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If you’ve been around for a while, you know how important stories are to me, whether they’re written or come in the good old oral storytelling tradition. Since I talk about them all the time, I thought I’d give you a deeper insight today on why they are so important, and what they can do for you on your recovery journey, or simply for your mental wellbeing. So prepare yourself for some background info about the psychological underpinnings of storytelling and therapeutic practice…
The Psychological Foundations of Storytelling
Throughout human history, stories have always been fundamental to how we make sense of our world, process emotions, and connect. But beyond their cultural significance, stories hold a profound power to heal. The transformative potential of storytelling as a therapeutic tool cannot be stressed enough (that’s why I use it all the time with my clients).
At its core, storytelling is a deeply human mechanism for understanding and expressing our inner world. Dr. Judith Lewis Herman, a renowned trauma expert, explains in her work “Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence. From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror”1 that we transform chaotic, overwhelming experiences into comprehensible narratives when we tell stories. And that process in itself is therapeutic.
And Narrative Therapy, an approach developed in the 1970s and 80s by Michael White and David Epston, is built on the premise that people can reshape their lives by reframing their personal narratives. Instead of being defined by their problems, people learn to develop distance from negative experiences and construct more empowering stories.
Neuroscientific research provides further insights into why storytelling is so powerful. When we listen to (or tell) a story, multiple areas of our brain activate simultaneously. Dr. Uri Hasson from Princeton University has a really interesting TED Talk on how storytelling creates a neurological synchronisation between the storyteller and the listener, a phenomenon called neural coupling (he has quite a few videos floating around that you might want to check out). This synchronisation goes beyond communication. It also triggers the release of neurochemicals (like oxytocin) that promote feelings of connection, trust, and emotional regulation. Needless to say that’s helpful not only for people with trauma, but for everyone.
Personal Stories as Transformation Vehicles
I obviously can’t talk about individual clients on here, but I had, and still have, quite a few who discovered the healing potential of storytelling during particularly challenging periods of their lives. Keeping a journal is just one way to engage with our stories. That usually means not just recording events as they happened (or how we remember them), but exploring our emotional landscape, tracing the roots of what makes us feel depressed or anxious, and examining thought patterns. Writing becomes a form of dialogue with ourselves, and we begin to recognise recurring themes, understand what activates us, and, most of all, develop more compassionate self-talk.
This can be done individually, and for some people, that feels initially safer, but if you’ve come to know me a bit, you will also know how often I talk about the power of community on here. Storytelling communities are quite magical, and I’m not exaggerating. Because if we share our story in a supportive environment, others recognise pieces of their own experience. And reducing feelings of isolation is paramount for healing: Shared narratives create a sense of community and normalise complex emotional experiences. Whatever it is we are individually struggling with: We will find comfort in hearing someone else articulate similar feelings. It simply makes us realise we’re not alone.
Expressive Writing
If you haven’t read the work of Dr. James Pennebaker yet, I encourage you right now to do so. He has conducted extensive research on expressive writing as a therapeutic technique, and his studies reveal that individuals who engage in structured writing demonstrate improved mental and physical health outcomes. He has also written many really accessible books on expressive writing that you might want to read if you’re not that interested in the science and want something more accessible/applicable.
His guidelines for therapeutic writing in a nutshell:
Write continuously for 15-20 minutes
Explore your emotions without censoring yourself
Focus on personal meaning and emotional truth
Don't worry about grammar or literary quality (this is not about having something publishable, or even showing it to someone else, even if both sometimes happens)
Oral Storytelling and Performance
I was a writer from the moment I could pick up a pen, but I’ve probably been a little storyteller before that. Oral storytelling, including spoken word performances and therapeutic storytelling circles, offers alternative paths to emotional processing. It’s probably the reason why I felt drawn to vocal performance from quite a young age. But it’s probably also the reason why solely performing other people’s work never feels quite enough, and I always end up circling back to my first love: (Writing) My own stories.
What Now?
For those interested in exploring storytelling as a mental health tool, consider:
starting a personal journal
joining a support group that uses narrative and storytelling approaches (I might have something in the pipeline ;))
exploring expressive writing workshops
seeking therapists trained in narrative approaches
Storytelling is not a quick fix but a profound journey of self-discovery (and healing). It offers a compassionate framework for understanding our experiences, transforming pain into purpose, and reconnecting with our intrinsic human capacity for resilience. And I think we can probably agree that we need all of this more than ever right now…
Disclaimer: This article is for informational purposes and should not replace professional mental health advice. If you're struggling, please reach out to a qualified mental health professional.
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Petra, this is the type of writing that makes my inner child curl up with a journal and whisper, “We’re gonna be OK.” Growing up with therapist parents, storytelling wasn’t just encouraged—it was practically mandatory. ("Tell us how you **felt** about the porridge, Siggy.") So reading this felt like a warm, well-researched hug with bonus neurochemistry.
Thank you.
Siggy xx
P.s. I came across your honest comment on Debbie Dale Blackwell's wonderful article Hospitality, Glennon Doyle, and the Room We Didn't make so travelled here to read more!
Subscribed, with both brains and heart engaged.