Why your story is more than valid—it's valuable
There's a piece of writing advice we've all heard: "Write what you know." But for a long time, I didn't think what I knew counted.
What I knew was what it felt like to parent alone in a house with someone who wasn't showing up.
What I knew was how to make peanut butter sandwiches one-handed while managing tantrums.
What I knew was how to do bedtime stories and bath time and the emotional lifting of being the only stable presence in a small child's world.
I knew the sound of silence after a partner walks out—not just from the room, but from the role.
I knew what it was like to go from the default parent to the only one overnight.
But it took time—and practice—to realize: That wasn't just personal experience.
That was expertise.
The Day My Lived Experience Became My Lens
One Tuesday evening in September, I was still sharing a home with my son's father. By Wednesday morning, I wasn't. And while the shift felt dramatic legally and logistically, emotionally—it clarified something that had been true for a long time:
I had already been doing this alone.
From morning routines to sick days to holding space for my child's questions about the world, I had been showing up. Consistently. Quietly. Without applause. Without backup.
When everything changed, I did what many overwhelmed, emotionally raw single moms do: I turned inward. I tried to survive the shift. But eventually, that inner voice got louder:
This is a story.
And it's not just yours.
It's a story thousands of mothers are living too—and they need someone to say it out loud.
That's when I began to write again—not just for healing, but for service.
When Personal Becomes Professional
At first, writing about my experience felt indulgent.
Was it "professional" to talk about how exhausted I was from night wakings?
Would clients respect a ghostwriter who built her expertise in the trenches of motherhood?
But the more I wrote, the more I realized: this wasn't indulgent—it was invaluable.
Because if you want to reach overwhelmed mothers with messages that empower and uplift…
If you want to help women reclaim their voices after years of playing small in relationships or motherhood…
If you want to speak with authority about mental load, burnout, emotional labor, and resilience…
Then you don't need a certification. You need credibility.
And nothing is more credible than having lived it.
Why Lived Experience Is Expertise
Here's what professional experience often misses: nuance, empathy, and the ability to name what other people can't articulate.
Here's what lived experience offers in abundance:
- Language rooted in real life. I know what it means when a mother says she "just wants five minutes." I've been the woman Googling "co-parenting when it feels one-sided" at 2 a.m.
- Emotional accuracy. I can write about loneliness that lives inside the most mundane tasks. About how a child's innocent question can shatter you. About the deep relief that comes not from rest, but from no longer managing someone else's apathy.
- Trust with the audience. Mothers don't want to be talked at. They want to be seen. Writing from experience makes them feel understood—because it is understanding.
I didn't need to learn this in a workshop. I lived it in my living room.
How I Use My Story to Support Others
I'm a ghostwriter for companies that want to speak to overwhelmed mothers, especially single moms. They want to empower without patronizing. They want to educate without shaming. They want to help women heal without pretending life is easy.
So I bring them the most powerful tool I have: perspective.
I write from the mindset of the woman holding it all together in public and falling apart behind closed doors.
I create content that honors complexity, respects time, and centers truth over polish.
I don't try to write at moms—I write with them, from inside their experience.
Because I've been there. I am there.
And that's what makes the work resonate.
Tips for Turning Personal Experience into Professional Value
If you're wondering how to begin writing from your own life in a way that's useful to others, here's what's helped me:
1. Start with the emotion, not the event.
People might not have had your exact story—but they've felt the feelings. Write about the ache of showing up alone, the resentment of unequal labor, the clarity that comes when you finally let go. That's where connection lives.
2. Extract the insight.
Your story is powerful, but your interpretation of it is what turns it into wisdom. What did your hardest moments teach you? What new systems, boundaries, or values came out of the struggle?
3. Serve, don't just share.
Even your most vulnerable stories can serve others. End with a reflection, a takeaway, or a word of encouragement. Show your audience that if healing was possible for you, it's possible for them too.
4. Honor your emotional labor.
Writing from personal experience is work. If you're offering your story to help someone else's brand connect more authentically, that's value—and it should be recognized and compensated.
5. Don't wait for someone to validate you.
You don't need a license to speak truth. You don't need a degree to write about your life. You already have what most marketers are trying to create: trust, depth, and understanding.
From the Basement to the Page
I used to feel like my story was something to survive—not something to share.
But somewhere between folding laundry in the basement and whispering bedtime stories I didn't have the energy for, I found my voice again.
Now I use it to help others find theirs.
I write from the truth of my experience—not because it's perfect, but because it's real.
And real is what people are starving for.
If you're sitting on a story you're afraid isn't "professional" enough, I'll tell you what I wish someone had told me sooner:
Your lived experience is your credibility.
Your hard-earned wisdom is your niche.
And your words—when rooted in truth—are enough.
You don't have to be polished.
You just have to be honest.
Because someone out there is waiting to read the thing you wish someone had written when you were in the thick of it.
And you're more than qualified to write it.
