The power of storytelling

Finding connection in the disconnection

The internet has become a seriously weird place to be.

There is so much negativity.

I've had to build careful boundaries, deliberately removing social media apps from my phone to cut back on screen time. To protect my peace.

Attempting to keep updated on the latest world events without falling into pits of despair: the ongoing humanitarian crisis in Palestine, another woman's life cut tragically short at the hands of a man, climate change wreaking havoc across our fragile planet.

We live in an age of information abundance. A constant stream of content. Too much at our fingertips. Too much for a sensitive soul.

Sometimes, it feels easier to shut it all out completely. To disconnect. Once and for all.

But there’s a good side to the internet, too.

In moments where I’ve felt like an outsider – isolated or abnormal – thinking or feeling differently to those around me, the internet has always led me to a safe space to feel seen.

When I made the decision to quit drinking alcohol at 23, an age when all of my friends were partying more, I felt like I was completely alone.

But through the honest stories of other twenty-something sober girlies across the globe, I found validation online. They wrote about the same struggles I faced: the unbearable hangovers, the peer pressure from friends, and the realisation that life was just better without booze.

They got me.

It was in their stories that I found the courage to make meaningful changes in my own life. By finding a sober community, I found reassurance in my own decision. I felt confident to embrace sobriety once I knew I was not alone in my choice to do so.

And I haven’t touched alcohol since.

As my friends started having children, I began questioning whether I even wanted to have kids. And it was through online communities and thoughtful Substack essays that I discovered I was not alone in feeling this way.

While I felt like a complete outsider for not wanting to have kids in my real world, online, I found countless women who were brave enough to admit they felt the exact same way. Women who were willing to question this predetermined script of motherhood. Challenging the same societal expectations.

How many times have you smiled knowingly at the TikTok comment: "I've never had an original experience,” feeling understood by a complete stranger online?

In our carefully curated little bubbles of hyper-individualism, it’s so easy to forget that we share this planet with 8 billion other souls. Each one carrying their own burden of perceived otherness. Each one searching for connection in their own way.

There's profound truth in these moments of shared recognition.

We’re all threads in the same tapestry, our stories interweaving in patterns we're only just beginning to comprehend and make sense of.

For so long, I tried to hide these perceived 'differences' that made me feel like an outsider in my immediate world. That separated me from friends, family, and all those around me.

Yet it's precisely these aspects of my journey that have created the deepest connections. It is also these stories that have then helped others to feel understood, seen, and heard in my story.

The internet can be a fire of negativity. But hidden in its corners are gardens of extraordinary connection and beauty.

There is so much magic in vulnerability.

By opening up about our own experiences, we create safe spaces for others to recognise themselves. To understand their feelings. To feel less alone on their own journeys.

By making people feel truly heard, we create ripples of change.

So I urge you: keep writing, keep telling your story, keep being brave.

Even when it feels like you're screaming into the void, when it feels like no one is listening. Remember that your story might be exactly what someone needs to hear to make that life-changing decision.

To take that brave first step.

To feel less alone in their own skin.

Your vulnerability might be the permission slip someone else needs to finally speak their truth.

Your words might be someone else’s way home.