The story you needed to hear
How to write the story your younger self—and someone like you—is still waiting for
There’s a certain kind of story that lodges in your heart and refuses to leave. Not because it was perfectly written, but because it felt like it was written for you.
Maybe it was a line in a memoir, a moment in a talk, a quiet sentence someone said in a meeting that made you stop and think: Finally. Someone said it. Someone sees it. Someone gets it.
These are the stories we need more of in the world. And often, they’re the stories we’ve lived, but haven’t yet told.
If you’ve ever sat in front of a blank page wondering where do I even begin?, this is your answer: Begin with the story you needed to hear.
Write it not for your audience. Write it for the version of you who needed it most.
When I run workshops on storytelling, I ask people to imagine their younger selves sitting across from them.
What would you say?
What truth would you offer?
What myth would you dismantle?
And then we begin to write. Not a pitch. Not a brand story. Just the truth that would’ve made a difference.
Here’s how you can do it too:
Step one: Meet your younger self
Close your eyes for a moment and think back to a version of you that struggled.
It might be a moment of change—starting a new job, becoming a parent, losing someone or making a difficult decision.
Ask:
What did I believe then?
What did I fear?
What did I crave?
Don’t overthink it. Choose one moment where you felt lost, stuck, or unsure, and then think about what you needed to hear in that moment.
Example: A client of mine once wrote:
“At 29, I was the youngest and only woman in the leadership team. I spent more time rehearsing my sentences than speaking them. I wish someone had told me: ‘You don’t need to be louder. You need to trust that what you’re saying matters.’”
That one line became the heart of a keynote—and the story she was finally ready to tell.
Step two: Name the transformation
The power of this kind of story lies in the contrast.
Who you were then vs. who you are now.
What you once believed vs. what you now know.
What scared you vs. what you’ve since overcome.
This is what makes your story relatable—not perfection, but evolution.
Even if you’re still in the messy middle, that’s part of the magic. Tell it anyway.
Prompt:
Try starting with:
I used to think…
I used to be the kind of person who…
Back then, I didn’t know…
Then bridge to what changed:
But now I see…
That moment taught me…
And here’s what I wish someone had told me…
Step three: Tell it like you’d say it
This part matters.
Too often, we polish our stories until they lose their heartbeat. We sand down the parts that feel too raw. But the stories that land are the ones that feel real.
So write it as if you’re talking to a friend. Not a customer. Not a room full of strangers. Not LinkedIn. A friend who needs it.
Tip: If you find yourself slipping into pitch mode, try recording yourself speaking the story aloud first. Then write it down as you said it.
Why this story matters
You might think: Who am I to tell this story?
But someone out there is living through the version of life you’ve already walked through.
And your story might be the reason they keep going.
Or speak up.
Or take the next step.
You’re not writing for everyone. You’re writing for the woman who is where you once were, and is quietly searching for a sign that she’s not alone.
So tell her.
Show her.
Be the story you needed to hear.
Want help getting started?
Here’s a final prompt for your next writing session:
If I could go back to one moment in my life and say just one thing to myself, it would be…
Write from there.
And if you do—I'd love to read it because this world doesn’t need more noise. It needs more you.
Love your prompts
Great advice!