We like our stories to make sense.
We crave the clean arc: struggle, growth, triumph … wrapped up with meaning.
But the truth is: life rarely grants us that clarity while we’re still living it.
The stories we tell ourselves (and others) are made of half-finished lessons, sharp edges, and moments we wish had gone differently. They’re messy. Complicated. Human.
And that’s what makes them worth telling.
When I coach performers and storytellers, I often see the same hesitation:
“It’s not ready yet.”
“It’s too personal.”
“I don’t know how it ends.”
But here’s the secret: you don’t need to know how it ends. You only need to stand inside the truth of where you are.
Your audience doesn’t connect with the polish — they connect with the presence. They lean in when you admit you’re still learning. They trust you more when you’re honest about the detours and doubts.
Owning your story doesn’t mean glorifying the chaos.
It means acknowledging it, giving it a name, and sharing what it’s teaching you as you go.
Because the story isn’t over.
And the mess? That’s part of the meaning.
So wherever you are in your arc, the rising action, the midpoint reversal, the dark night of the soul, own it. Tell it anyway.
The cracks in your story aren’t flaws.
They’re the places where the light gets in.