It’s a sunny day in my part of the world, and between trauma recovery coaching, some self-care, and a bit of foraging in my area, I took time to read a few fascinating Substack posts.
I also tried to listen in on a live session—just to see what it was like. It was all about growing your audience, strategy, and probably a lot more. But something stopped me from listening for more than five minutes: just a few words.
The guest dismissed some Substack writers for sharing what she called sob stories. And that rubbed me the wrong way.
You see, not all of us are writing about how to build a mega following. Many of us write from the depths of real life—family dynamics, birth, death, burnout, job loss, joy, love, pets who make us laugh and those whose illnesses break our hearts. We write what we know. We write what we live.
Depending on how you see them, all stories are “sob stories.” Even novels—the most celebrated ones—are rooted in drama, longing, redemption, and joy.
I refuse to believe people aren't interested in real life, real stories. In fact, this is how we connect. We validate each other through shared experience. We learn not through bullet points but by alchemising lived moments into meaning.
If you look at what has lasted through the centuries—myths, allegories, fables—they’re all stories of suffering, beauty, survival, and transformation.
I’ll keep writing my “sob stories.” Because they are sacred. And I know I’m not alone.
Navigating life is a full-time job … responsibilities, emotional baggage, this job doesn’t come with a map or a compass. None of us gets a guidebook.
But along the way, we can become supportive companions for others—often without even realizing it. A word, a story, a sign… these things remind someone they’re not alone in their struggle. They offer the validation needed to survive another day.
We connect deeply with people we may never meet in person, yet who feel close because they get it. Because they've been through something similar. Because shared experiences bridge even the widest distances.
So yes—I will keep reading the so-called sob stories. I’ll keep cheering on the survivors.
Because these stories are life. And they matter.
What are your thoughts about sharing your life stories—especially the ones marked by pain or struggle? Do you ever worry they’ll be seen as “sob stories,” or do you believe there’s value in telling them anyway?
Until next time, be well!
Your support means more than just a coffee — it’s a spark of encouragement, a moment of connection, and a gentle reminder that I’m not alone on this creative path. Every gesture like yours helps me keep going, creating, writing, and sharing from the heart.
I’m truly grateful you’re part of this journey. May your days be filled with light, inspiration, and moments of peace.
Ways you can support my work
Subscribe to my newsletter Soul to soul stories
🖼️ Buy my artwork here: Fine Art America and Redbubble
📚 Buy my journals + creativity workbooks: AmazonShare this newsletter with people you think would benefit from reading it
Buy me a coffee and explore the downloadable digital products and coaching offering
🔗Subscribe to Straight talk - YouTube channel
Upgrade to a paid subscription
Thank you for fuelling the inspiration
Yes Karina, 100%! Your post is very well stated. I want to read and learn about people's real life stories and struggles. Knowledge is power and when people share their difficult experiences it validates and empowers others. Anyone that calls it "sob stories" has obviously had a very easy life.
"I refuse to believe people aren't interested in real life, real stories. In fact, this is how we connect. We validate each other through shared experience. We learn not through bullet points but by alchemising lived moments into meaning."
So very well put, Karina. The boat these grifters are sadly missing is the paradigm is slowly shifting away from these canned "Do this like me," posts, and more toward authentic writers.
That... would certainly include you ☺️ Great drop!