Don’t Forget to Write Your Own Story

There’s a strange and beautiful paradox in being a celebrant: I spend my days helping other people tell their stories—shaping them, honouring them, holding them up to the light. I craft love stories and tributes, birth journeys and farewell letters. I listen deeply, write carefully, and speak with as much grace as I can muster. And I love it. I really do.

But here’s the thing no one tells you when you step into this work: it’s alarmingly easy to get so caught up in everyone else’s story that you forget to keep living—and writing—your own.

Lately, I’ve been trying to sew a zip into a pair of trousers. For weeks. It has no pockets in it, so to be specific I am trying to add a pocket with a zip. It's a nightmare, not least because who makes trousers with no pockets? But it's also a nightmare because: 1) I don't really know what I'm doing, and 2) Somehow, every day disappears into ceremonies and emails and dogs and laundry and trying to remember where I left my glasses. The zip sits there, judging me silently, while the list of things I meant to do for myself quietly grows dusty.

It was only thanks to two of my lovely celebrant buddies nagging me that I managed to pull myself out of the house today and head down to the beach with the dogs. I didn’t even want to go, not really: there's a script I'm working on that's not going to write itself. But I did. And honestly? It transformed my whole day. The sea air, the wagging tails, the sheer bliss of stepping out of the to-do list and back into my body, not to mention stripping off and going for a quick dip (it's a quiet beach)—I felt like someone had hit the reset button.

Because when you’re holding space for others all the time, your own stories can slip quietly into the background. You mean to write that thing—maybe it’s a poem or a play or a deeply weird and wonderful novel—but you’ve got three funerals this week and a wedding script to prep and your inbox is a battleground.

Before you know it, you’re full of everyone else’s memories but slightly unsure where you left your own.

So here’s a gentle reminder, from me to you (and also from me to me): your story matters too.

That dream you had? The thing you used to love doing before life got so full? It’s still there. And it’s not indulgent or selfish to want to create from your own well instead of always ladling from someone else’s. In fact, it’s essential.

Because when we keep our own creativity alive—when we write, walk, sew questionable zips or wander on beaches—we actually have more to give. Our ceremonies deepen. Our writing sharpens. Our empathy grows wings. It’s like topping up the well before it runs dry. And actually it doesn't matter what line of work you're in. You might be CEO of your own startup, or a new recruit in a global TelCo, or working split shifts at your local pub to put bread on the table. That same need for self-care and down time applies.

So write the story. Take the photo. Paint the wild, messy canvas of your life—even if nobody sees it but you. Especially then.

Yes, it’s a gift to tell other people’s stories.

But it’s a sacred responsibility to tell your own.

(Full disclosure: when I said I stripped off, I wasn’t kidding. I slapped a virtual swimsuit on afterwards so I didn’t get banned from the internet — but yep, those are my knickers lounging on the rim of my welly like they own the place. And just to reiterate—it's a VERY quiet beach.)