Today we’d like to introduce you to Noris Chavarria
Hi Noris, so excited to have you with us today. What can you tell us about your story?
From Survival to Thrival: My Journey
I am Noris Chavarría. I was born in Los Angeles but raised in Jamaica, Queens, in NYC.
I am a proud son of immigrants. My mother is from El Salvador. My dad was not in the picture—he passed when I was about a year old. After that, my mother decided to move to NYC and start a new life with me.
Before I was old enough to start school, my mom would take me with her to housekeeping jobs on the Upper East Side of NY. A typical day for me when I went to work with her started with getting an everything bagel with cream cheese from a deli, watching Mr. Wizard’s World on Nick Jr., and later helping my mom fold socks when the laundry was done.
Cleaning after someone else is never fun. Even though I was parked in front of the television screen for most of the day, absorbing all I could from Nick Jr., I definitely took note of my mom’s hard work—scrubbing toilets, vacuuming—and sometimes being the recipient of verbal abuse from her clients.
When I started school, I was that kid. The one who got 100s on all the tests, the perfect speller, the main character in our school’s play, and the science nerd who won the science fair prizes. Once, I even made it to the county finals—my mom was so proud of me. All this to say, I knew early on that education would be my ticket out of where we were. It’s not that we were poor, but we definitely understood the difference between needing something and wanting something. My mom always made it look easy. I always had what I needed and what I wanted.
In school, my teachers loved me. But my classmates? They were mean. I was teased and bullied. Once, I was even jumped. I grew up in the hood, so this was typical. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen more often. Knowing that I would be automatically enrolled in my zoned high school—which had a bad reputation—I applied to a specialized high school and got accepted.
The demographics of my high school were the complete opposite of my neighborhood and my elementary and junior high school experience. While I could blend in with my previous peers, at Benjamin N. Cardozo High School in Bayside, Queens, I was an easy target. This time, though, I wasn’t bullied by my classmates. Instead, I found myself in the honor society and volunteer clubs—straight out of a Benetton ad—diverse. The rest of my high school, though, was about 85% white and Asian American students.
For the first time, I was labeled as Latino—and seen as less than in the eyes of my teachers and peers, though my test scores said something else. High school was where I got my first real taste of racism and discrimination. It’s not that I hadn’t experienced it before, but this time, it was in my face.
In college, my awareness and knowledge of oppressive systems—and my place in the world—grew. I went to Tufts University and started as pre-med. Culture shock doesn’t even begin to describe my undergraduate years. Luckily, I found safety in the Latino Center, with other Latino students. This tribe pulled me through those years.
I made it through. I didn’t end up going to medical school. Instead, I found myself a bit lost after college. I thought I would get a job right off the bat. No one told me I had to create a resume, write a cover letter, actually apply to jobs—and be rejected from them.
I am the first in my family to do these things… to go to college, to navigate job applications, to figure it all out on my own. That survival mode—the grind, the hustle, the constant feeling of having to prove myself—was all I knew.
I carried that survival mindset into my nonprofit career. I thought my mission in life was to help, to serve. And I was good at it. I was successful, respected, a leader in the nonprofit sector in Boston, NYC, San Francisco, Los Angeles among other cities. But somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I conflated my mission with my work, allowing my identity to be swallowed by the culture of the organizations I worked for—places that, on paper, preached diversity, equity, and inclusion but, in reality, were rife with toxicity, bias, and racism.
It wasn’t my success that was in question. I owned my role as a nonprofit leader. But the environments I was in kept me in survival mode. Moving to California—an expensive and isolating transition—kept me there too.
It wasn’t until the pandemic that everything changed.
At the height of COVID, while working for a Latino-serving mental health organization, I requested a mental health accommodation—and was denied.
A make-this-make-sense situation.
That moment was a wake-up call. It forced me to confront the ways I had been neglecting my own well-being in service of everyone else’s mission. It made me realize that I had been fighting for institutions that wouldn’t fight for me.
In those 20 years, I’d lost my voice, my identities—my inner leader.
I sought out therapy and coaching, and it was through that process that I first-hand experienced the transformative power of coaching. It changed everything. Coaching gave me the space to hear myself again, to trust myself again, to finally move beyond survival mode.
That’s why I founded Noris Knows LLC—the manifesto of my own empowerment, a testament to believing in myself, my knowledge, and my lifelong commitment to growth and learning.
Today, I help others do the same via the Queer Compass Institute, a soon to be nonprofit that specializes in supporting diverse organizations, teams, and individuals—particularly LGBTQ+ folx and communities of color—so they can step into their thriving era. In my coaching, I create safe, judgment-free environments where people can lead authentically while fostering self-awareness, self-love, and confidence.
I know what it’s like to fight to belong. As a Latino, gay/queer, neurodivergent individual, and the son of immigrants, I bring a deeply personal understanding of what it means to navigate spaces that weren’t built for us.
I also know that coaching—real, transformative coaching—is often not presented as an option to many of us. It’s seen as something reserved for our white executives in C-suites. My mission is to bridge that gap. To make coaching accessible. To be the kind of coach I wish I had earlier in my career.
Because we weren’t meant to just survive.
We were meant to thrive.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
Not at all. The road has been anything but smooth.
I’ve had to navigate spaces that weren’t built for me—whether it was as a first-generation college student, a nonprofit leader in toxic work environments, or an openly gay Latino man in rooms where I was the only one like me.
One of the biggest struggles was conflating my mission with my work. I spent two decades in the nonprofit sector, thinking my purpose was to help others. And while I was successful—leading multimillion-dollar fundraising campaigns, building programs, and driving impact—I was also losing myself. The environments I worked in preached equity but didn’t practice it. I endured racism, bias, and tokenism disguised as “progressive” workplace culture.
The common thread? The obstacles never go away—I just got better at recognizing the dynamic at play and creating a plan. Either I learned to navigate it, or the hurdles got harder.
For instance, when it came time to start my own business? All me, baby. No safety net, no institutional support, no built-in network to fall back on. Just me believing in myself enough to bet on my own success.
Moving to California only made things more difficult. It was an expensive and isolating transition that kept me in survival mode. And then, at the height of the pandemic, I was denied a mental health accommodation by my employer—an organization that literally provided mental health services to the community. That was a breaking point.
I realized I had spent years fighting for institutions that wouldn’t fight for me. I had given my energy to missions that weren’t my own. That’s when I knew I had to make a change. I also learned that not all skin folk are kinfolk. That was hard.
Thanks – so what else should our readers know about Queer Compass Institute?
I am the CEO and Founder of Noris Knows LLC and Queer Compass Institute, where I specialize in leadership development, coaching, and consulting for individuals, organizations, and businesses seeking to align their leadership with their values, cultivate inclusive cultures, and create lasting impact.
With over 20 years of experience in nonprofit leadership and fundraising—and an overlapping 11 years in executive coaching—I’ve seen firsthand how systemic barriers keep many talented leaders, particularly LGBTQ+ professionals and people of color, stuck in survival mode. My work is about breaking that cycle.
At Queer Compass Institute, I help queer leaders, entrepreneurs, and professionals step into their thriving era through coaching, leadership training, and community-building. My approach isn’t just about professional growth—it’s about authentic leadership, self-awareness, and building confidence to show up fully in spaces that weren’t designed for us.
At Noris Knows LLC, I work with organizations, nonprofits, and businesses to develop fundraising strategies, improve leadership culture, and build sustainable, inclusive teams. My consulting bridges the gap between mission-driven work and operational success, ensuring that organizations don’t just talk about equity—but actually practice it.
What sets me apart?
I don’t just coach leaders—I build ecosystems of thriving. My coaching isn’t about making someone fit into outdated leadership models; it’s about helping them lead in a way that’s authentic, sustainable, and true to who they are.
I bring lived experience. As a Latino, gay/queer, neurodivergent individual, and a first-generation college graduate, I understand what it’s like to navigate spaces where you don’t always feel like you belong. I use that perspective to help others break through barriers.
I challenge the idea that coaching is only for C-suite executives. Coaching should be accessible to queer leaders, professionals of color, and anyone ready to step into their power.
What am I most proud of brand-wise?
That I’ve built something that centers and uplifts people who are often overlooked. That I get to help queer men of color, nonprofit leaders, and professionals step into their greatness. That I’ve taken everything I’ve learned—from navigating toxic workplaces to surviving burnout—and turned it into something that actually helps others thrive. And as an exclusive share with you – I just launched the community arm of all of my brands which is The Bloom Collective – A community of gay and queer men of color looking to enhance their leadership, connect and grow. Reach out to become a Founding Member and mention this article.
What do I want readers to know?
If you’re tired of just surviving, I got you.
If you want to lead, grow, and show up fully—without losing yourself—I can help.
If your organization needs to stop talking about equity and start implementing it—I can guide you.
I believe leadership is about more than just skills—it’s about confidence, authenticity, and knowing your worth. And that’s exactly what I help my clients cultivate.
Who else deserves credit in your story?
Besides me—for putting in the work—I have to give credit to my mom.
She instilled so many great values in me at an early age, values that have truly shaped who I am at my core—beyond the titles, labels, and roles I take on.
There were years when our communication wasn’t perfect—gaps that, in many ways, were part of me finding myself. But I can honestly say that she’s always been there. Even when I thought she wasn’t. Even when I didn’t want her to be.
Like magic, when I moved to Los Angeles in 2022 (by accident, no less), a new version of our relationship emerged—one that has been growing so beautifully ever since. For the first time, I feel heard, seen, and loved in a way I don’t think I was capable of recognizing before. And in return, I get to see her for all she is. It’s been one of the most unexpected and meaningful transformations in my life.
I also have to give credit to Kai, my 18-year-old miniature pinscher.
Imagine having someone as part of your life for almost 20 years—that’s unconditional love in its purest form. Kai has been with me through everything—every move, every challenge, every win. There’s something about that kind of companionship that keeps you grounded, reminds you of what truly matters, and teaches you love in ways words can’t describe.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.norisknows.com
- Instagram: @socialArtivista (instagram) Primary
- Facebook: @BloomCollectiv (instagram)
- LinkedIn: https://www.linkedin.com/in/norisknows/
- Twitter: @QueerCompassCoach (instagram)
