The power of story and words has always been central to my life. One of my clearest and most formative memories is from kindergarten, listening to our teacher read one of the Curious George books. After she finished, she asked, “What do you think it means to be curious?” My hand shot into the air, the only one raised. I can still hear my own voice responding, “It means that you ask a lot of questions and you want to learn.”

Reflecting on that five-year-old version of myself, I’m struck by how early I recognized the power of language. But I also see something deeper—the impact of our early experiences in shaping how we see ourselves, others, and the world. That moment remains a thread in a much larger tapestry: my lifelong affinity for words, their meanings, and the stories that shape who we become.

Story has, at times, been the thing that saved me. Growing up, when the world felt unsafe or overwhelming, reading allowed me to escape, to breathe. Just as important were the stories my mind created—daydreams that became safe havens when reality felt too harsh.

But stories aren’t always comforting. They can also carry weight and distortion. To make sense of a chaotic world, my young mind pieced together narratives designed to keep me safe. If the world felt threatening, my brain might tell me: People can’t be trusted. You have to stay in control. To be loved, you must be perfect.

As a psychologist and therapist now, I see how powerful those internal narratives can be. Part of my work is helping clients tell their stories—and then gently inviting them to look closer, ask questions, get curious. Because when we can explore our stories rather than be trapped by them, transformation becomes possible. We begin to understand the links between our beliefs, thoughts, and emotions. We learn that we are not just the sum of our experiences—we are the meaning we make of them.

Victor Frankl, a Holocaust survivor and psychologist, wrote, “Between stimulus and response there is a space. In that space is our power to choose our response. In our response lies our growth and our freedom.” Curiosity creates that space. It helps us move from reaction to reflection, from old stories to new ones.

Walking alongside clients as they navigate that space—especially the difficult, murky “Act II” of their hero’s journey—is an immense honor. As Brene Brown reminds us through the lens of Joseph Campbell’s work, Act II is where transformation lives. We can’t skip it. But we don’t have to go through it alone. Being part of someone’s unfolding story, helping them make sense of their past and imagine their Act III—that’s the heart of this work.