On sharing personal stories

strategies for baring yourself

Since I shared my story, lots of people reached out. This led to some long-overdue catchups and a couple of shiny new souls entering my orbit.

A big part of burnout is a feeling of disconnection from others. Speaking with people about that time and their own struggles was renewing. Alongside my ecology of practices, these conversations have been some of the most powerful catalysts of the last few months.

Through these meetings, several people told me that they were sitting on a story of their own. But they don't know how to move forward, how much to share, or if it will help anyone.

With this in mind, I offer some pointers for anyone who has a story to share—which, just so we’re clear, is virtually the entire human race.

1. Your story is enough

2. Blitz your outline

3. Spill blood

4. Let go of what is not the story

5. Don’t worry about joining the dots

6. Experiment with writing the past in the present

7. Print and edit

8. Keep tending

1/ Your story is enough

When I started pulling together the threads of my story, I was worried the story alone wasn’t enough. It just felt like a heap of painful memories. There wasn't a neat enough arc or a jubilant ending.

I thought the story would need to be enhanced with hot takes and advice. This made publishing an overwhelming prospect. Not only did I have to share a difficult story; I had to weave it through with pithy insights.

No one would just want to read my story, right? Wrong.

Your story is enough.

Your story is feral and unkempt for a reason.

Your story is not a commodity, not content. Your story does not need to be forced into a beige advice column. Your story deserves better than that.

2/ Blitz your outline

Now you're assured that the story is enough, just write through the skeleton of the story, from beginning to end. Rough, frenzied, imperfect.

Small, short sentences. Describe the things that happened, as they occur to you. Depth is not important here. Blitzkreig your story. Don’t worry about supply lines being attacked, just keep expanding outwards until you reach the conclusion. Only then should you return with reinforcements.

Trust the weird details that spontaneously occur. Don't dress it up, don’t sweep the boundaries yet. Decoration has its place, but later. Where particular parts are difficult, leave a note and keep moving forwards.

You will not appreciate the shape of your story until you've written a rough outline down. Themes will emerge, small details will become more prominent. You don't have to "do" this—it’s the natural fruit of storytelling.

3/ Spill blood

You will need to spill some blood on the page. It will feel daunting. But baring yourself is what lights up the dormant parts of your readers. Go further and be more open than you think is acceptable. If you think you’re sharing too much, you’re probably doing it right.

We are drawn to each other’s vulnerability—it wakes us up and spins out a delicate connection across time and space.

At first, I thought everyone would find Three years plain depressing; a bummer. Next, I thought it was too personal to resonate with anyone: too specific, too me. But the overwhelming feedback from people who reached out was “this resonates”. But for each person, that resonance was different: whether being in a disintegrating relationship, the visceral feeling of burnout, or the daily struggles of working in tech.

All you can do is bare yourself. Spill blood.

4/ Let go of what is not the story

As you write, you will try to include things that are not part of the story. That's ok—you can delete them later when you remember that the story is enough.

At several points, I tried to include the same side story. It was about the orthodontic braces that ruined my self-image for nearly a year and a half, during this time. About having to try dating again with ugly-ass train tracks. About the elation of having them removed. It was a story in itself, but it just ended up detracting from the wider narrative: the story I really wanted to share.

Strip away everything that isn’t the story.

5/ Don't worry about joining the dots

Forget about having to bridge everything together in an equally-paced sequence. You can describe one scene in scintillating detail and then jump to a dopey thought you had 6 months later. This is the power of the written word.

As I wrote my story, it felt like there were glaring, unexplained gaps. Some parts were detailed and lucid, other parts hazy. These gaps haunted me: it was going to take so much work to bridge the ground. In the end, it took no work at all: I left the gaps where they were. The gaps are part of the story.

That is how stories exist: bright bundles of salience sitting on an out-of-focus background. The brightness is where it should be—in focus. Do not try to blend this contrast into a linear account. Otherwise, you end up with a picture where nothing is in focus.

6/ Experiment with writing the past in the present

My story was written in the present tense. This gave readers a front-row seat to what was happening. Instead of a mediated recollection, the details feel direct and present.

Present tense is not right for every piece. I stumbled into this style by accident and it worked. I recommend you experiment early on to see how it sits with your story.

The downside is that you must go all in. If you start slipping between past and present tenses from one paragraph to another, it’s going to discombobulate your reader. No writer will get this right the first time, so there will be extra work on the editing side.

7/ Print and edit

If you have a printer, print out your draft. (I think cheap black-and-white printers are an excellent investment for writers).

There is a perspective that comes from reading your words on paper that is hard to emulate on a laptop. You’re breaking frame with where you usually write; meeting familiar words in a new medium.

Doodle, scribble, merge, and most importantly delete bits that aren't a part of the story. Then merge your edits back into the digital draft. Even when the changes were small, I often felt a digital draft was revitalised by this journey onto paper and back.

8/ Keep tending

My drafting process was painful and predictable for each part:

1. "This is just a collection of notes"

2. "This is a collection of notes with some good bits of writing”

3. “I’m not really sure this is publishable”

4. A few days of what feels like light, inconsequential editing.

5. "Oh. This is a first draft."

6. Print, edit, print, edit.

7. Suddenly, the piece announces it is ready. It has attained consciousness of its own accord and now demands to be shared. The tables are turned and I’m scrambling to publish before it loses patience.

Fin

Sharing personal stories is hard. But it is also deeply rewarding. Writing out a story forges a new relationship with it. At first, it will feel like recollection but writing quickly turns revelatory: new themes will emerge as you spend time tending.

Lastly, stories are important. If you’re still unsure what to do with yours, feel free to get in contact. I’d be happy to talk with you more about it.