Stories for Flourishing in Challenging Times
Using the power of narrative inquiry, research and storytelling to help businesses and organisations work adaptively and change effectively.
It’s 4.36pm and I’m sat in the car park outside a small complex of flats that were built a few decades ago. The surface of the roads and pavements show its age in a way nothing else does: cracks and broken slabs dominate; dandelions and daisies opportunistically sprout through the gaps regardless. I look out of the car window, considering how unfortunate it is that the walkways are so damaged given every resident of these flats is an older person, living here because they need additional help to live independently. I feel disappointed that the very thing designed to help people live safely could contribute to their injury; I lament a little at how hard it is to build and maintain things that truly facilitate flourishing.
I’m not here to survey the road though. I’m here to visit Gerald. In fact it’s the last time I’m going to see Gerald and I’m already feeling a little sad about it.
At precisely 4.44pm, I make my way out of the car to his front door and check my watch. I wait until 4.45pm to press the bell; he likes me to be on time. The bell makes a dramatic sound but it’s one I haven’t heard before. Gerald’s house is full of sounds, but they all seem to change constantly. His door bell plays a different sound on rotation (hence my unfamiliarity this time), his clock plays a different bird song on the hour every hour, and his mobile phone sounds like a warning siren, because it’s set to max volume on account of the fact that he never knows where it is because it’s under piles and piles of what Gerald calls his ‘stuff’.
I can hear Gerald shuffling to the door and he’s already talking to me, even though I can barely hear him over the sound of the door bell, which still seems to be ringing. Gerald pulls the door open and beams at me, instructing me to come in and sit down, moving piles of paper from the sofa cushions, which are adorned in newspapers and advertising brochures — the kind that sell novelty door bells and clocks that make bird noises.
I spend over an hour with Gerald, talking about his health, his life, his family and his past. He’s just started telling me another story — I’ve already heard it, but even if I hadn’t, it’s time for me to go. He knows it too… that’s why he started telling it. I interrupt as kindly as I can and ready myself to say “goodbye” — I’m emotional at the best of times, but I know this goodbye is going to be especially hard.
Gerald looks down at his hands. They’re balled into fists as if they’re trying not to lose something precious. In barely a whisper, Gerald says, “Is that it then? Do you have to stop coming now?”. “Yes”, I say. “This was the last session”.
I remind him that I’ll be in touch again to let him see the write up of the research study he’s taken part in and I thank him again for being so generous with his time as a study participant. Gerald looks up, loosening his grip a little and I see that he’s been holding onto a handkerchief. Tears start streaming down his face and I realise that he’d prepared himself for this goodbye too — readied his handkerchief to wipe tears that he knew were going to come. “You don’t need to thank me,” he mumbles. “I need to thank you. I never thought I’d ever get to tell my stories to anyone again. I didn’t think anyone would want to listen to me.” He pats me on the shoulder and I know it’s his equivalent of a hug. “Thank you for making an old man very happy.”
I smile, swallow what feels like an enormous lump in my throat and fight back tears — I’m trying to stay professional. But I’m such softy, it’s taking every ounce of effort; I do one of those strange inhales where you feel you like you’re being breathed rather than breathing. “You’re most welcome,” I say, and it comes out as more of a squeak. I tell Gerald to take care of himself and then I take a long, deep exhale as I let myself out like I have done every other time I’ve visited. The birds have just started tweeting from the clock and it’s definitely time for me to go home.
And as I close the door I realise that as bittersweet as it is, I feel so privileged to have been able to hear Gerald’s stories, to hear anyone’s stories — to be given the opportunity to find the wisdom in a situation, an experience, a life. That as a researcher I get to translate those stories into something which can be used to design change: change that creates better processes, more effective systems and services, improved experiences. I recall the times I’ve wondered if I’m doing enough; worried about whether qualitative research can ever make the difference that it needs to in such complex and challenged systems as the ones we live and work in.
But as I walk back to the car, over cracked and broken pavement slabs, which I know no story will ever be able to mend directly, I realise that the power is not just in what participants do in their contributions to our studies, it’s never only in the findings that I produce from them, or the recommendations for change that come from them. The power is also in the potency of the process. In the carefully crafted questions and the intentional inquiry; in the deep and analytical listening to capture every spoken and unspoken thing; and in the witnessing of someone’s experience, without judgement or verdict. So research may not be able to mend paving slabs, but:
the stories people tell because they are invited to,
the experiences someone shares because someone asked,
the tender spot that was cared for because someone listened, and
the change that can happen because someone gathered them carefully
They are like the daisies that I step over carefully as I make my way back to my car. They exist despite the challenges and broken systems, they’re evidence of hope breaking through the cracks.
Like the flowers, stories are the evidence of life flourishing anyway.
The difference stories can make: the benefits of using narrative approaches.
I think we leave a lot on the table when we sideline the stories of peoples’ lives and experiences, whether that’s people inside our teams, companies and organisations, or those we interact with and serve.
Staff:
Many places invite their team members to ‘bring their whole selves to work’ but what space is made to hear peoples’ stories of joy, struggle, adventure, or ambition? Many places design these opportunities OUT in favour of productivity and efficiency, especially in meetings and gatherings.
Every member of staff tells a story about what it’s like to do their job in the place they work - how well do you listen and gather those stories? What information might you be missing by focusing on survey results and staff questionnaires? How confident are you that you’d like the story they tell?
Leaders:
Every leader has a story about what leading means to them and that story is likely to have a massive impact across the whole organisation — how much time has your organisation dedicated to understanding that story, what shaped it before and how that story might change in the future?
Every person responsible for making decisions, leading in complex situations, navigating change and uncertainty is also living those stories too — how much opportunity do they have to share their experiences in a safe space, where they don’t need to worry about how their experiences will be interpreted by those they lead and manage?
People served:
Every person who interacts with your business, organisation, or service has a story they believe about it — that might be one they’ve heard from others, an impression they’ve got from seeing and hearing about it, or their own experience. That story might determine whether they even interact with you in the first place! How confident are you in the stories people would tell?
Each experience and interaction is a story played out, which then creates an opportunity for a story to be retold to others. Do you think you’d know or like the stories your customers or service users would tell about you? What do you think you might be able to do differently and better if you meaningfully heard the stories of the people you serve?
These reasons are why I think that stories can and should remain central to all services, businesses and organisations.
And sometimes this just means taking a slightly different approach to the work that’s already being done…
You might have participated in workplace coaching - but have you ever got to tell your stories to someone who inquired about your life holistically and attentively - not just one slice of it, but all of it?
You might have offered staff development and wellbeing initiatives - but have you ever experienced or offered the power of being listened to by someone who is there to understand your experiences, thoughts and feelings in ways that helped you feel seen, understood and empowered?
You might have received negative feedback - but have you been able to experience those stories as daisies that have grown through the cracks of the challenges experienced and overcome?
You might have had communication training - but have you had the the opportunity to be a story-hearer? To experience the privilege of inviting and hearing the stories of others in ways that are connecting?
You might have invited feedback and designed complex improvement projects - but have you ever experienced change because of the stories you’ve gathered for yourself or those around you? Used them to get new insights, think about familiar things in different ways, or to design change that honours every chapter so far, whilst helping you or your organisation write your next ones?
That’s what I’ve designed my work to do.
Because I want everyone to be able to experience the amazing and very human-focused power of story-led inquiry and analysis. Not by having to become a qualitative researcher, but by applying some of the key approaches and then accessing them through individual, team and organisational development work.
Whether that’s through understanding your own story in depth in coaching and leadership development; listening to other peoples’ stories and learning from their experiences; gathering the stories of others to help understand problems and then design fitting solutions; or using narrative approaches in strategy, policy and communication development.
I’ve spent decades listening to and collecting stories. It’s a thread that’s run through my many jobs, interests and hobbies.
For example, I’ve done this as:
A Researcher, where designing ways to invite people to share their stories-with-a-purpose was literally my job!
An Organisational problem-solver, where I gathered experiences and information about what was going on from multiple perspectives, so that problems could be understood and solved.
As a Speaker, where I use stories and experiences to help people think about things in new ways.
As a facilitator and trainer - my workshops always contain an invitation for people to share their experiences and stories, especially when they’re working to create new stories through collaboration.
A Scholar - my Masters and PhD studies were both exploring how people make sense of complex emotional experiences through shared social ideas, and how that impacts how they think, feel and what they do.
As a Dance Teacher and Coach, when I am helping people work with the stories they create through their bodies and movement, together and with others.
As a Doula - where I have helped people to design a story about how they want to experience welcoming new life into the world - and then supporting them to hold the meaning of the story in ways that create the best start to their new chapter.
I don’t provide this list as any kind of CV — in fact, for years, I worried that my long list of ‘things I’ve learned, trained in, had a job as’ could make it seem like I was flaky and distractible! But here’s the interesting thing… nothing could be further from the truth. Because even though these activities and roles may look different, they all share the same through-line:
They have all focused on understanding what’s going on, what a specific situation needs, and then helping people to see what’s familiar in new ways, rethink what’s possible because of that, and then design change that fits — their vision, their context, and the people involved.
This happens in lots of different ways, but gathering and telling stories are central to the process. My approaches combine rigorous inquiry with human-centric narratives:
Understand deeply, through inquiry and cultivating the conditions for people to share their stories and experiences.
Identify the ideas and themes that are meaningful to people, teams and organisations, including what is already aligned with where they are and what they want, alongside finding the things that may need to shift as they change and grow.
Find the patterns in their stories that are shaping and organising their experiences, through seeing connections and distinctions across stories — particularly where these share a function but differ in form.
Reframe peoples’ understanding in ways that open up new possibilities because they have new ways of seeing things.
Support people, teams and organisations to design change, through providing advice and helping them to design experiments that use and apply these insights.
This is not an alternative to using and implementing AI into businesses and organisations — they can provide incredibly valuable tools. Nevertheless, I think it’s vital that we remain focused on the importance of people and the lives they lead, they experiences they have, and the impacts that businesses and organisations have on the stories of peoples’ lives.