origin story

I Was Too Much

I was too much.

That is the first thing I learned about myself. My feelings were too big. I felt everything all the way to the bottom, and the people around me were not sure what to do with that, so I decided the problem was me. I was weird. Defective. Somewhere along the way I got very good at pushing it all down and saying I’m fine. No, I’m totally fine…

If you have ever done that, you already know how it ends. It hurts, and it does not hold.

The magnet on my refrigerator

There is a magnet on my refrigerator. It has been there through every season of this life, and it says probably the truest thing I’ll ever know: You always know.

But for most of my life, I didn’t. Or at least I didn’t think I did.

What I found instead was alcohol

What I wanted was to be understood. What I wanted was to connect deeply—with myself, and with other people. What I found instead, in high school, was alcohol.

I remember thinking it would expand my mind and hand me the community I had been aching for. It did neither of these. It took the ache and turned the volume down just far enough that I could keep walking past it. And I walked past it for years.

Alcoholism robbed me of my joy. My light. Getting an education. I lost friendships and trust with my family. The people I called friends were simply acquaintances. My romantic partnerships were lust mistaken for love. I entered an era of self-abandonment, abuse and neglect that left me tired and lonely. I was empty and far from the person I wanted to be.

Pain is a great motivator. When I finally had enough, I walked into my first AA meeting.

I was terrified. I did not want to be vulnerable. I wanted to be liked. I sat down and hoped nobody would look at me.

And then it turned out that quitting drinking did not solve my life, which is something nobody warns you about. Every feeling I had been drowning was still there.

Then I met Dorothy

That is when I met Dorothy.

I saw her before I met her. She was laughing. She had these sparkly blue eyes and she was—I don’t know how else to say it—glowing. My first thought was not wow, what a lovely woman. My first thought was: who does she think she is? What gives her the right to feel that good? What a weirdo.

She intimidated the hell out of me. There was no way I was going to approach her.

But then one day I did. I don’t remember what I meant to say. I remember getting a few words out, and then crumbling, and crying, and Dorothy looking at me—all the way at me, not past me and not through me—and saying: come to my house. Let’s do this work together.

So, I went. She had something I needed, and I realize now that I would have followed that woman anywhere.

Dorothy talked about things nobody in my life had ever said out loud. Energy. Family wounds. Generational trauma. Spirit. She put words to things I had known my whole life and had never been given permission to name. She was, by any ordinary measure, a total weirdo.

She was exactly the right amount of weirdo.

And that is when it landed. Dorothy was not too much. Which meant I wasn’t either.

The voice you were trained to ignore

The work started there, and once it started, I could not stop. I learned that my depth and my empathy were not defects. They were the point. I learned that the voice I had been ignoring for years was not tormenting me. It was trying to help.

You have that voice. Everybody does. Most of us were taught to turn it down because it didn’t match what the people around us were doing or saying, and we got very good at not hearing it. That is what I mean by discernment. It is not a gift I have, and you don’t. It is a signal you were trained to ignore.

Alongside mentorship and counseling, I began to practice yoga and meditation. I sat down. I listened. I built habits that could hold weight. I stayed sober. And sobriety gave me back the most precious thing I ever lost. Myself.

There is a Talking Heads song I have been singing since I was young. I have sung it in cars and in kitchens and in rooms full of strangers, and every decade it has meant something different. Lately it asks me how I arrived here—at this life, this good one, the one I did not think I deserved.

I did deserve it. And so do you.

Who I work with

I am Kari. I’m a discernment-based coach and intuitive practitioner, and I work with women in transition—women who are stuck in beliefs and patterns that stopped serving them a long time ago, and who suspect, somewhere underneath, that they already know it.

I will not fix you. You are not broken. I will sit with you, and we will listen together for what your voice has been trying to say, and we will build you a foundation sturdy enough to live a real life on. I will help you feel seen and heard, the way somebody once did for me.

If you are a little too much—if you feel everything all the way down, and you learned early to say I’m fine—then you are one of mine. I have been looking for you.

Book a discernment call. Twenty minutes. No pressure, no pitch. We’ll talk, and we will find out together whether this is right.

The magnet is still on my refrigerator. I don’t walk past it anymore.

You always know.

You always did.

As my dear friend Dorothy would say, within the stillness, your answers will emerge. Abundant Blessings.

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Questions people ask before we work together

What is discernment-based coaching?

Discernment is the signal underneath your thinking—the voice that already knows. Most of us were taught to turn it down because it did not match what the people around us were doing. Discernment-based coaching is the work of learning to hear it again, and building a life sturdy enough to trust it in. It is not a gift I have and you don’t. It is a signal you were trained to ignore.

Who do you work with?

Women in transition. Women who are stuck in beliefs and patterns that stopped serving them a long time ago, and who suspect, somewhere underneath, that they already know it. If you feel everything all the way down and you learned early to say I’m fine, you are one of mine.

Do I need to be in recovery to work with you?

No. My own story runs through sobriety, and recovery is a language I speak fluently. But this work is not about what you are recovering from. It is about what you already know and have not been able to hear.

Are you a therapist?

No. I am a coach and an intuitive practitioner. This work is not therapy and it is not a replacement for it. I do not diagnose and I do not treat. Many of the women I work with see a therapist as well, and the two fit together well.

What happens on a discernment call?

Twenty minutes. No pressure and no pitch. We talk, and we find out together whether this is right. If it is not right, I will say so.

What does working together actually look like?

I will not fix you, because you are not broken. We sit together and listen for what your voice has been trying to say, and we build you a foundation sturdy enough to live a real life on.