Listening to Your North Star

Apparently, This Isn’t Normal

Ever since I was little, people talked about this bright light within me. And as I got older, it didn’t dim — it intensified.

People would stare at me walking through airports, in restaurants, in everyday spaces, and for the longest time I assumed I had something on my face. I’d sit next to someone, ask a simple question, and within five minutes they were telling me their life story — and somehow, together, we’d uncover where they actually wanted to go with their life.

I thought this was normal.
I thought everyone could do this.

I later learned that wasn’t the case.

This Wasn’t Random

What I had wasn’t accidental — it was cultivated. It was modeled. It was taught by example.

I grew up in a healthcare household. My mother is a registered nurse. My father is a family practice and ER physician. Healthcare wasn’t just a career in our home — it was the language of love, concern, curiosity, and care. And their favorite place to discuss it all?

The dinner table.

I learned early how to tune out graphic ER stories when I needed to (think white worms coming out of an infection in your foot) — but more importantly, I learned how to hold space. I learned compassion. I learned how to give people the benefit of the doubt. I learned how to ask curious, thoughtful questions that gently but directly lead to the root issue.

Now, to be very clear — I cannot suture a wound or diagnose a physical ailment to save my life. In fact, I’m more likely to jump up and down or curl into the fetal position and cry.

But what I could do — instinctively — was listen. Deeply. Compassionately. Intuitively.

I knew I wanted to help people, even if I didn’t yet know what that would look like. I trusted that my heart would lead the way.

Beyond my corporate roles, I became a postpartum doula — and I emphasize postpartum, not birth. Because I could feel the emotional landscape of a home the moment I walked through the door. The unspoken pain. The overwhelm. The identity shifts and roles no one really talks about.

Once certified, I began helping women process their experiences, name what they were actually feeling, and reconnect with who they were beneath the roles that were suddenly thrust upon them. And almost without trying, we’d arrive at the same place every time: their core needs, their suppressed truth, and their long-forgotten passions stirring underneath the sobs and tears.

One client finally asked me,
“Have you ever thought about becoming a life coach?”

My immediate response?

Absolutely not. That sounds bogus. That can’t be real. Nope. Not for me.

What followed was a few months of very strategic self-sabotage — because I knew saying yes would change my life.

Eventually, I pulled the trigger. And I never looked back.

I chose to work with healthcare professionals because this is the world I know. This is the world I love. My sister followed in my parents’ footsteps and became an OB/GYN, and I have aunts and cousins across nearly every corner of healthcare.

During COVID, I worked closely with community paramedics and other healthcare workers. I watched people come out of retirement, renew expired licenses, and step back into crisis because they felt called.

And I remember thinking:

If they are brave enough to answer their call — then so am I.

Now, Minnesota — the North Star State — is answering the call again. Not with force, but with voices. With conviction. With love and affection.

I’ve watched my neighbors and communities step up in ways both big and small, and I couldn’t be more proud to say I’m from Minnesota. My husband and I are donating and showing up in the ways we can — and I’d be remiss if I didn’t stand up and share this part, too.

Listening to your North Star doesn’t always tell you where to go — sometimes it simply reminds you who you are, and in doing so, it leads each of us back to the same place: care, connection, and showing up in the ways we can.

So if you’re feeling helpless, you’re not alone.

If using your voice feels hard right now, you can still use your light. Your creativity. Your presence.

Smile at a stranger. Hold the door. Bake cookies. Make a meal filled with warmth and care for your family, friends, or neighbors.

There is always something you can do — as long as you stay in the light.

We can do this.
We can do this together.
And, side by side, we will.