Last night, after getting Mexican food with some friends and dancing barefoot to Jazz in a bar in town, I looked at the calendar on my phone to see what day this challenge ends if I don’t take any more rest days.
Of course the final day of this challenge is my 42nd birthday. I don’t think it’s imperative that you know my age, but now you do.
I also don’t think I will know the significance of this until I end. I’m sure it will have everything to do with the metaphor of birth and being reborn.
In the meantime, I still have some stories to tell.
Before I left for the visit to North Carolina, my friend- a past life regression therapist reached out to see if I could stay with her two older dogs for two months to a year in Davidson while she went to see about this tango instructor she accidentally fell in love with. She was my grief doula when Janet died and lived just a few doors down from her- and I couldn’t help but feel that Janet was orchestrating things.
If I’ve learned anything through this spirit-led journey, it’s that the reason I am called somewhere are almost never the reasons I think.
(This was taken April 2nd, 2016- the day after Janet was killed. Hank and Griz giving a whole lot of love and very little personal space :)).
The house was heavy with sadness-but I’ll get to that tomorrow. What I want to share today is what happened outside a cafe in Charlotte with a shaman- the day I remembered my name.
We met through a mutual friend. Besides specializing in land and space clearing, they had been through a name change, a reflection of their journey through gender and identity. As we sat outside drinking coffee, we talked about light language, crystals (naturally), spiritual gifts, and portals. We played with archetypes-were we Earth Angels? Starseeds? Fairies in disguise?
Then he asked me,
“If you weren’t Megan, who would you be?”
I didn’t know. But I wanted to find out.
I spoke my Light Language for him— you know, as one does sitting outside in an urban cafe. As I spoke, I started sweating like someone who had accidentally ordered nachos with extra jalapenos . My whole system started to buzz.
After, he looked at me and said,“What about Leo?”
I could see that — I’m a Leo sun, Leo rising in astrology with a lions mane — but it wasn’t quite right.
Then he said:
“Leah.”
“Yes!” I said
I said, “Leah Okkerse?”
Then paused.
“No… that’s not it either. I think I need a new last name too.”
He didn’t miss a beat. He looked at me and said:
“Leah Star.”
That was it. My whole body lit up like the galaxy I am from.
It was like hearing your real name called across lifetimes and finally turning to answer.
Leah Star wasn’t something I made up. I believe it was something my soul had been waiting for me to remember.
What I didn’t know then was how much that name would change everything.
I didn’t realize that choosing to go by a new name would be like coming out — not just as intuitive or spiritual, but as myself. I didn’t expect people to ask if I’d joined the Witness Protection Program. I hadn’t, but wished at various times in my life I had considered that :). I didn’t expect it to rattle friends and family. I didn’t expect to feel such a sting when people called me by my old name out of habit. I didn’t expect how much it would tether me — in a way — to the transgender and queer community.
Because when you change your name, you change your story.
You ask the world to meet you where you are, not where you’ve been.
And in doing that, you leave behind a version of yourself — and take a stand for the one who’s been waiting to come online.
Months later, while staying with friends in the Hamptons, I learned that in Jewish tradition, when someone is seriously ill, it’s customary to change or add to their name as a way of inviting healing. Rooted in Kabbalistic wisdom, this practice is based on the belief that a person’s name is deeply connected to their soul’s purpose and destiny—so by shifting the name, one can symbolically shift the soul’s path and potentially lift a harsh decree.
When I heard this, it made so much sense to me. Ever since getting diagnosed with a thyroid condition, I had tried to treat it with the AIP diet, supplements, castor oil packs, liver detox protocols, and vowing to never not speak my truth, but I felt like it was a life sentence I would never be able to get out from under, but choosing a new name felt like an act of sovereignty, a way of claiming a new timeline, one where illness didn’t get the final word.
What I also didn’t realize was that this name — Leah Star — would become an initiation.
The prelude to my near-death and walk-in experience.
An invitation for my higher self to come online and start asking daily how I could be in service to the whole, not just in service to myself.
It would be the doorway into Costa Rica, where after some fated and bizarre encounters, cellular memories would awaken in my body — things I didn’t even know were sleeping.
This name wasn’t a way to escape trauma or keep Craig the California con artist from stalking me (though that has been effective and is a story for another time).
It wasn’t a way to ‘stick it to my parents’ or appear special.
I didn’t change my name to escape.
I changed it to arrive more fully here.
Ways to Support the Journey (If you feel the call)
💫 Make a one-time donation to help sustain the journey (and yes, a van may be part of the vision 😉):
Venmo: @Leah-Star83
🔮 Book a discounted intuitive session with me— HERE
Every bit of support—financial, emotional, energetic—means more than you know. Thank you for being part of this journey.
With love,
Leah
“It was like hearing your real name called across lifetimes and finally turning to answer.” I will never forget this sentence ✨✨✨Wow!