DAVE HRBACEK | THE CATHOLIC SPIRIT
Editor’s note: This article refers to attempted suicide. If you or someone you know is in crisis, help is available by calling or texting 988 in the U.S. and Canada or visiting 988lifeline.org.
A simple gift at a women’s retreat — a 5-by-7-inch journal—became a lifeline during Oona Myhre’s sabbatical, a map for her conversion to Catholicism and a book she would eventually publish. It’s a testament to the power of taking the next step, of saying each small yes to God.
Now Myhre, 47, works at Pax Christi in Eden Prairie as its middle- and high-school youth formation minister. She lives nearby with her husband, Mike.
Myhre continues to draw on her education background as a consultant (theearliestedge.com). While she excels in her career, she has come to rest in an identity beyond her work.
“You don’t have to earn your worth,” Myhre said, “and you don’t have to have everything figured out.”
Q Let’s start with your name. How do you say it?
A It’s pronounced OH’-nuh. I absolutely love it now. But growing up, it felt different in a way that made me a little self-conscious. I was born in Hawaii. My name means number one, unity, or lamb. I was the firstborn. It took a long time to grow into my name, but looking back, it taught me early on how to stand out without trying to.
Q You became Catholic five years ago. What drew you to the Church?
A I was 12 when my parents were divorcing and we moved from Hawaii to Oregon. Church was no longer a focal point in our family. You always feel like something is missing, but you don’t know until something starts creeping in. It was a gradual draw, not one dramatic moment. I was looking for something true, something rooted. A lot of it came out of intellectual curiosity.
I was working at St. Hubert’s (Catholic School in Chanhassen). As I spent more time taking my preschool kids to Mass, I was drawn to it. I had a deep spiritual longing, and I embraced the sacramental life. It felt like home. I had a really good friend who I worked with at the time, and she’d been a sponsor for many people. I talked with her, and then I dove in headfirst.
Q A few years later, you were drowning at work. Tell me about that time.
A I was massively overwhelmed in my professional life. I was still producing, but I didn’t know who I was anymore. I’d been working toward this dream job my whole life, and then things started changing. The reason for the job was no longer there. The dynamics shifted. And all these questions started coming up: What am I doing with my life?
Q So you resigned and took a sabbatical.
A It was both freeing and terrifying. I began to realize how much of my identity had been tied up in my work. How useful am I to other people? If all these roles were stripped away, who am I, really? My worth was never meant to rest with external achievements or approval, but that takes time to settle into. I had been moving so fast for so long. I didn’t know what it felt like to stand still. It was hard to adjust to not having a full schedule. I needed to back up, reconnect with myself and with God, and build something different.
Q Because you were on a committee at Pax Christi, your home parish, you heard about their job opening.
A I knew the minute I heard about it: This is what God has been waiting for me to do. It fills my cup. Some of these kids are so faith-filled.
Q You also built a consulting firm, so you continue in the education field on your own terms.
A It’s been meaningful being able to start something that’s my own, that is near and dear to me. It felt natural.
Q One of your services is being a neurodiversity coach. How do you approach that work?
A It’s rooted in looking at the whole child. Children are not problems to solve; they’re people. They need support. They need help to flourish. Being a coach helped me shift the conversation from “How do we make this child fit?” to “How do we better understand this child and then create an environment where they can thrive?”
That connects deeply with my Catholic faith. Every child is created in the image of God with this inherent dignity, this sense of worth and purpose. It means, as adults, we’re called to meet children where they’re at, with patience and respect and not shame them.
Q How are you different now, post-sabbatical?
A I still like to stay busy. But things have changed. It’s busy in a different way. Before, I felt like I was doing things for other people and not for myself. I had to stop that. It’s been a journey.
Q You hashed it all out in the little journal given to you at a women’s retreat at St. Hubert.
A It was an outlet for me. I started writing when things were heavy. It was free flowing, how I was feeling in the moment. In the subsequent retreats, we’d get new journals. I would rip the covers off and tuck them into the old journal. I needed everything in one spot.
Q Did you plan to keep it private?
A I never intended to share it with anyone, but it was really cathartic to go through. I had accumulated five years of journaling. During my sabbatical, I needed something to do with my time, so I got on my computer and started typing up the stories behind all the feelings I had written by hand in the journal. Looking back on those entries helped me through those times. Had I not done that, it would’ve taken me a lot longer to transition and figure out what I needed and wanted in life.
Q Then you shared a draft with a friend.
A I said, “Hey, can you read through this for me?” Then her daughter attempted suicide. She said, “I’m going to share this with my daughter.” Her daughter ended up opening up more with her mom after reading my journal. A lot of what I’d written connected with her. I’d written about dark times and shame. When you’re young, you don’t realize that other people are feeling the same things you are. You’re not alone. I’d written that you can be transformed by your struggles or feelings of inadequacy. We’re all here for a reason, and we have different gifts to share.
Q Was that a turning point?
A It was a revelation — that my thoughts and feelings could bring comfort to somebody else. I moved past the anxiety of sharing the book. I decided that if I can help one person, it would be worth publishing. I began to understand that my writing had a purpose beyond just helping and serving me.
Q Even then, was it scary to put your name on it?
A Everything was so personal, so I said: “I’m not putting my name on it.” But ultimately, I decided I should. The whole point was that I was going to be honest with myself. Why would I shield who I was? It was the final step.
Q What did it cost you?
A The cost of vulnerability — surrendering control over how I would be received and how people would interpret my story. It required me to let people see parts of my inner life I had always kept private, breaking down that illusion that I had shaped for my life outwardly. It was hard but also very freeing. There’s so much disconnect in the world these days. We’ve become so reliant on the one-dimensional piece of technology. We need to connect with others and share from the heart.
Q The book is titled “Echoes of Grace: Finding Purpose in Loss, Light, and Becoming” and came out last year. Why did you self-publish?
A I had (interest from) a couple of different publishers, but it just didn’t feel right. Some of the things they wanted to edit didn’t sit right with me. I didn’t want to compromise on the stories. I wanted them in their original context. Going back and changing them wouldn’t be true to the story.
Q Plus, you didn’t have to make a big marketing push.
A It’s not about the money. It’s about making these stories accessible. I’m grateful the book is accessible on Amazon and other platforms.
Q Connecting with people is a priority for you. How does that play out?
A When somebody comes to mind, I try to reach out immediately because there’s a reason. I’m not texting you to get a response but know that you’re loved.
Q Have you seen ripple effects of that?
A Going through the Caribou line two weeks ago, the person in front of me paid for my order, so then I took care of the person behind me. I didn’t initiate it, but I kept it going. I got into work smiling. It changed the trajectory of the day.
Q What have you learned about rest?
A Now it’s very intentional. Every two or three months, I go to Florida. I love the beach. It’s my happiest place in the world. It helps me reset. When I’m here, I’m intentional about my time on the weekend. I don’t pull up work email. Before I thought I had to be on, 24/7. Now I’ll spend my weekend in my pajamas, lying on the couch with my cats, reading a book with the windows open — making time and space for myself. I’m a big napper, and I don’t discriminate on time.
Q That sounds like self-love.
A It’s so freeing. You don’t understand that when you’re younger. I no longer have the desire to prove myself to anybody. I don’t have the time, energy and space to carry that — and those aren’t my burdens to carry. I’m able to walk away and not worry what other people are thinking. I’ve learned to take a breath and trust the process. Things come with time.
Q How does it feel to finally take the kind of care of yourself the way you’ve always taken care of others?
A It feels fantastic! We all have these holes that we’re trying to fill. Some of them are there for a reason and some are not. It’s important to acknowledge them and ask: “What do you need?” Not “what do you think other people think you need?” but “what do you really need?”
Q What do you know for sure?
A I know for sure that God is present, even when it doesn’t feel obvious. I know that the most important growth typically happens quietly. We tend to look for breakthroughs or dramatic moments or visible change, but some of the deepest transformations happen beneath the surface. God doesn’t rush those transformations, so life has taught me not to overlook the quiet work.
