The first time I heard Kaitlin Curtice speak was at a conference I attended three years ago. From her talk that evening, I wrote down these notes (among others):
“Once you know, you can’t unknow.”
“We live in cycles not lines.”
“When oppression happens around us, even if not to us, it affects us.“
“Protest is grief in motion.”
Looking back, it’s easy to see she would later write a book about stories.
And that I would want to read it.
Stories as Living Things
In Everything Is a Story, Curtice invites us to look at the stories we tell, the stories we inherit, and the stories we repeat—and ask a question of them:
Are these stories healing us, or are they holding us hostage?
As a visual metaphor throughout the book, Curtice equates stories to oak trees. Thus, she describes stories as alive—planted in us, growing over time, shaping who we become.
“Throughout time, we are repackaging many of the same stories: redemption, spirituality, power, grief and pain, ecstasy, and, yes, the magic and the mundane of humanity.”
She explains that even when stories are ignored, they don’t necessarily fade. Sometimes they just deepen their roots.
So pay attention to your stories.
The Power to Harm or Heal
Rather than offering answers in her book, Curtice offers discernment.
“This book is a chance for us to examine how storytelling has been a revolutionary tool for love and a weapon used for power and submission throughout the centuries.”
She asks us to notice how stories function in our lives—especially ones we’ve never questioned.
Consider the framework she offers for sorting our stories:
- Liminal stories — complex, uncertain, full of questions
- Loving stories — rooted in belonging and tenderness
- Lethal stories — driven by fear, oppression, and control
Then also ask whether the story is cyclical or linear—does it trap us, or does it allow transformation?
Applying this framework to the narratives we often repeat to ourselves can bring clarification and insight.
Stories as Mirrors
“Our stories are mirrors . . . and when used the right way, these stories can lead us to tenderness and curiosity rather than judgment.”
This section of Curtice’s work feels particularly important to me—does labeling our stories distort their message and turn them into something they weren’t meant to be?
For example, she uses this example of the ways we talk about one another:
“Some kids are bad, while some kids are just having a bad day. Spot the difference?”
Also, stories can change over time. Our best hope is that they mature well, like an oak tree.
“Oak trees are often at least twenty to thirty years old before they bear any fruit. So, too, stories take time.”
Meanings shift. Layers are revealed. What feels fixed today may not be the story that lasts.
Why This Book Matters
Everything Is a Story doesn’t tell you which stories to remember and tell. Rather, it teaches you how to notice your stories.
And in doing so, it leaves you with this truth:
“We tell stories, we experience stories, but also, we are the stories, and the stories are us.”
A question for you:
Is there a story you tell yourself that needs to be reframed into a better story?
Share your thoughts in the comments.
My thanks to NetGalley for
the review copy of this book
