The therapeutic power of telling stories

Growing up, I was told stories. Tales of disappearing tomatoes and bucking horses, legends like the Mothman and haunted amusement parks, and folk stories of John Henry and Johnny Appleseed. The stories drew me deeper and deeper into those worlds, I could imagine myself tasting those sweet, summer tomatoes, seeing the red eyes of the Mothman in the dark of night, and lifting my arms high into the air to swing my hammer.

As I grew older, I started reading stories that helped me make sense of the world — fantastical fables with children on adventures, then coming-of-age novels with young women navigating school and love, next biographies and other true stories of life and loss. I might just be one girl in a house in the middle of the Appalachians, but these stories showed me all that I could be and all that this world, and other imagined ones, could offer.

When I was diagnosed with Rheumatoid Arthritis, the books that I had leaned on stopped providing the joy and understanding they once had. They simply did not reflect my reality. I would spend the next many years looking for stories that represented my experience — an experience of pain, but of resilience and strength. And while I still read, both to learn and entertain, it felt as though something was missing.

Storytelling is a human tradition. It predates written word and we can see indications of storytelling in cave drawings. We tell stories to communicate and connect, to educate and entertain. But we also tell stories to preserve and share our culture, and to make sense of our lived experiences. Storytelling is as much a tool for the listener or reader as it is for the storyteller herself.

During spring 2020, I shared my journey with Rheumatoid Arthritis. When I wrote my first draft of this story, I wrote it for myself. It contained immensely personal details, some of them dull and mundane, others much more visceral. I never intended to publish it. But as the days and pains of the COVID-19 pandemic went on, I felt pulled to finally make my story public. A story that I had kept tucked close to my heart and held onto with all the grip that I could muster. In the days that followed, I heard from others with RA, and then others with chronic conditions, and then caregivers. By simply sharing my imperfect account, others who were in pain and dismissed, no longer felt ignored or alone. Caregivers expressed a better understanding of their loved ones' challenges with their conditions, a new lens on this person for whom they care.

Telling stories surrounding health and healthcare is a necessary piece of understanding what health means, who patients are, what healthcare experiences truly look like, and how we can improve health and healthcare more broadly.

Medical anthropology began to take hold in the 1960s examining how different societies understand and respond to health and disease, including the social determinants of health. The results of this understanding are often told as stories. In recent years, we've seen an emergence of narrative medicine, a medical approach that utilizes patients' narratives to enhance the care provided by healthcare professionals. It emphasizes the importance of understanding patients' experiences and perspectives to improve diagnosis, treatment, and overall care. Storytelling in healthcare is deserving of attention.

It has long been understood that stories increase empathy and can make strides in how we view those different from ourselves. This isn't a novel notion. But storytelling changes how the body works. Researcher Paul J. Zak discovered behavioral effects of the neurochemical, oxytocin, uncovering that narratives can cause a release of oxytocin which in turn impacts our values, attitudes, beliefs, and behaviors. This release is associated with increases in empathy and narrative transportation.

Additionally, using fMRI to record brain activity from speakers and listeners during natural communication, researchers found that the speaker's brain activity is closely coupled with the listener's, both spatially and temporally. This synchronicity of mind and body speaks to the great potential storytelling has.

When I think back to myself, staring at a screen, and writing out my story, I never could have imagined the impact it would have on me. It gave me the confidence to share openly, to use writing to digest my own emotions, and to begin advocating for others.

The act of sharing our narratives is therapeutic in and of itself, but the impact of hearing from others in similar situations is striking. Sharing personal stories can provide hope to others in similar situations by fostering resilience, promoting personal connection, and creating narratives of agency. I aim to use my life experiences and understanding of our complex healthcare systems to serve those with chronic conditions whose voices often go ignored. And stories have the power to make that a reality.