People talk about storytelling like it’s a marketing tool. Something to sharpen and slot into a strategy deck. A skillset to master once you’ve figured out what your brand is about.
But for founders, storytelling usually starts long before strategy. It starts as survival.
They use it to get in the room. To be seen. To be heard when the product is early and the traction isn’t there yet.
It’s what you rely on when no one understands what you’re building. When you don’t have metrics or press or traction yet, only conviction. When you need someone to see you, even if they’re not ready to believe in the business.
That kind of storytelling doesn’t come from a framework. It comes from rejection. From persistence. From lived experience. It’s how you got in the room. It’s how you stayed in motion. It’s what made you visible.
And eventually, it works. You land on a version of the story that hits. It connects. It opens doors. So you keep telling it. Over and over. And over. Eleventybillion times. Until you could tell it half-asleep in the dark while operating heavy machinery backwards. (that situation sounds pretty dangerous…don’t do that)
But at some point, that story stops fitting the way it used to. It’s like my favorite (faux) leather jacket in 8th grade. I had moved to a new school and didn’t know many people. But when I wore that jacket, it made me feel so cool and confident. I got so many compliments on that jacket - right when I needed them most. It started conversations with people who ended up becoming my friends. It gave me a sense of self. I had been lonely, but that jacket made me feel seen.
But eventually, I grew. And although the jacket still technically fit, it wasn’t the same. And it wasn’t as “fashionably relevant” anymore. I kept wearing it anyway because of how it had served me early on. Because it was safe and familiar. Because it helped me feel like me. Especially at a time when I needed that more than anything. That’s what these early stories become. Armor. Comfort. A crutch.
They’re rooted in survival and identity. But they’re not always built to grow with you. Many founders carry stories like that. Ones they’ve outgrown, but haven’t let go of yet. Stories that helped them become visible, but now keep them small. Stories that once gave them power, but no longer reflect their potential.
That’s the hard part. Letting go of the story that worked. The one that felt like you.
But growth means you get to write a new one! One that reflects who you are now, not just who you had to be to survive. It’s not a matter of erasing what came before. It’s about expanding (blooming? blossoming? Too cheesy?) into what’s next.
If your story feels tight, misaligned, or stale, you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just growing. And it might be time to stop repeating the version that got you here, and start telling the one that can take you further.
This isn’t about erasing where you came from. It’s about making room for what’s next.