Stories Are The Salve We Need
Last night, I had the privilege of listening to amazing women telling stories about early motherhood.
The event room— a large, open space in an old mill— exuded warmth even before the storytellers and audience arrived.
The weathered wood floors, strands of white lights dangling from the ceiling, and salvaged barn doors all added to the ambience.
Then, the women told their stories.
Stories about crossing the threshold of motherhood. Stories about loss and love and lactation— the event, called Patchwork of Parenthood, is hosted by the Maine State Breastfeeding Coalition.
A story about walking through infertility and illness alongside a story about what it’s like to become a mother unexpectedly when you’ve never experienced true mothering. A story about the grit it can take to breastfeed a NICU baby, and the grit it takes to realize breastfeeding isn’t going to work for you.
The warmth in the room expanded.
Storytellers who barely knew each other embraced. I could feel the softening in the air, the compassion, the hum of deep connection. Every year, these stories reach right into my heart, inspiring me, moving me, and making me laugh.
This year was no different, though the stories are always unique. The part that moves me most is that we’re all carrying around these remarkable stories of pain and shame and pleasure and delight. In a chaotic, fractured world, where we get much of our information from flashy headlines and social media updates, it can be hard to remember that our ancestors used to sit around the communal fire, sharing strands of their stories, the sacred and the silly. That, in a society lacking rituals, we need stories more than ever.
Last night, the warmth in the room, with these brave, bold stories rising like smoke, reached far beyond the space’s architectural aesthetics.
When I was first asked to support the storytellers as they developed their stories for this event, several years ago, I was brimming with self-doubt. These stories were tender. Who was I to try and shape them?
Over the years, I’ve learned to trust the process.
To trust the storytellers. To trust myself. To trust, above all, these stories that want to be shared. Last year, as we prepared for the event, and I once again had the honor of helping the storytellers locate the heart of their stories, I experienced a quiet internal nudge. Afterwards, I reached out to a friend who’s an incredible writing coach, and she’s been teaching me how to support memoir writers as they develop their stories.
Stories have heat and hue and energy. Sometimes, they alter the course of our lives, like working with these women altered my life. Now, when I meet with clients, and they share segments of their stories, I light up like that mill room last night, warm and bright.
Stories can shape us, stretch us, save us.
Do you have a story that wants to be shared?
Lynn Shattuck writes about topics like grief, relationships and mental health. Lynn co-founded the website lossofalifetime.com, a hub of resources for those who’ve experienced sibling loss. She also co-edited the essay collection, The Loss of a Lifetime: Grieving Siblings Share Stories of Love, Loss and Hope, published in June of 2025. She lives in Maine with her family.
Photo credit: Kelly Sink