with my own.
So I started setting boundaries.
I distanced myself.
Not because I stopped loving her, but because I was tired of the same cycle — argue, cry, repeat.
My dad always made it easier. He never made me feel unworthy. He loved people where they were at — no strings, no conditions, no “if you would just repent.”
But my mom — my religious, fiery, opinionated Korean mom — was my biggest battle and my deepest wound.
We fought for years.
She told me I lived in “Sodom and Gomorrah,” that the devil used me, that I wasn’t the same person anymore.
And then one day, in the middle of one of our worst arguments, she said something that broke me completely.
She said she wanted to kill herself because of what I did.
I froze. I couldn’t breathe. I remember feeling this wave of guilt crash over me — like somehow her pain was my fault.
But deep down, I knew it wasn’t.
I couldn’t carry that burden, not on top of everything else.
So I said the hardest thing I’ve ever said to my mom:
“If being in your life hurts you that much, I’ll step out of it.”
And I did.
For two months, we didn’t speak.
No texts. No calls. No holidays.
It was painful, but peaceful.
For the first time in years, I wasn’t walking on eggshells.
Then one day came a message I didn’t expect — Stephen’s parents were helping mine with some VA paperwork and invited them over for dinner.
That morning, I texted my mom:
“If you can love me and accept me for what I do as a pornstar, I’d love to see you tonight.”
It was bold, maybe too bold — but I was done negotiating my worth.
That dinner felt like a scene out of a family drama — tears, prayers, tension you could cut with a steak knife.
Stephen’s dad played mediator. My dad cried, saying he felt like a bad father. My mom cried, saying she felt like a failure. And I sat there trying to hold it all together.
I said, “I’m not quitting right now. Will I one day? Of course. I’m not trying to be an 80-year-old pornstar. But right now, this pays the bills, keeps a roof over my head, and lets me be sugar mama while Stephen’s in prison.”
Everyone laughed — awkwardly, but it broke the tension.
Then I looked at them and said, “Please don’t let tears or shame have the last word. Let faith rise. God’s not done with this story yet. Will you love me as your daughter even if you can’t accept my choices?”
It was quiet for a long time.
Then my mom admitted she worried too much about what others thought.
My dad admitted he felt like he failed me.
And I admitted I just wanted love without conditions.
By the end of the night, my mom agreed to love and accept me — even if she didn’t agree with me.
And for the first time in years, I felt peace at that table.
Because it wasn’t about who was right or wrong — it was about love finally winning over judgment.
Here’s what I’ve learned: Jesus doesn’t approve of sin, but He never withdraws His love because of it. Romans 5:8 says, “But God demonstrates His own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”
If God loved us at our worst, why do we think He stops now?
Romans 8:38–39 says that nothing can separate us from the love of God. Nothing. Not sin. Not shame. Not our careers. Not our mistakes.
And maybe that’s the point.
Because people don’t change through condemnation — they change through compassion.
You can’t shame someone into holiness; you can only love them into healing.
I think that’s what Jesus meant when He loved the woman caught in adultery — He didn’t tell her, “You’re fine, keep doing it.”
He said, “Neither do I condemn you.”
He led with love before correction.
That’s grace.
Grace doesn’t ignore sin — it overwhelms it with love until the sin has no power left.
If I’ve learned anything through this messy, painful, beautiful process, it’s this: Love people where they’re at, not where you think they should be. Because that’s exactly what Jesus does.
Just know whether you love me or love to hate me — you’re still my Lover.
Don’t forget Jesus loves you — unconditionally — and so do I.