From miscarriage to burnout: why experts say women need to tell the stories they’ve been keeping secret

Whether it’s trauma, burnout or heartbreak, opening up about painful experiences can help us find meaning, support and a sense of belonging. Psychologist Jessica Zucker looks at how the power of storytelling can change how we view our reality — and even change that reality itself.

Words: Jessica Zucker. Images: Shutterstock

It’s beyond time to normalise talking about the hard things in women’s lives. The pressure to keep so many of our important experiences to ourselves prevents us from showing up as our fullest selves, in all of our vulnerability, complexity, and strength.

Our culture has taught us to be silent about the very things we need to be sharing: the messages we received about our voices and bodies as girls; depression and anxiety; breakups in intimate and platonic relationships; grief; shame; sexual harassment and abuse; the choice to become a mother; the choice to not become a mother; the pain of wanting to become a mother but having it not work out; and the struggles associated with caregiving, with ageing, with our changing bodies. Silence, stigma, shame, repeat.

The act of openly discussing the genuine experiences of women, especially those that cultural norms deem unfit for public consumption, can be metamorphic. So how do we take that initial step toward expressing ourselves authentically? How do we build a connection first to ourselves, and then to others, that allows us to acknowledge our collective joy and pain, and ultimately erase the taboos that hold women back?

As women know all too well (particularly those from further marginalised groups), changing cultural attitudes isn’t as simple as deciding to ignore them. We may feel staunchly that the taboos against talking about miscarriage, our relationships with our bodies, or perfectionism are bullshit, but rarely does that mean we can simply pretend they don’t exist.

Opposing a culture that is determined to reduce the many shades of women’s experiences to just one hue is a daunting task. The work of creating more empathy and authenticity in our lives and communities begins with telling our stories. Especially the hard ones. Storytelling is undeniably powerful; it has been used throughout history to promote interpersonal change, bring people together, and build up communities.

Over the course of our lifetimes, we’ll spend about 40 percent of our conversational time telling stories. From the moment we are able to communicate, we are both storytellers (crafting narratives both real and fantastical to convey our thoughts and feelings and make sense of our experiences within the context of a social group) and story listeners (for example, bedtime stories teach us about how to move through the world, family traditions teach us about what our communities value, and recapping schoolyard drama to an empathetic parent helps us learn how to resolve conflict and navigate relationships with others).

In essence, ‘we are born into stories,’ says Jody Koenig Kellas, PhD, who studies the individual and relational benefits of storytelling. As we get older, the narratives we internalised as children begin to solidify while we simultaneously encounter new narratives.

We hear stories about other cultures and religions, learn about history through stories told by whoever held the most power, and begin to internalise counter-narratives that prompt us to think in new ways. In this way, stories can be a manifestation of our relationships with ourselves and others, a way of placing ourselves within a community.

They can act as a living, breathing community member, with our words serving as an outstretched arm, an invitation to connect, a chance at having a relationship with someone else. In other words, storytelling is an integral part of how we view ourselves, our communities, and our world. We tell stories in ways both big and small.

Even a rushed grocery list on the back of a stained, crumpled receipt tells a story — likely one of an overworked woman rushing out the door. But while storytelling is an innate skill, it becomes harder to tap into as we begin to internalise the idea that the only stories people want to hear are those that match cultural expectations.

Stories about motherhood ‘should’ be happy, stories about pregnancy loss ‘should’ be sad, and stories about sexual trauma ‘shouldn’t’ be shared at all. From my work counselling women as they navigate the complicated, deeply nuanced realities behind the one-note stories they are expected to tell, I know that many of them have a fundamental yearning to share their stories more authentically. There are many reasons for this.

Some women are raised in families that support authenticity and encourage talking about knotty emotions, and they want to continue this as they move through spaces as adults. Others have the opposite experience, and they’re finally fed up with carrying the weight of silence. Many women recognise, either consciously or subconsciously, that when they do talk about the hard things, it helps. They’re responding to observations that speaking our truths can lead to change.

We see the proof in interactions big and small, from fostering deeper connections in our relationships when we have the courage to get vulnerable, to the watershed change in workplace culture that’s resulted from the #MeToo movement. On an individual level, talking about the hard stuff is a proven way to make us feel better.

There’s a large body of research connecting storytelling and communication to wellbeing. According to Kellas, storytelling invites us ‘to map narrative coherence onto circumstances that are messy and complex and chaotic. […] We communicate to make sense of our lives. We may get catharsis, we may gain a sense of control over difficult circumstances, and we may get social support when we tell our stories.’

In fact, when Kellas has asked women to share stories about the things they struggle with, the most common response from the other participants in the study has been ‘I’m not alone. I’m not the only one.’

‘If you think about a story, it is typically a sequential plot with a beginning, middle, and end. There are characters, emotions, and a point, moral, or lesson,’ says Kellas. When we are invited to tell stories about difficult experiences, we essentially ‘have to put this really chaotic, difficult thing — grief, trauma, or whatever’s happening in your life — into story form, which puts us in a position to make sense of it through those narrative structures,’ she explains.

Storytelling invites us ‘to map narrative coherence onto circumstances that are messy and complex and chaotic.’ For example, a study that examined how digital storytelling helped mourners understand a loss found that when people could write, read, and talk about their grief, it was easier for them to organise their thoughts about their loss and their memories, helping them make sense of the loss and giving it some meaning and purpose. Telling our stories can also help us process trauma.

Narrative exposure therapy, for example, involves talking about a traumatic event in specific contextual detail with a trained therapist. As the patient tells their story in this way, literally setting the scene, it helps their brain anchor the traumatic memory to a specific moment in time, reducing contextual triggers as they move forward.

It’s a well-researched treatment for reducing symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). While storytelling both affects and reflects our individual wellbeing, the benefits of sharing our stories with others can also extend much deeper, changing entire communities and our places in them. The communication of our stories is powerful.

‘I consider the purpose of my work to be creating opportunities where people can connect vulnerably over difficult stories,’ Kellas says. ‘Because otherwise, we’re living in shame. We’re living alone. We’re just struggling.’

She adds: ‘We live in a time — particularly with social media and societal pressures — where we think we need to put our best face forward. We have to show all the great ways in which we’re being a working mother, or a friend, or a partner. But what we’re not encouraged to do as much is to connect with other women and honour our vulnerabilities. It’s okay to share the story of the failure events.’

Research shows the potential for empathy and connection when we do this. When we see or hear a story, our brain activity begins to mirror that of the storyteller in a process known as neural coupling, a term coined in foundational neuroscience research on the power of storytelling. This process promotes greater understanding and empathy, making it fundamental to building supportive communities.

Storytelling helps shape shared norms, build trust, transfer knowledge, and foster emotional connections within our communities. In other words, storytelling creates communities that are supportive rather than combative, connected rather than secluded, and more empathetic for future generations of women.

Perhaps most obviously, talking about a stressful or difficult situation can help change it via social support. Sharing your burnout with your boss, for example, can potentially open the door to conversations about how to remedy your team’s constant state of overwork. Sharing symptoms of anxiety with your doctor can hopefully help you receive the appropriate treatment.

Sharing trauma with a trusted friend has the potential to facilitate a more compassionate bond. In addition to the way stories impact our lives at the individual level and the community level, we also encounter ‘master narratives’ that shape cultural norms. It’s clear that when we share our stories, things shift on individual and relational levels.

Silence cedes to dialogue, shame evaporates in the presence of empathy. The trifecta of silence, stigma, and shame that dictates how women ‘should’ think, feel, and act begins to make way for a broad spectrum of new narratives.

That is how we ultimately change the master narratives that keep so many women from sharing their truths in the first place. This power can be harnessed in all areas of women’s lives. Our stories hold the key to creating a more equitable and honest reality for us all.

Jessica Zucker is a psychologist specialising in reproductive health and author of the award-winning books NORMALIZE IT: Upending the Silence, Stigma, and Shame That Shape Women’s Lives and I HAD A MISCARRIAGE: A Memoir, a Movement. drjessicazucker.com

Normalize It: Upending the Silence, Stigma, and Shame That Shape Women’s Lives by Jessica Zucker PhD (PESI Publishing, £21.34) is out now