You don't owe the internet your trauma
How to build a meaningful story that shows your worth, without baring all
Can we talk about the weird pressure to bleed on demand to get noticed in business (LinkedIn… I’m looking at you)?
Because somewhere along the way we went from ‘being authentic’ to sharing your darkest moment with a snappy Canva carousel and cheesy sales call-to-action.
Maybe it’s a condition of my job, but I see it everywhere, on social media, on stages, in bios and About Me pages. And it’s exhausting!
You know what I’m talking about right?
“After my third divorce, crippling corporate burnout and losing everything in a suspicious Golden Retriever-related fire, I realised I had the gift for helping leaders realise the power of automated accountancy software…”
But look, I’m not mocking anyone’s story. If those things truly happened to you and you feel you want to share them, go for it. But what worries me, as someone that’s made a living through storytelling, is this:
We’ve started to believe that the only stories worth telling are the ones that make people clap, cry or both before parting their £90 a month with you.
That unless you’ve overcome something life-altering, your story isn’t worth sharing. Or that your everyday experiences, your quiet resilient, your gentle pivot, your “I’m still here and still trying”, isn’t powerful enough.
And for women, that pressure hits even harder.
Because for so long, we haven’t been heard. So now there’s space, on social media, on stages, in our businesses, we think we have to perform our pain to be taken seriously.
It’s vulnerability as currency. And honestly? It’s exhausting. And it makes me very cross indeed…
So let’s be clear people.
You do not owe the world your trauma in exchange for credibility.
You can build a meaningful narrative without flashing your emotional knickers in public.
You can be vulnerable without being raw
You can be truthful without being exposed.
And that, my lovely readers, is the difference very few people talk about.
Because vulnerability does NOT mean full disclosure
Being ‘vulnerable’ doesn’t meaning telling strangers on Instagram about your worst moment in graphic detail.
It means being honest with the small parts of your life you do choose to share.
The stories where you didn’t have it all together.
The moments where you changing your mind.
The bits where you’re still figuring it all out.
Those stories land with the people you want to attract, they build trust and they make people say “Oh thank god, me too.”
How to use vulnerability in your storytelling (without crying on camera)
Right, let’s give this a go. Here’s how you can show up with the kind of honesty that connects without selling your soul.
Start with truth, not drama
Don’t think “What’s my most shocking story?” Ask yourself instead, “What’s true for me right now that might help someone else feel less alone?”
Focus in on the small, human moments.
Your story doesn’t need a villain. It needs texture, layers, interest.
The moment you doubted yourself before a networking meet-up
The time you said the quiet thing out loud in a meeting
The day you chose self care and rest instead of pushing through.
That’s where your audience finds themselves
Put boundaries in place
Ask yourself “Would I be ok if a client, colleague or competitor read this out loud in a room?” If the answer’s no, it might be a story to share with your mates after several glasses of vino, not your feed, and that’s ok
Make it useful
Why are you sharing it? Is it relevant, relatable, interesting?What’s the message or the ‘shift’ you want someone to takeaway?
If there’s no takeaway, it’s not a story, it’s a download. And people don’t come to you to be emotionally vomited on. They come for connection.
Speak like a human, not a personal brand.
Cut the guru-speak. You don’t need to turn every life hiccup into a ‘lesson from the universe’, despite what Brad from sales likes to make you think!
The most radical story you can tell as a woman is….
THE TRUTH.
Not the trauma-polished-for-Instagram version. Not the ‘I overcame everything and now I’m an expert’ version.
Just the truth.
Even if it’s quiet, incomplete or just “here’s what I leaned and here’s the shit I’m still figuring out.”
That’s the ROAR of your story.
It doesn’t have to be loud, but it does have to be yours. And that’s more than enough.
If this is all sounding a tad familiar, why not share it with someone else who’s been second-guessing their story?
And if you’re ready to find your ROAR, without the pressure to overshare or shout, you know where I am.
Hilary x