What Matters is The Story We Tell

When you go through an experience, what story do you tell?

At first, when I wrote down that what matters is the story we tell and not what happened to us, it sounded a bit odd and even dismissive. Of course, what happens to us matters, but the way we speak about it, is often more powerful than the facts themselves.

In debates or discussions facts are the backbone of strong arguments. At the end though, the facts rarely end up sticking with us. What we remember is what moved us, the stories that had our minds hanging on every word.

This idea really hit me during the last election cycle. I was struck by how quickly people forgot factual points, or how very few could recall logical arguments. But what they could recall and what they talked about, were stories. Not just positions like being pro-choice or pro-life, but the human experiences behind those views. A woman’s fear of losing her autonomy or imagining the life of an unborn child. Whether you agreed or not, the underlying message was always rooted in narrative.

That realization pushed me to think about the way I tell stories about my own life. The subtle difference between saying “I’m divorced” as opposed to “I chose to leave a toxic relationship.” Or “My mood is low today” versus “I’m focusing on self-care today.” The facts haven’t changed, but the story—the tone, the perspective—has.

Storytelling is emotional. It’s powerful. It’s how our brains naturally retain information. It taps into memory and connection in a way that raw facts simply don’t. In the Journal of Neuroscience (2019), scientists discovered that stories help us comprehend challenging concepts in a way that is meaningful. The research further showed that storytelling was more effective for memory retention than relaying facts.

Think about the audiobooks you've enjoyed, the TED Talks that made a lasting impact, or the podcast episodes you keep returning to. While they may include facts to support their points, it's the storytelling that truly resonates. I've noticed this myself—when I simply share facts, the response is lukewarm. But when I use cliffhangers and narrative tension, my audience becomes reengaged and much more invested.

For me, storytelling has become a form of healing. I started this Substack as a personal outlet—a way to reclaim control and express my thoughts, stories, and perspectives without being drowned out by outside noise. Guided by God, I chose to hold the pen and write my own story, rather than let life write it for me. I’ve lived that kind of passive life before, and that’s exactly how I know I don’t want to live that way again.

My divorce was the breaking point. It was painful—not just for me, but for the people who love me. I still remember how my friends would pause, hands frozen mid-air, waiting for me to finish a sentence about my situation. They were holding their breath through one of the darkest seasons of my life.

When the fog started to lift, I realized how much that season had affected everyone. I wanted to stop talking about my ex, the divorce, the day-to-day co-parenting struggles—but people around me were used to asking. That was their way of showing they cared, and I love them for that. But I also realized I needed a different approach. I couldn’t keep repeating the same painful narrative.

So, I changed the story. I wasn’t “struggling with my ex.” We were experiencing the growing pains of learning to co-parent. Because honestly—why wouldn't that be hard? It's not supposed to be smooth sailing. We’re human. Imperfect. And being human means constantly striving to do better. There’s a reason scripture says “be perfect”—not because we are, but because we’re meant to keep trying. So yes, what happened matters. But what matters more is the story you tell.

I don’t see my trauma, heartbreak, homelessness, fragile self-image, or self-doubt as just painful events. They’re parts of a story I’ve learned to be grateful for—even the hardest parts. That’s not easy. But you know what’s even harder? Going through something and not learning from it.

Everything we experience has something to teach us. We learn what to keep doing, what to avoid, where to pause, who to trust, and what matters most.

I want to remember the pain, the growth, the clarity that comes from writing through tears. I want to share what I’ve learned. And I want others to ask themselves:

What story are you telling?

Does the way you talk about your life inspire you—or make you feel stuck? Do you talk about your accomplishments with pride, or like they weren’t enough? The way we tell our stories doesn’t just shape how others see us—it shapes how we see ourselves.

So, I’ll say it again: what matters is the story you tell.

30 Lessons of Acquired Wisdom - Lesson 21.

Lima, C. F., Brancatisano, O., Woolgar, A., Scott, S. K., & Kotz, S. A. (2019). Emotional storytelling recruits the default mode network and regions associated with emotion processing. Journal of Neuroscience, 39(49), 9779–9789. https://doi.org/10.1523/JNEUROSCI.2037-18.2019