Telling Someone’s Story Without Taking It

I’ve told hundreds of stories in my career. Every one of them belonged to someone else first.

When a person trusts you with their story, they’re trusting you with their dignity. Here’s how I try to honour that – before, during and after the telling.

Consent comes first

Before anything else, I need to know I can tell this story. Consent must be affirmative, clear, informed and in writing. Full stop. It isn’t negotiable.

Anonymizing doesn’t change this. If someone can see themselves in a story they never agreed to share, they will be hurt – and they may take action.

Pay people for their time

I always offer an honorarium. For charities, that’s often a couple of hundred dollars, documented and tracked.

The person keeps the right to withdraw their support after the initial campaign, without paying anything back. They were paid for the time they spent sharing with me. Their permission remains theirs to give or take back.

Meet where they feel safe

My office is rarely a safe space for someone telling a hard story. So I ask: where do you feel safe, and what do you need to feel safe there?

I’ve smudged and walked in the woods. I’ve drunk tea on a tweed chair while my storyteller smoked through a pack of cigarettes. I’ve sat on park benches, and on a couch in a therapist’s office. Safety matters – for them and for you.

Record everything, openly

Telling a hard story can hurt. Asking someone to relive it because you forgot a detail is unkind. So I record every conversation, and I tell people exactly how: that I’m recording, how the files are stored, and when they’ll be destroyed. Every detail, made clear.

Let them choose how to tell it

Some people would rather write than talk. I often offer my questions in writing, so they can answer in their own time and words. Different people trust differently. The goal is a way of telling the story that honours the person and stays safe for them and for the reader. Be responsive, and be kind.

Share the finished story

I don’t bring storytellers into every round of revisions, as long as I’m staying true to their story. Once it’s finished, before it goes anywhere, I share it with them to confirm they’re still comfortable – and I make any edits needed for it to feel right to them.

Build a story inventory

I try never to craft a story right before a campaign launches. If the story doesn’t sit well with the storyteller, or they withdraw, you’re left with nothing. Gather stories all year, build an inventory and use each one where it fits best.

What I won’t do

1. Emotional engineering. The emotional sledgehammer is manipulative, and it doesn’t even work anymore. Please, just stop.
2. AI-generated people or stories. Some argue synthetic stories are more ethical. I disagree. If no living person can speak to the difference your work has made, what have you done? Use AI to help edit and refine, if it helps. Keep the story human and true.
3. Unnecessary intimate detail. Tell an authentic story, respectfully. Include personal details only when they truly matter to the story.

Care for the reader, too

I’m trained in trauma-informed practice, and I believe everyone who tells stories for charities should be. Your readers bring their own experiences, and a story about illness, loss or violence can land hard.

Caring for them shapes every choice: the language and framing, how much detail to share, and sometimes a gentle content warning ahead of a difficult section. Before anything goes out, read it as a person first, and imagine how someone carrying their own hard story might receive it.

A story that stayed with me

Years ago, I worked with a young mum with two small children at home. For two years she had pushed her doctor to take her symptoms seriously, and for two years she was told it was hormones and aging. When she was finally diagnosed with DCIS – a cancer that can appear like fine grains of sand, with no lump to find – it was both a relief and a gut punch.

When we met, she had finished treatment and was cancer-free. The wounds were still raw, and so was the fear of what could have been. She was comfortable standing in front of a room and saying she survived. Going into the details, in a way that honoured her truth and the effort of her husband, her family and her clinical team, was much harder.

So we moved at her pace, over several cups of coffee. Together, we told a story meant to inspire other people to advocate for themselves – and to hold on to hope without being gripped by fear.

Try this

Pick the last story your organization shared about a real person. Ask yourself: do we have their written consent, would they recognize themselves, and would they be proud of how they were shown? If you’re unsure about any of the three, call them.

Be well.