Xee Tong Yang: From Heart to Spirit, A Journey with a Hmong Shaman
Xee Tong Yang was born into a world where the spirit and the living were never far apart. He grew up in a home where the scent of burning incense clung to the walls, where the metallic ring of a shaman’s gong was as ordinary as the sound of rain. His childhood was shaped by the rituals of his elders—watching his yawm txiv (maternal grandpa) trance into the unseen, listening to prayers murmured over rice and spirit money, feeling the presence of something greater in the room. Shamanism wasn’t just tradition—it was the pulse of his family, a rhythm he never questioned.
But fate had a way of pulling him deeper. He didn’t just inherit the memories of shamanism; he became part of its practice. Not as a shaman himself, at least not yet, but as a hwj sawv, the one who steadies the altar, who watches over the journey. And when his life partner, the person he loved most, began to show the signs—the visions, the sickness, the restless nights—Xee Tong found himself stepping into a role few have ever taken on: assisting the person he loved through the trials of shamanic initiation.
The Unseen Devotion: Xee Tong’s Journey as a Shaman’s Partner
For most, spirituality is a personal pursuit—something sought after in quiet reflection or religious practice. But for Xee Tong, it has been an ever-present force, woven into the very fabric of his life. Born into a lineage of shamans, Xee Tong never knew a world without rituals, spirits, and healing ceremonies. His yawm txiv (maternal grandfather), Paj Tuam Vaj, was a respected Hmong shaman in Milwaukee.
“Every weekend was rituals. But it was so normal for my family and me. My yawm txiv would perform healing rituals, but as kids, we didn’t really pay attention. We were just happy to see all the cousins,” Xee Tong recalls.
Yet, the influence of shamanism in his family ran deeper than he initially realized. His paternal grandfather was also a shaman, and his father had once served as his assistant. But for Xee Tong’s father, this role came with a complicated history.
“My dad has a love-hate relationship with shamanism,” Xee Tong explains. “He’s seen its impact, but he’s also seen the weight it carries. I think it took a lot from him—his time, his energy, his sense of normalcy. He doesn’t talk about his experience much. He did it because he had to, not necessarily because he wanted to.”
As Xee Tong grew into his own role as a shaman’s assistant, he found himself understanding his father’s mixed emotions more than ever. The late nights, the sacrifices, the way shamanism reshapes every part of life—it was something he, too, wrestled with. But Xee Tong had made a choice. He stepped into this path not out of obligation, but out of love.
A Calling That Wasn’t His Own
The Hmong believe that shamans do not choose their calling; they are chosen by the spirits. And sometimes, those who walk alongside them are chosen, too. Shortly before his yawm txiv’s passing, he asked Xee Tong a question that still echoes in his memory: “Tsis yog dab los thawj koj lawm los?”—“Have the spirits chosen you yet?”
“At the time, I didn’t know what he meant,” Xee Tong admits. “For a long time, I wondered. But I’ve stopped looking for answers because I know I’ll never hear them from him.”
His role in shamanism did not begin with a spiritual calling of his own, but with love. His life partner began exhibiting symptoms often associated with a shaman’s initiation—unexplainable sickness, vivid dreams, an unseen force pulling at him. Xee Tong recognized the signs instantly. He sought guidance from his aunt, and soon after, during a ceremony, his partner entered a trance for the first time. It was a moment that changed everything.
“I thought it was amazing that his family embraced it. They were choosing shamanism, too,” he reflects. “I admired that.”
What started as an act of support turned into something much deeper. At first, he was simply learning the mechanics—burning incense, lighting candles, preparing ceremonial items. But soon, he had to master the rhythm of shamanic practice. “The first thing I had to learn was how to hit the nruab neeb—the gong,” he explains. “You have to match the shaman’s energy, pick up on their cues. Eventually, you learn to anticipate their next move before they even say it.”
Adapting to the Demands
Being a shaman’s assistant is a role that few understand, let alone within a gay relationship. In Hmong tradition, assistants are often husbands and wives, fathers, sons, uncles—family members. But Xee Tong found himself stepping into this role not out of obligation, but out of love.
“Coming into this, I didn’t just become a shaman’s assistant—I became a partner to a shaman. And that is life-changing,” he says. “No one tells you what to expect.”
Shamanism is not just a spiritual practice; it dictates a way of life. Every weekend is filled with rituals, and every morning begins with the sound of the gong. Social plans must be rearranged. Holidays are sometimes replaced with ceremonies. There is little room for spontaneity.
“I used to be the life of the party,” Xee Tong admits. “And I still am, in some ways. But my priorities have shifted. I had to normalize having a social life, then coming home and stepping back into shamanism. It’s a constant balance.”
But balance comes at a cost. There have been nights of exhaustion, moments of resentment, times when he has wondered if he could keep going. “There are times when I think, ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Not another ritual, not another long night of ceremonies. Because shamanism takes time away from your relationship.”
His greatest struggle has been adaptation—accepting that life as he once knew it had changed forever. “Your life changes when your partner becomes a shaman. Things can’t go back to the way they were, and you have to accept that.”
Honoring the Unseen Sacrifices
What many do not realize is that behind every shaman is someone holding them up. Someone who makes the sacrifices that no one sees. Someone who lights the candles, cleans the altar, who stays up all night, who ensures the world around them does not crumble while the shaman is in the spirit realm. Someone who has been there at every stage, from the onset of illnesses to the initiation stage, to every single ritual, good and bad, easy and tough. Xee Tong is a partner first before he is the hwj sawv.
“Shamans need to understand how much their partner gives up for them,” Xee Tong says. “Their partner has a whole life outside of this. They need to reciprocate that energy.”
For couples navigating this journey together, his advice is clear: “Ask yourself, ‘Can I compromise? Can I shift my life to align with this journey?’ If not, it’s better to walk away than to feel like a burden to each other.”
Pioneering a New Path
Despite the hardships, despite the moments of doubt, Xee Tong remains steadfast. Because beyond the sacrifices, beyond the exhaustion, there is love. There is a deep and unwavering commitment—not just to his partner, but to the legacy they are building together.
“To love a shaman, you truly have to love that person enough to stay. It’s not easy. But if you choose to stay, you’re in it together.”
In many ways, Xee Tong is pioneering a new path. In a tradition that has long been dominated by heterosexual family structures, he is proof that love—real, enduring love—transcends expectations. His journey is not just his own; it is an unspoken testament to the resilience of all partners of shamans, especially those in same-sex relationships.
Written by: TFL Hmong Shaman
A heartfelt thank you to my partner, Xee Tong Yang, whose unwavering love and support have meant the world to me. Thank you for being there at the beginning, for putting up with my madness, and for the sacrifices. Your kindness, dedication, and belief in me have made all the difference, and I am deeply grateful for everything you do.
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