Qin Qin tried so hard to be perfect. Writing her memoir set her free

It’s a spring afternoon on campus. The peach tree in the courtyard of the Australian Centre on China in the World is flowering. 

Author and ANU graduate Qin Qin is admiring the way the white blossoms sway in the breeze. 

“Nature has so much to teach us,” she muses. “We all have seasons in our lives.”  

The lawyer-turned-librarian knows this better than most. After a grueling corporate career — including roles in law and teaching, and stints at Harvard and UNICEF — Qin Qin is following a new path, free from the grind of hustle culture. 

“I tried so hard to climb that ladder towards more power, prestige and influence,” she says.

“We need to normalise the non-linear career and the idea that success is not just a job title — but this takes a lot of work, a lot of unlearning.” 

Lisa and the law

Qin Qin moved to Australia from China’s Guizhou province when she was three years old. Her mother, a university lecturer, worked as a cleaner to make ends meet. Her father, an entomologist, studied at ANU and lived at Bruce Hall.  

“I remember visiting him in the labs,” she says. “It was amazing for me to grow up being exposed to that kind of environment.” 

But Canberra in the 1990s was far from a multicultural society. Qin Qin chose to go by ‘Lisa’ in honour of her favourite character from The Simpsons, in part because it was easier for white people to pronounce. 

In her memoir, Model minority gone rogue, she jokes that there were so few Chinese people living in the bush capital that “if you saw one on the street you’d go over, say hello and ask them to be your child’s godparent”.  

As the eldest daughter of immigrant parents, she felt the weight of her family’s expectations. Although she imagined following various creative career paths and dreamed of taking Asian Studies, she enrolled in a double degree in commerce and law at ANU.  

“I remember the first time I got a credit at law school,” Qin Qin says. “It was so disappointing.” 

She describes her years at a top-tier law firm after graduation as “a law-botomy”, with the prestige of the role doing little to compensate for the long hours and competitive culture. 

“The pressure to achieve isn’t just at university, but also with what comes after,” she says.

“Everyone is competing for different jobs and the pressure and expectations can lead to mental health issues.” 

The shadow side of success

In the midst of a quarter-life crisis, Qin Qin was accepted into a fast-track teaching program targeting high achievers. She recalls attending lectures where the participants were told they were the “chosen few”, the best and brightest.  

Two difficult years teaching at a disadvantaged school in Victoria followed, before she received the Frank Knox fellowship to study at the Harvard Graduate School of Education.  

In her book, Qin Qin writes that the Ivy League university attracted people who were both “supremely overconfident and utterly insecure”. 

“At any place that rewards brilliance, there are going to be people with these incredible minds,” Qin Qin says.

“But these institutions see academic failure or being unwell as a weakness. I’ve actually found that embracing the crises that come with being a human has made me better able to help others.”  

Burnt out by trying to be who she thought society wanted her to be, Qin Qin knew something had to change. She turned away from the pressure to be perfect and embraced what she calls her “shadow side”.

In her efforts to recover, she experimented with writing, yoga, and meditation.   

“That inner journey was hard,” she says.

“Looking back, I had to go through everything I did to come to this place of more peace, acceptance and grace.”  

Road to recovery

The World Health Organisation included occupational burnout in the International Classification of Diseases in 2019. While people have become more open to talking about the damaging effects of chronic workplace stress, our coping mechanisms still have a way to go. 

“It’s amazing that we can talk about burnout and that it’s accepted,” Qin Qin says.

“But we’re more comfortable having a panel discussion about it instead of lying down, listening to the birds and feeling the ground beneath our feet.”    

Having returned to Canberra, Qin Qin now lives with her husband, James, and her beloved golden retriever, Oprah.

She is a librarian at the National Library of Australia, which she calls “a beautiful and peaceful place to work”.

And after decades of going by ‘Lisa,’ she has reclaimed her true name.  

As much as telling her story has been instrumental in her healing process, Qin Qin hopes it may help others experiencing similar pressures.  

“The only truth I can share is my own, my specific story as a queer, first-generation Chinese Australian,” she says.

“That’s the point of any art, right? To speak the truths that other people feel but might not be able to express.

“If that helps someone to uncover their own truth, then I’ve done my job.”