We Must Tell Our Stories

We all have stories. We love listening to them, and some of us love telling them. I am told that my stories are good—much better than my jokes. As humans, storytelling is essential; our stories are uniquely our own, experienced only by the storyteller.

Picture the joy on a grandparent's face as they listen intently to the exaggerated tale of a little child. The emotion spills out as the storyteller vividly explains the ins and outs of their experience. In that moment, both grandparent and grandchild share a unique bond, a connection woven from emotions, cognition, and memory-making.

However, not all stories are joyous. Some may not be exciting at all; in fact, they may be deeply distressing for both the storyteller and the listener. A story may carry the weight of shame and pain for the protagonist. Yet, storytelling fosters empathy, allowing listeners to experience the emotions of others.

We must tell our stories to make sense of our experiences, to process emotions that have been buried alongside untold narratives. Sharing our stories helps us reframe trauma, cope with anxiety, and face feelings of shame and fear. By telling our stories, we reclaim control over our experiences—because we, the storytellers, know how the story ends.

The fear of telling our stories is real: fear of judgment, rejection, retribution, or reliving the shame and pain. The voices in our heads whisper, “It was my fault,” “I am useless,” “I am unlovable.” But when we tell our stories, we allow healing to begin. We invite compassion to take hold. We silence the critical thoughts that imprison us.

It takes courage to own our stories, to relive the emotions as we recount them. It is a privilege for the listener to glimpse the storyteller’s experience through their words. Our stories—whether good or bad—hold meaning. They can shift perspectives, influence beliefs, and inspire change in others.

Our stories are powerful. We understand life through their lens. No matter how difficult, we need to tell them.