What Is a Signature Story? And How to Find Yours
Yes, you have a signature story.
Maybe more than one.
Keep reading and I'll show you how to mine for it.
Every client I work with has a story they keep almost telling.
I'm reading through a chapter, Substack essay, or a newsletter and there it is — a scene they rush through. It feels like a big moment when I see it, but then it's summarized as if a computerized voice is just explaining what happens. Honestly, it could have been a press release. That's how sanitized and filtered it is.
When I spot this, I always (gently) ask why.
"Tell me more about this part."
"Is there more to this story than what's here?"
Every time I ask about these big moments that sound like a committee-approved memo, the armor drops. They tell me plainly, without the filter.
When I get the story behind the story, I can usually only say, "Wow. What you just said, the way you just said it? That needs to be in here."
That's a signature story. You have one too.
What is a signature story?
Your signature story is a single moment — or a handful of them with a theme — from your life that shows who you are and why you do the work you do. People remember stories and how they make them feel. They don't remember your bullet points or your credentials.
A signature story is not your entire life story, a tell-all, or an autobiography. It's a slice, a sliver in time.
Think about the last time someone shared a story that left you with your jaw on the floor. You might not remember every detail. But you remember how it made you feel. You felt closer to them because of what they shared. That's what a signature story does. It's the foundation everything else you write sits on: your website's About page, your LinkedIn posts, your newsletter, your book.
Why do we hide our signature stories?
Most of us have at least one sitting on the shelf.
We've decided it's not dramatic enough, not polished enough, or too personal. Maybe even too much. So we shrug it off like it's no big deal, or save it "for the second book." (I've heard this from at least five of my clients). Or for when our parents are gone. But definitely not now.
Sometimes the wound is still open, and it really isn't time to tell the story yet. We write from the scar, not the wound. When we write from an open wound, the story isn't quite ready for the world yet.
But more often? Someone, somewhere, told us our story didn't matter — and we believed them. I know, because I did exactly that for almost twenty years.
How do you find your signature story?
You probably already know it. You just haven't called it that. Really, what you call it doesn't matter. Here are a few signs you've found it:
You rush past it. In conversation or on the page, you mention it in one sentence and move on fast.
You downplay it. "Oh, that? It wasn't a big deal." (It was.)
You're saving it. For another book, another time, another version of you, another lifetime.
People ask follow-up questions. Every time it slips out of your mouth, someone leans in and wants to know more.
Your body reacts. Your throat tightens, your chest gets warm, your neck stiffens when you think about writing it.
Then ask yourself the same questions I ask my clients. Write the answers by hand if you can, fast, without editing:
What's the part I keep skipping?
Is there more to this than I usually say?
What am I not saying here?
The story that makes you hesitate is usually the one.
A signature story example: mine
I had to be convinced mine mattered. So here it is — not because it's the most dramatic story (it's not), but because if you see how mine works, you might start to see yours.
The kid with the full sketchbook
At ten, I filled sketchbooks. Cats, flowers, models, eyes — I loved drawing eyes. My parents even let me draw a life-size mural by our basement stairs. My dream? To become a rich, famous fashion designer and live in Paris.
Then someone asked me one simple question: Can you sew?
I couldn't. So I closed the sketchbook and slid it under my purple bed. I told myself fashion school would be too hard to get into, and I never even applied. I didn't call myself creative again for almost two decades.
That's how easily we talk ourselves out of something exciting. One question. One "you don't have what it takes." And we believe it.
The safe road
I went to business school instead. Took a corporate job. Met a guy at a bar on a family vacation in Florida — my dad was there too — and five months later we were engaged. This is its own signature story I share in Unfussy Life. I moved countries, started over, and climbed another corporate ladder — the management consulting one. Raises, promotions, company travel, and fancy dinners and parties.
And no version of me felt creative in any of it.
Then came three layoffs in five years. The first one shook me: Who am I without my job? By the third, I just wanted to know when the severance would land. The layoff stories are here.
But the clues kept showing up in between. Colleagues asking me to fix their LinkedIn profiles, rewrite their emails, turn a white paper with a dozen voices into one cohesive one. At home, I spend every evening writing a food blog where the posts people loved most weren't the recipes — they were the stories I almost didn't share.
Sure, I could tell stories. I just hadn't decided to build a life around storytelling yet.
The book I kept putting down
I left corporate in 2017 and wrote my first book that November — 50,000 words in 30 days. A self-help book about simple living. Then I didn't open the folder for a year. It didn't light me up, and I didn't know why.
A psychic I hadn't gone looking for asked about it and said, "Don't hate me, but I think your book is a memoir." I laughed. Nobody wants my memoir.
Then an editor pointed out the obvious. Not everyone gets laid off three times. Not everyone marries someone five months after meeting them in a bar and moves countries. Not everyone sells nearly everything they own — more than once — and starts over with two kids in tow.
I'd navigated a lot. I just hadn't let myself see it as a story worth telling.
The dream that woke me up
Even then, I kept putting the manuscript down. Early in 2020, I dreamed I was falling through my mattress, through the floor, into the ground. And the knowing inside the dream was simple and terrifying: I was dying because I wasn't writing.
I woke up with my heart in my throat. And I committed to finishing that book.
Unfussy Life came out in the spring of 2021 — almost five years, three moves, and three states after I started it.
What do you do with your signature story once you find it?
It doesn't have to become a book. It might live in:
One page for your eyes only, just to see it in your own words, and allow healing to happen
A long essay or newsletter you share with your readers
Your About page, so the right people feel it the moment they land
A LinkedIn post that tells people why you do what you do, not just what you do
A book, if it could change more lives
Wherever it goes, start by writing one honest sentence about it. Then another.
And please, don't hand this one to AI. Your AI doesn't know the bar, the love, the loss, the move, or the dream that woke you up. Only you do.
Tell it anyway
I think about that sketchbook sometimes. Turns out I never stopped making things — I just switched tools. Pencils became a kitchen knife, then a keyboard and a podcast mic. Same hands, same hours, creating something. At first I didn't call it art. I called it a hobby, so it could stay safe, small, and kinda hidden.
If there's a version of you sitting in a drafts folder right now — the one you slid under the bed because someone told you it was too much or not enough? I'm talking to you.
You're the only one who can tell your story.
Ready to write yours?
If your signature story keeps tapping you on the shoulder, you don't have to figure it out alone. I work privately with a small number of creatives, whether you want your story to become a book or the foundation for everything you write. We find the story, and I stay with you through every "is this enough?" moment until it's on the page.
Not ready for that yet? Start with 7 Days to Your Real Writing Voice, my free daily guide with one gentle prompt a day.
Jacqueline Fisch is a four-time author, writing mentor, and the founder of The Intuitive Writing School. After 13 years in corporate and crisis communications, she now helps entrepreneurs write the words that carry their story — from their first blog post to the book. She also hosts the How Women Write podcast.
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