Stories and narratives are related, but they are not the same—a distinction I have come to understand more clearly through my work in communications and philanthropy. A story is specific: a person, a place, an experience, a moment of conflict or change. Stories help us recognize one another, make meaning from what has happened, and hold complexity that facts alone cannot convey. A narrative is the larger pattern that gives stories meaning. It is the shared frame—often repeated across culture, media, policy, and institutions—that tells us how the world works, who belongs, what causes a problem, and what solutions seem possible.
In my all aspects of life, I have seen how an individual story can humanize an issue, challenge assumptions, and make a public question feel immediate. But I have also learned that stories do not enter an empty space. The narratives already surrounding a community influence what audiences hear: whether a person is understood through dignity or deficit, whether hardship is attributed to individual choices or shared conditions, and whether a place is seen only through crisis or also through knowledge, history, leadership, and possibility. One story can open a door; lasting change also requires attention to the narrative landscape around it.
I believe both matter deeply to our health. The stories we can tell about ourselves help us make sense of experience, connect with others, and imagine a future in which we have agency. The narratives circulating around us shape whose health is treated as a public concern, which conditions are viewed as preventable, whose knowledge counts, and whether communities are blamed for inequities or supported in changing the systems that produce them. Again and again, I have seen how narratives can reinforce stigma and isolation—or strengthen belonging, dignity, and a broader understanding of what people need to thrive.
Stories and narratives also shape civic life, which is one reason I keep returning to them in my own practice. People are more likely to participate when they can see themselves in the public story, understand how decisions affect their lives, and believe their voice can matter. Stories build relationship and make abstract issues tangible. Narratives help communities interpret those stories collectively, identify responsibility, and imagine shared action. A healthy civic culture needs both: room for people to speak from lived experience and the power to change the larger frames that determine whose experiences are heard, believed, and acted upon.
That is why I have come to see ethical storytelling as much more than finding a compelling example. It requires me to ask who is telling the story, who has permission to share it, what context surrounds it, and whether it expands or narrows public understanding. I am interested in how we can honor the particular truth of a person’s story while also reshaping the narratives that influence health, power, belonging, and participation. When people have both the freedom to tell their own stories and a meaningful role in shaping the larger narrative, I believe we create stronger conditions for individual well-being and collective civic agency.
