Attuned Messaging + Aligned Reach: Preparing to Share Your Story Publicly
There is a conscious space between know your story matters and taking it public. That’s where truly embodied storytelling begins.
There is a conscious space between know your story matters and taking it public. That’s where truly embodied storytelling begins.
You’ve felt it before—that quiet but insistent poke of a story on the rise. But this one feels different. It’s louder. Closer. You want to catch it like lightening in a bottle.
Maybe it came at 2 a.m., your fingers tapping across the keyboard before your mind caught up. Your fingers cramping as words poured ink on paper. Maybe it arrived in a circle of trusted friends, where saying words aloud made your chest ache in a new, tender way. That story or knowing, the one you’ve held for years, begins to stretch its limbs. It doesn’t just want to be heard—it wants to serve. Not just for your own personal catharsis but because a part of you knows this story might help someone else feel less alone. Hell, a story with that kind of power might just start a movement.
There is a conscious space between the moment you realize your story matters and the moment you decide what parts to share publicly. It's a liminal threshold, filled with both vulnerability and power. This is where Attuned Messaging and Aligned Reach come into play. It's here that I ask you to pause to consider not just what you’re sharing—but why, with whom, and how it can serve as a catalyst for the worlds you want to create.
Some people know instinctively that their story is meant to be shared. For others, it's more of a slow unfolding—a gentle nudge, an inner whisper growing louder over time. I’ve come to believe that our stories are ready for public consumption when we’ve done the internal work to hold them with care. When the experience has moved through us in such a way that we can see it from a new angle. And when we've already practiced telling it in more protected spaces so we can tend to feelings that may come up in our bodies.
Taking these actions doesn’t mean all wounds are healed. Some stories will always carry a charge—and that’s okay. What matters is how we hold them and ourselves in the process. When we can speak our stories without being swept away—when our bodies stay anchored even if our voice trembles—we begin to stand in the quiet power of integration.
Stories told in urgency feel tight, like being pushed from the inside out. But stories rooted in possibility? They breathe. They expand. They open doorways and portals to deeper service. Even potent emotions—grief, rage, longing—can be harnessed as steady flames instead of raging internal wildfires, illuminating rather than overwhelming.
Attuned messaging begins here: with a felt sense of alignment in the body and a clear intention in the heart. Then we look outward. Who is this story for? What do they need to hear—not to validate our experience, but to awaken something in themselves?
This is where audience identification becomes essential. Because if you're speaking to everyone, you're speaking to no one. Building narrative transportation—a key of story neuroscience—requires shared language, values, and context. You need to know who you’re trying to reach if you want to change the way people think. That process is both strategic and intuitive. I often start with analytics, client interviews, and data. But together, we also ask deeper questions: Who do you want to reach? Why? What do you want people to do after hearing your story?
Sometimes we find that the audience you imagine and the one that’s actually showing up aren’t the same. Then you get to choose—do I move toward that ideal audience, or do I shift and serve the people already listening?
Aligned reach means showing up where your audience already is—and in ways they can actually receive your work. For instance, one of my clients—a mother and healer working full-time—knew her audience was often listening to her podcast while doing other things like on their commute or when they brushed their teeth. So we created bite-sized audio teachings she could record during quiet moments and share in short, impactful snippets—just enough to meet her audience’s real capacity, without overwhelming them. Another author whose book I edited did her book reading at an esoteric crystal shop, not because it was the biggest stage, but because it’s where her ideal audience was already spending time. Aligned reach isn’t about more visibility—it’s about intentional, resonant presence. All of this points to a deeper truth: the stories we tell don’t exist in a vacuum. They land in human bodies, in busy lives, in fragile and fierce hearts. That’s why how we offer our stories matters just as much as what we offer.
As storytellers, we must also remember: consent is not a one-time act. I remember leading a workshop where a participant unexpectedly disclosed something deeply personal—something that could have been disregulating for others in the circle. I paused the session, invited everyone to take a collective breath, and gently asked, "Do we have the capacity to hold this right now?" It had already been a long day. Together, we chose to pause the conversation and sit in supportive silence with the teller so she did not feel alone. Later when I had more capacity, she and I did follow-up work to honor her courage and respect the collective energy of the group. That experience reminded me just how vital it is to build in spaciousness for both energetic and verbal consent—not only before a story begins, but as it unfolds. Consent is not a checkpoint; it’s an ongoing, layered, conscious and unconscious process.
This applies to our audiences as well. When we as storytellers share vulnerable truths, we can learn to extend the care we’ve given ourselves to the people who will receive our stories. That may mean offering content warnings or a pause for breath. Or inviting people to opt out or engage in aftercare. I sometimes invite groups to close their eyes and allow anyone who needs to step away to do so. Other times, I suggest a grounding exercise post-sharing. Your story doesn't need to shrink—but your delivery can honor the emotional and energetic needs of your audience.
You will know a story is ready when you can hold it with reverence and clarity, and when you’ve built the systems of care—internal and external—that can support its release. When you've practiced telling it in safer containers and noticed your body holding steady, even amidst emotion. When your message emerges from the deep well of your purpose—especially when you begin to notice how others respond. When you see a nod, a tear, a moment of stillness—you’ll know your story is landing where it’s needed.
For me, that purpose is rooted in reclaiming stories that have been lost, erased, or syncretized. It’s not just a professional passion, it’s a personal calling. And that calling weaves its way through everything I create. When we know our "why," we as storytellers can shape our narratives with intention, offering them as bridges that connect rather than spotlights that isolate.
And here's the thing: our stories continue to evolve. As we tell them, we change and then they change. We will never tell them the same way twice. Neuroscience tells us that people who find meaning in hardship—who can trace how pain led to growth—live more fulfilled lives. Reframing isn't bypassing. It’s a powerful marker of healing. And when I see a reframed narrative—one that has moved from rawness to reflection and self-understanding—I often see the potential for powerful public sharing.
Attuned Messaging and Aligned Reach are about more than marketing. They are about meeting the moment with clarity, compassion, and purpose. They are about remembering that, as storytellers, our stories are not just our own. They’re communal. They’re alive. And when shared with care, they have the power to transform not only ourselves—but the world around us.
If you're reading this and wondering where you are in your storytelling journey, consider these gentle invitations:
These questions aren't meant to rush your process—they’re here to help you listen more deeply.
If you feel a resonance, a readiness, or even just a flicker of curiosity, I invite you to join me in the Storyshaping Lab—a space designed for sensitive, intentional storytellers who are at the beginning of their sharing journey. Whether your story is just emerging or you're beginning to test it in safer spaces, this is a place to shape it with care. Together, we'll practice the art of speaking your truth with impact and integrity—so your story can begin reaching the hearts it's meant for.
This piece is part of an ongoing series exploring the essential tenets of my business and storytelling as sacred practice. You can revisit previous essays here: