Storytelling is not merely an art form; it’s a fundamental human practice, as old as civilization itself. From ancient cave drawings to communal fire rings, humans have always gathered to share narratives. This primal urge is deeply ingrained in our species, which spent 95% of its history as hunter-gatherers, relying on cooperation for survival. As Michael Morris points out in Tribal, our dominance is directly linked to our ability to work together, a dependency that has only intensified in modern society.
Social scientists hypothesize that we’re wired for storytelling because stories connect us and transmit vital survival techniques. Lessons about edible plants or collaborative hunting strategies were passed down through generations. This “stickiness” of stories is backed by research: Jerome Bruner found that stories are remembered twenty times more effectively than facts or figures. When we hear a story, our brains synchronize, bridging our own experiences with the lived realities of others.
Why Stories Resonate
Neuroscience further illuminates the power of narrative. Lisa Cron, in Wired for Story, explains that stories allow us to “simulate intense experience without having to actually live through them.” They prepare us for the world by allowing us to experience it virtually. Crucially, a story is unique in its ability to activate brain regions that transform the narrative into a listener’s own idea and experience, fostering deep personal resonance.
There is a chemical cocktail released in our brains when we engage with stories. Cortisol aids in memory formation, dopamine keeps us engaged, and oxytocin, linked to empathy, fosters deeper connections. There’s a reason bedtime stories are a universal tradition; our brains are simply wired to respond to them. Through a protagonist’s challenges and triumphs, stories shape our values, influence our worldview, and solidify what matters most to us. This innate human wiring doesn’t magically switch off when we enter the workplace.
Inclusive Storytelling As A Vehicle for Allyship
Inclusive storytelling serves as a powerful vehicle for inclusion. Jennifer Brown’s podcast, The Will to Change, often starts with the prompt, “tell us your diversity story.” This simple opening instantly connects the guest with the audience, creating a sense of personal familiarity. Similarly, Brené Brown’s Dare to Lead podcast frequently opens with guests sharing their stories. As a shame and vulnerability researcher, she understands that personal narratives hook listeners, making them more receptive to advice and committed to engaging with the content. In a noisy world, stories cut through the clutter and capture our attention.
To become a more effective ally, hone your storytelling skills by reflecting on your own life experiences, both personal and professional. Mine your personal narrative for stories that have shaped you: career milestones, influential mentor or sponsor relationships, or individuals who significantly impacted your journey. As you revisit these moments, ask yourself:
- What did you learn from this experience?
- What impact did this story have on you?
- What if this experience had not happened? How would your life be different?
Once you’ve identified a few compelling narratives, it’s time to craft them. Inclusive stories engage from the outset. Recall the classic storytelling arc from English class: an emotional beginning, a climatic middle, and a concluding summary of the core message. The key to an engaging opening is a hook – something counterintuitive, unusual, or mysterious that sets the scene by establishing the who, what, where, when, and why. The middle builds toward a climax, where conflict and challenges are overcome by the protagonists. The story concludes with a concise summary of why you told the story.
My Own Story On The Power of Allies
Many years ago, I gave a talk on diversity storytelling for a client. It was 2004, and I had just landed my first major corporate role at Caterpillar in Peoria, Illinois. I remember the excitement of walking into the warehouse on my first day, envisioning a future as CEO. That excitement quickly turned to confusion when I entered my first meeting: I was the only woman in the leadership development program, surrounded by ten men. My mother had always assured me that feminism had resolved workplace inequalities for women. Yet, looking around that room, I wondered if I truly was equal.
As the months passed, I began to feel increasingly isolated. I was excluded from critical operations opportunities with the “benevolent” excuse that they “could not accommodate travel for me as the only woman,” since the men shared hotel rooms. My manager even recounted a sexual harassment experience, claiming she was “protecting” me by excluding me from these assignments. To compound the issue, nearly every leader emphasized that operations experience was crucial for leadership, yet I was being steered toward marketing and project management. I began to internalize this feeling of being “different,” adopting a more masculine dress code, following sports, and learning golf to fit in. I shed my feminine expression, always with a nagging feeling that something was wrong with me, that I had done something wrong.
Then I met my allies. When I was inadvertently left out of a meeting or social gathering, they would actively invite me and question, “Why isn’t Julie here?” I networked with senior women leaders and eventually broke into operations, a role I loved and excelled at. When I was interrupted, my allies would interrupt the interruptor, redirecting the conversation back to me with phrases like, “As Julie was saying…” These allies mentored me, sponsored me, and believed in me, even when I struggled with imposter syndrome.
My four years at Caterpillar taught me the profound power of allies. I took on six roles, earned two promotions, and was even identified as high potential for another. Yet, despite the incredible support of my allies, I chose to leave and pursue my MBA. I couldn’t shake the visceral feeling that I didn’t truly belong.
Sadly, my story resonates with many historically marginalized individuals in the workplace. It’s far more common than many people in positions of power realize. This is precisely why storytelling matters. You are far more likely to remember my experience, and other stories shared here, than the facts and figures. Why? Because you likely connected it to your own career, or perhaps you had an emotional response. Your brain may have synced with my story, making it more memorable and accessible long after you’ve finished reading.
To craft your own compelling story, reflect on a time when you felt different, didn’t belong, or had to “cover” – minimizing or maximizing aspects of yourself to fit in with the dominant group, also known as code-switching. Draft an emotional beginning that sets the scene, build to a climax that shifts the narrative, and conclude by summarizing the lessons learned. Your story has the power to connect, to educate, and to drive greater inclusion and allyship for everyone.