Meet Nori Muro of Cincinnati, Ohio

Today we’d like to introduce you to Nori Muro.

Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
I’m Nori Muro, 50 years old, and I’ll celebrate 8 years of sobriety on Christmas Day. I’m a mother, a mentor, and a woman who has walked through fire and found love on the other side. I’m also a healer, a visionary, a creative, an artist, a trailblazer, an alchemist, and a messenger—a woman devoted to transforming pain into purpose, fear into love, and life into art.

I grew up in a loving home with a younger sister and two hardworking, artistic parents. My childhood was rich with summer camps, playdates, theater, art, and gatherings filled with friends and family. We spent summers on cross-country adventures—visiting loved ones in California, Michigan, and South Carolina—and I was fortunate to experience life overseas during high school and again after college. Those early years were full of creativity, connection, and exploration, all of which planted the seeds for the woman and the work I do today.

Growing up, I often felt different from the other girls. I was teased for how I looked, and those words left a mark. I learned early what it felt like to be seen but not accepted—to want to belong yet never feel fully comfortable in my own skin. Still, I somehow found it easy to make friends. My kind heart, generosity, and compassion helped me connect with others, even when I struggled to fully accept myself.

I thought I’d be a kindergarten teacher one day—a natural nurturer, born to care for others. But underneath that caretaking was a girl who didn’t yet know how to love herself, who tried to earn acceptance by being good, helpful, and kind to everyone but her. Life, as it often does, took a few unexpected turns. When I decided not to pursue education, I spent years trying to figure out what I truly wanted to do. I worked in customer service, event planning, and administration—each role teaching me something new about people and purpose. Eventually, I built a 30-year career as an administrative and executive assistant, supporting leaders and organizations from behind the scenes. I became the steady one—the reliable one—holding everything together, even when parts of me were quietly falling apart.

I started drinking in high school. At first, it was just a way to fit in—to belong, to feel something. Over time, it became how I coped: with life’s weight, the overwhelm of motherhood, the ache of what I didn’t want to face. I drank to forget, to numb, to avoid. It’s a progressive condition—and mine progressed in silence. After my daughter was born, postpartum depression took hold. I lost my job and spent 15 months out of work. That’s when drinking intensified. For years, I was either drunk or hungover exhausted in every sense of the word: physically, emotionally, mentally, financially, and spiritually. Every day felt like Groundhog Day.

Then came Christmas Eve, 2017. My eight-year-old daughter looked up at me—eyes full of tears—and whispered, “Mommy, can you please stop drinking?”
In that moment, something shifted. I looked into her eyes and thought, What kind of mother would I be if I chose wine over her? I knew I had a serious drinking problem—I couldn’t stop, even when I tried. Moderation didn’t work; a few days off never lasted. For me, it was all or nothing. That night was the last time I drank.

In the beginning, I tried traditional recovery spaces, but I had a hard time identifying with calling myself an alcoholic. So, I didn’t go back. Instead, I began to build my own holistic path to recovery—early mornings on the yoga mat, quiet journaling, long walks, long naps, listening to recovery podcasts, and slow mornings with tea and books.

Still, something was missing. I was craving community—a soft place to land, where I didn’t have to earn belonging. So, a year into sobriety, I created what I couldn’t find. What began as quiet coffee meetups grew into living-room circles—spaces for the sober, the sober-curious, and the soul-curious to gather, share stories, and remember we were never alone. In those early days, I still led from my wounds—trying to fix, to perfect, to prove. Sometimes we lead from our wounds before we learn to lead from our wisdom.

Years later, I felt another stirring—a quiet call to go deeper. I wanted to meet the parts of me still aching, to face the fears I held around love, life, and myself. I wanted to connect to something greater. This time, I knew I had to return to the recovery spaces—with open hands and a willing heart—to face myself fully and do the work required to return to wholeness. That was the first time I truly surrendered. And in those rooms, I found God— in the stories, in the quiet, in the breath, in the stillness of letting go.

Sobriety didn’t save me. It reminded me I was already saving myself. Because recovery isn’t just about quitting alcohol—it’s about reclaiming the parts of yourself that were lost in the noise, the numbing, the fear. It’s about falling in love with yourself.

Over time, I realized we’re all recovering from something: perfectionism, people-pleasing, burnout, grief, loss, disconnection. That’s when my circles began to evolve. They became sanctuaries for any woman on the path of remembrance—for those longing to feel, to soften, to come home.

And so, A Woman’s Connection was born—not from theory, but from lived experience. What started as a small sober space grew into a sacred movement—a heart-led movement devoted to helping women come home to themselves. Through story, circle, and shared reflection, we remember that healing happens in connection—not isolation. These gatherings were born from what my soul longed for: a soft place to land, a space to be real, not perfect. When women come together to share, listen, and rise, the ripple of love extends far beyond the circle. At its core, my mission is to guide women back to their truth, softness, and soul—and to remind them that the most sacred relationship they’ll ever have is the one with themselves.

My intention is to create spaces of belonging where women feel seen, heard, and held. I lead with love, authenticity, and embodied presence—honoring storytelling as medicine and the heart as teacher. I listen deeply, guide gently, and move at the pace of presence, not pressure. Every circle is an invitation to root in self-trust and truth, and to remember that every word, every offering, every moment is an expression of Love—because this isn’t just a story about sobriety. It’s a story about awakening. About surrender. About Love. About self-return. About looking for a guide—and realizing she’s been inside you all along.

Can you talk to us a bit about the challenges and lessons you’ve learned along the way. Looking back would you say it’s been easy or smooth in retrospect?
Oh gosh, anything but smooth. But that’s what makes it so beautiful—and a journey I’ve never been so proud of.
My path hasn’t been straight; it’s been winding, unpredictable, alive. There’s been pain and peace, loss and love, breakdowns and breakthroughs. Sobriety hasn’t been easy—it’s asked for surrender, humility, grace, and a thousand quiet choices to keep going when I wanted to give up.
In the beginning, I struggled with identity—Who am I without alcohol? Without the masks? I had to face the parts of myself I’d buried beneath years of people-pleasing and perfectionism. I had to learn how to sit with feelings I’d spent decades avoiding—the grief, the fear, the loneliness, the shame.
There were days I questioned everything—my purpose, my path, my worth. Sobriety stripped away everything false, leaving only the raw, trembling truth of who I really am. That’s when the real work began—the kind no one sees. Learning to self-soothe. Feeling it all. Unlearning codependency. Setting boundaries. Letting go of control. Trusting God’s timing. Every struggle became part of the medicine. Every breakdown carried a breakthrough. Every ending made room for something more honest and whole. The truth is, my path hasn’t been easy—but it’s been real. It’s in the mess that I found my magic. It’s in the unraveling that I found my faith. And it’s in the truth—raw and unfiltered—that I finally found love. Not the kind I spent years chasing, but the kind that rises from within when you stop running from yourself. The kind born in stillness, forgiveness, and grace. The kind that whispers, you were never broken—you were becoming.

Can you tell our readers more about what you do and what you think sets you apart from others?
I often say my work is part healing, part art, and part remembering who we really are. It’s an offering born from my own recovery and return to self—a devotion to creating spaces where women can slow down, breathe, and reconnect with what’s real. Each circle is a living expression of love, truth, and story—an invitation to remember that we were never meant to do this alone.

I often say my work is part healing, part art, and part remembering who we really are. It’s an offering born from my own recovery and return to self—a devotion to creating spaces where women can slow down, breathe, and reconnect with what’s real. Each circle is a living expression of love, truth, and story—an invitation to remember that we were never meant to do this alone.

What sets my work apart is that it isn’t something I learned—it’s something I lived. Every circle I create is a reflection of my own healing, an offering from the deepest parts of me. It’s art born from experience—each gathering like painting on a living canvas made of story, emotion, connection, truth and love.

When women gather in circle, something alchemical happens. The walls come down. The masks fall away. The air softens. We begin to remember that we are not alone—that we are safe to be exactly who we are. My role is simply to hold the space, to weave words, rituals, and reflection into something beautiful and real.

After nearly eight years of sobriety, I’m proudest of the woman I’ve become—the woman who turned her pain into purpose, her shame into story, and her longing into love. I’m proud that I’ve built something my soul so desperately craved my entire life, a place to belong, to be seen, to be heard, to be real.

My work is about more than gathering—it’s about transformation. It’s about weaving the sacred into everyday life, bringing the circle into how we live, love, and lead. Because every woman who heals becomes a ripple—softly spreading love, truth, and change through everything she touches.
That’s the art I’m here to create. A living, breathing beautiful masterpiece—made of women remembering who they are, one circle at a time.

Can you talk to us a bit about happiness and what makes you happy?
Happiness is sobriety — clear, grounded, at peace.
It’s community and connection.
The magic of women’s circles
It’s early slow mornings and quiet evenings.
A good book and a cup of hot tea.
My one-eyed cat, Willy.
The laughter, wisdom and beauty of my daughter, Nina.
The love of my friends and family.
Happiness is creativity and storytelling — weaving meaning through words and memories.
It’s walking barefoot in nature, moving my body because how how it makes me feel not how it makes me look
Finding stillness in yoga and meditation.
Being of Service
God in my Life.
Love in my Heart.
Carmel, California — the waves, the charm, the beauty.
The Golden Coast of Big Sur… where the cliffs kiss the ocean, the sunsets set your soul on fire, and the magic never fades.
The soft sand and gorgeous sunsets of Anna Maria, Island.
Coffee shared with friends.
Cooking.
Dinners that stretch long into the night and has your belly hurting from laughter.
Happiness is inner peace and clarity — being completely awake and alive to the world and all its joy, beauty and wonder.
It’s not something I chase.
It’s something I remember.
Because happiness lives within me.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://awomansconnection.com
• Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/mommamuro/
• Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/nori.s.muro