Storytelling began long before writing—and it remains one of the most powerful tools humanity has ever created. Through stories, we connect, heal, remember, and imagine new futures. I only wish we spent more time truly listening: to each other, to lived experiences, and to the voices we too often overlook.
I remember sitting in housing court with a mother who had done everything right. She paid what she could, asked for help, and tried to hold everything together for her children. But when she stood before the judge, what mattered most wasn’t the paperwork. It was how she told her story. In just five minutes, with a voice that trembled but didn’t break, she spoke her truth—and everything changed. That moment reminded me: we’re not just presenting facts. We’re narrating our reality.
Whether you’re applying for disability, sitting in a job interview, or trying to prove your need to a caseworker—your story matters. But here’s the hard truth: outcomes aren’t always based on what you say. They’re shaped by how others choose to hear it.
I’ve seen it over and over again—two people with nearly identical paperwork and barriers, but different outcomes. One is believed. The other is dismissed. Why? Because sometimes a worker didn’t see the pain behind the smile. Or they assumed the gaps in care were your fault, when in truth, they were caused by a system that failed to act in time. But it's always you—the client—who carries the burden.
“Until the story of the hunt is told by the lion, the tale of the hunt will always glorify the hunter.” — African Proverb
And here’s the cost: how your story is received can determine whether you get the support you need—or fall deeper into crisis. A poorly told or poorly heard story can lead to denied benefits, lost housing, job rejection, or missed care. And once you’re on that edge, it’s far too easy for the world to start treating poverty itself like a crime.
We see it every day—being late on rent becomes an eviction notice. Needing food assistance comes with judgment. Not having insurance turns pain into punishment. People aren't just struggling—they're being blamed for it.
"Poverty is not a lack of character. It’s a lack of cash, a lack of opportunity, a lack of access to justice." — Rutger Bregman
This is why storytelling is more than communication—it’s survival.
Systems aren’t built to hear our truths. They’re built to process information, not humanity. And unless we change how we listen—really listen—people will keep falling through the cracks.
“Getting diagnosed with POTS was finally a name for the exhaustion, dizziness, and daily struggle—but it didn’t open any doors. I was still denied disability. It felt like the system needed me to collapse in front of them to believe I was unwell. My story wasn’t enough.” - Lisa, 40, mother of 2 sons
That’s the painful reality: even with documentation, even with a diagnosis, it often comes down to how others interpret your story. The burden of proof is placed on the person already carrying the heaviest load. And when stories are dismissed, denied, or distorted, people get left behind
So we must tell our stories. Not just to be heard, but to change what it means to be seen. Because when we honor the stories of those too often dismissed or misunderstood, we shift the balance. We restore dignity. We make care real.
Every story matters. Especially yours.