How to Tell a Story Well

In a world that values speed, visibility, and performance, storytelling can quickly become another task on the hustle list. Another way to prove your worth. Another layer of extraction: from your body, your talents, your history, your voice.

But when storytelling is practiced with intention, it can be something else entirely.

It can heal.
It can reveal.
Sometimes, it can hold something sacred.

Storytelling as Sacred Responsibility

A story is well told when it honors both the experience of the storyteller and the needs of the audience. It isn’t just about grabbing attention; it’s about cultivating connection.

A good story is rooted in authenticity. It's shaped with care. And when it's told with presence, something shifts in the room.

It invites the audience into an experience that’s emotionally resonant, intellectually meaningful, and often spiritually nourishing. It has integrity. It reaches deep. And sometimes, it moves us to act in ways we've never imagined.

Telling a story well also means practicing alignment with your inner integrity. It means telling the truth without causing harm. Choosing not to exploit the tender parts of yourself that aren’t yet ready to be witnessed by a broader public. Noticing how your body feels when you start to share certain stories.

Because what we feel in our bodies while telling a story will be mirrored in our audience. Storytelling is a shared nervous system experience. If our bodies are tense, fragmented, or dissociated, our audience will feel that. But if we have integrated our stories and cared for our bodies, then our stories can magnetize and heal others who are walking a similar path to ours. Learn more about my story and approach to transformational storytelling.

This is why I teach that storytelling isn't just content. It’s a somatic process. A spiritual invitation. An emotionally connected practice.

When we tend to it with presence, our stories don’t just inform. They change us. They reconnect us. They ripple out and find the people who need them most.

If you’ve felt the tug-of-war between your longing to share your experience and your need to feel safe while doing it, know this: you’re not alone.

You want to be seen and heard (not just for the roles you play or the knowledge you hold but in your fullness and in your failure). In your common humanity. You want to speak and feel witnessed, not exposed.

There are stories I held in my body for years before I could write them down, let alone speak them aloud. And there are spaces where you can practice telling your stories before you go public. Tender story holders who can witness you as you uncover how you really feel about the story you're still learning to tell.

When we give ourselves that kind of space, clarity begins to rise—and we’re able to tell our stories in ways that feel rooted, real, and alive.

Let me share a story that  illustrates this kind of unfolding.

A Story That Holds It All

When Jade came to me, she felt split between two identities: humanitarian and artist. She loved working in spaces of global service, but the burnout was real. And there was a quieter part of her—the part that danced, painted, played—that had been pushed aside for years.

Through our work together, we explored the stories beneath the story: the childhood narratives, the expectations placed on her during her college years, the workplaces where her creativity had been overlooked or undervalued.

What emerged wasn’t just clarity, it was integration. We discovered that art and movement had always been a healing presence in her humanitarian work. She had been witnessing their power for years, and her inner knowing was clear: the world needed more of that. She hadn’t been two people after all.

Today, Jade is a certified play therapist and is back in school, weaving creativity into her professional life in bold, beautiful ways. She didn’t choose between her identities. She reclaimed and reintegrated both of them.

This is the power of storytelling done well. It holds the complexity of you. It allows you to bring your whole self to the world.

When you tell a story like that, your audience feels it in their body. They see themselves in you. And they remember what’s possible.

Storytelling as Embodied Practice

I work with many people who are exhausted by the pressure to "show up" and "be visible."

In a culture obsessed with speed, scale, and glossy performing, storytelling can start to feel like another form of extraction: share more, quicker, louder.

But that urgency erodes something within. It disconnects us from our natural, cyclical pace. It leaves no space for the slow, deep rhythm of a story finding its form.

That’s why I don’t rush the process. I listen to the pace of your body. Your breath. Your knowing.

We don’t just make stories strategic; we make them safer for you and your audience. We make them true. And when a seed of a story arises from that kind of soil, it carries a power no marketing formula can replicate.

So, How Do You Tell a Story Well?

Slow down.
Listen to your body.
Ask: Is this story ready to be shared? Is it mine to tell? Does it feel like medicine—or a wound?

Let the story come when it’s ready.
Let it guide you.
And when it does take shape, tell it with care. With support. With a love for your audience and an unwavering commitment to your wholeness.

That is how you tell a story well.

Learn more about working together

If you’re craving a space to shape your story at your own pace, I’d be honored to walk beside you. This isn’t about perfect writing or speaking. It’s about embodied truth. It’s about unearthing your voice. It’s about exploring what feels like freedom to you. Explore the story coaching process.

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