Your Story Has Value

How Sharing Your Story Breaks Barriers and Builds Bridges

“After nourishment, shelter and companionship, stories are the thing we need most in the world.” ― Philip Pullman

As I stared at the submit button on my computer screen, doubt crept in. I had done the research and learned that, at that very moment, there were over 100 million blogs on Tumblr and over 60 million on WordPress. Between 600,000 and 1,000,000 books were being published every year in the U.S. alone.

Does this really matter? I asked myself.

I can still stop here and pretend it never happened. I can rest content in the knowledge that I have already reached career heights that are the talk of family reunions. I have walked through doors that my grandparents had never known existed. I have already made it in my parents eyes. Why am I doing this?

My watch ticked slower than it ever had before. My hand rested delicately on the mouse in front of me. This was it. I had resized the pictures, reordered the sentences, meticulously designed the homepage, crafted the “about me” narrative in casual language.

I really didn’t know what I was doing or why I was doing it, but it seemed worthwhile. I have something to say, I told myself, even though I was still figuring that part out, too.

I closed my eyes, and my finger pressed down on the mouse.

There it is, I said to myself.

I’ve published my first online post on my own personal blog.

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Finding Purpose Through Words

That moment was over ten years ago, in the fall of 2012. At the time, I was a newly minted law firm associate, trying to figure out corporate America while watching the Black Lives Matter movement explode outside my office window and across the country in the wake of Trayvon Martin’s death.

As I sat in my pristine office at an elite law firm in Washington, D.C., I felt a growing distance between my original purpose for attending law school—to serve the public interest and fight for environmental justice—and the private-sector path I now found myself tumbling down.

Perhaps I was afraid of losing my grounding in community, of having my deeper sense of purpose as a Black man in America gradually eroded by the comfortable routine of corporate law and its many luxuries.

Either way, I started reading and writing.

I returned to the Black literature that had been so vital to my youth—Toni Morrison and Richard Wright—and discovered voices that were relatively new to me then, like James Baldwin and Malcolm X. I dove into contemporary fiction, devouring the works of Junot Díaz, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie, and Jesmyn Ward.

I read as much non-fiction as I could get my hands on too, books about purpose, self-development, and business. I was trying to make sense of the void in my professional life, even as I was growing more grounded in my spiritual journey. Writing publicly became my way of processing what I was learning—of making sense of how I could best use my elite education to make a real difference in the world, to build a bridge between societal conceptions of material success and my own personal ambitions of legacy.

I would maintain that blog for two years, writing almost 100 posts to a small audience of family and close friends. In those months, I found not just my voice, but a small community of readers wrestling with similar questions about purpose, privilege, and responsibility.

That virtual space of reflection and dialogue eventually gave me the courage to leave the safety of the cushy law firm world, pursue non-profit work, and eventually enter legal academia—a path I never would have imagined when I first clicked “publish” on that nervous fall day.

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Rediscovering My Voice

Now, after a decade of silence (as far as this style of writing goes, anyway), I find myself back at the keyboard, having launched two Substack newsletters since August 2024 (this one and Freedom Papers).

The professional landscape has shifted significantly over the years, but some challenges remain the same:

• How do we stay true to our deeper purpose?

• How do we resist complacency with society’s measures of success?

• How do we uphold growth and integrity in environments that often prioritize wealth and prestige?

Many of us in academia know the drill. We write to to meet expectations, from dissertation chapters to journal submissions and grant proposals. These pieces are evaluated within the established academic system—peer review, impact factors, citation counts. We write because it’s expected, even if it scares us. It’s part of the process.

But how often do we express ourselves beyond these confines?

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Before we continue, I want to remind you:

If you’ve ever felt like your work is getting lost in the shuffle, you’re not alone.

At The Tenure Track, we believe that growth in academia isn’t just about perfecting your research—it’s about sharing your unique story. It’s about being bold enough to express your ideas beyond the walls of academic publishing and carving out space for your voice in the larger conversation.

The key isn’t just to produce more—it’s to ensure your story is seen, heard, and felt.

Ready to make your voice heard? Subscribe to The Tenure Track for insights, strategies, and inspiration on how to share your story, build your community, and ensure your work has the impact it deserves.

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Anyone who’s written for personal expression while navigating the tenure track knows the insecurity and doubt that come with it. We wonder if a public presence might hurt our academic standing.

But there was a time when freedom of expression in the United States was a dangerous ideal, when sharing ideas publicly could bring punishment, or worse. Even then, millions had something to say—unique perspectives, values, and experiences. Some fortunate ones, like Frederick Douglass and Sojourner Truth, put their words to paper. Many others didn’t.

The truth is, we all have a story to tell.

The problem is that some, especially in academia, believe their story has already been told. They believe their opinion is already in a journal article. Their experience feels outdated. Their idea has been published elsewhere. It’s not that they haven’t thought about the many reasons why they should share their story; they focus on the reasons “why not.”

It can feel like adding annotations to a crowded margin.

When I reflect on my law firm days, I’m grateful I didn’t invoke my right to remain silent. Public writing became a form of journaling—a way to process, build community, and, most importantly, guard against complacency. It helped me reject societal standards of success and embrace personal growth—a lifelong pursuit of becoming a person of integrity and value.

Here’s why I believe we must share our stories.

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1. Sharing your story is an opportunity to serve.

Stories have been used to capture histories, ideas, and beliefs since the beginning of time. In academia, we often focus on the theoretical significance of our work, but communities have also used the power of stories to heal, uplift, and renew.

The healing power of the many narratives that fill library shelves and float effortlessly in the web beyond our computer screens rests in the individual stories of people—their journey, their struggles, their growth, their hopes, and their dreams.

As academics, particularly those from marginalized communities, we have a unique opportunity—perhaps even a responsibility—to bridge the gap between scholarly work and public understanding. Our perspectives, shaped by years of research and teaching but also by our lived experiences, can help others make sense of complex issues in accessible ways.

Career development research consistently shows that those who develop a strong public voice often find unexpected opportunities for impact and collaboration beyond traditional academic channels.

Moreover, for those who desire to be mentors for the next generation, the importance of “visible leadership”—showing others, especially those from underrepresented groups, that there are multiple paths to success in academia—is paramount. By sharing our stories of transition, challenge, and growth, we can give permission for others to imagine different possibilities for themselves.

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2. Sharing your story humanizes your professional life.

The act of writing beyond academic papers can help clarify and expose our core values as educators and researchers.

Reaffirming deep beliefs while constantly challenging evolving values will not only provide you with encouragement when the tenure track gets tough and overwhelming, but it will also help you find purpose beyond the next publication or grant deadline.

Research on career development highlights that professionals who maintain reflective practices—like writing about their personal experiences and broader career goals—show higher levels of career satisfaction and resilience. For tenure-track faculty, this kind of reflection can be particularly powerful in maintaining perspective during the intense pre-tenure years.

Don’t allow academic impostor syndrome or fear of professional consequences to marginalize your voice. Sharing your story, ideas, or opinions can transform even the most challenging academic experiences into lessons that benefit others on similar paths.

Career counseling experts often point out that our greatest professional vulnerabilities, when shared thoughtfully, can become our strongest points of connection with others.

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3. Sharing your story broadens perspectives.

In 2009, Nigerian author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie (one of my all-time favorite fiction writers) gave a powerful TEDx talk about the danger of hearing only one story about a people or a nation.

Her words resonated deeply with me as I navigated my own transition from law practice to academia, helping me understand how sharing our unique narratives can challenge limiting stereotypes, beliefs, and expectations.

Diverse narratives of success are crucial for building equitable and inclusive academic environments. When we share our unique paths—including our detours and redirections, like my journey from the South Bronx to a law firm to legal academia—we help dismantle the notion of a single “correct” career trajectory.

If we don’t say anything or share anything beyond peer-reviewed venues, our story will never reach those who might benefit most from our knowledge and experience.

The so-called ivory tower becomes more accessible to everyone when we share our human experiences of navigating it, including our doubts, failures, and moments of transformation. Not because we help diversify such spaces by encouraging a more vigorous sprinkling of pepper on the overwhelming saltiness of elite spaces.

But because we force entire industries like academia to reckon with the underlying reasons why their food tastes so bland to begin with.

In other words, we spark transformative change.

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The Lasting Value of Our Stories

Simply put, your story has value beyond your CV.

There is a reason why certain academic institutions and scholars develop strong public followings while others remain hidden in specialized journals. Yes, research quality and academic rigor matter.

But I believe the underlying difference lies in the stories these academics tell that resonate with the hearts and minds of their broader audience, not just other specialists in their field.

For some time, I thought my writing did not mean anything to anyone beyond my immediate circle of lawyers and legal scholars. That was okay in my mind because, in truth, I really just wrote for me. To help me sift through the fog of work-life balance, tenure-track progression, and personal growth. To try to make sense of my own questions and frustrations about law, culture, and justice.

But when a random graduate student from another continent told me one day that something I shared online had inspired them to persist in their academic journey, something changed. I realized that my words—our words—are one of the most powerful tools we have, both within and beyond the academy.

Indeed, I spent some time in my other newsletter discussing my reflections on Ta-Nehisi Coates’s latest book, which discusses just that: the power of words and what it means to write to change the world.

I will be honest—I used to obsess over citation metrics and impact factors, and I still look at those numbers from time to time.

But I have realized, in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t matter as much as we think. No matter how much you publish—and I have published a decent amount in 8 years, with over 2 dozens publications (not counting briefs or opinion editorials or blog posts)—folks will still find a way to put you in their own box anyway.

So, why focus on those trivial matters?

I chuckle now thinking about how much we seek the validation of others in academic life. And, I am realizing, more and more, that when I use my talents to simply be a blessing to others, even just one other person, I honor not just my academic gifts but my human ones, too.

That is all the validation I need.

This is why I share my story, again and again.

You should too.

Becoming Full,

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P.S. As always, thank you for reading this week’s issue of The Tenure Track. If you found this article helpful, I encourage you to share it with a colleague or friend who might benefit from these insights. Together, let’s continue to build a supportive and creative academic community.