Do you think we live in a culture with completion instead of being beautifully unfinished? You know those before and after photos, success stories with neat endings and transformation tales that tie up with spiritual bows. I wonder if this feeds into the message that we need to have it all figured out before we’re worthy of being heard.
Some people buy into this and tell themselves they have healed the thing. Then they share the wisdom that they have arrived at some mythical destination of enlightenment. Teaching others to speak our truth when it’s polished, perfect, and guaranteed not to change.
But life has a habit of biting us on the bum. I, for example, wasn’t expecting anything after being diagnosed with MGUS (look it up, it’s a blood plasma disorder) and was recently told that my immune system is attacking my thyroid. Ho hum…
Learning from this – what if the most powerful stories that actually change lives are the messy, unfinished, gloriously imperfect narratives that say, “I’m still figuring this out, and that’s precisely why it matters”?
The Myth of Arrival
There’s a myth that transformation has a beginning, middle, and end. There’s a moment when you “arrive” and can finally turn around to offer your perfectly polished wisdom to those still struggling in the trenches.
Please don’t, because that is complete bollocks.
The truth is messier and far more beautiful. We’re all works in progress, living stories that twist and turn, circle back on themselves, and refuse to follow the neat narrative arcs we’ve been taught to expect.
When my spine fractured, I had it in my head that I couldn’t write about healing my fractured spine until I’d completely healed it. But I was writing from a hugely messy place within a few days.
When I was thinking about my book Words from the Wild, I had, for a moment, some doubt that I couldn’t guide others through transformation until my own was complete and tidy.
But I was wrong.
Completion is an illusion. There’s no final chapter where everything makes perfect sense, all the threads tie up neatly, and you get handed a certificate of enlightenment. There are only moments of clarity in an ongoing journey, insights gleaned from a path we’re still walking.
The Power of the Unfinished
I love raw honesty, where people write about stuff while being in the thick of their own struggles. I don’t mean whiney stuff, but real everyday stories of dropping hot spaghetti on the floor rather than their plate or discovering that their body is playing silly buggers again.
Of course, I want to see them emerge victorious. But when they are still wrestling with questions, discovering answers, fumbling their way towards understanding, I think we can learn a lot.
There’s something deeply human and achingly beautiful about witnessing someone’s real-time reckoning with life. It strips away pretence and gets to the heart of what it means to be human: confused, hopeful, struggling, growing, and always becoming.
We rob the world of this raw authenticity when we wait for our stories to be “complete” before sharing them. We present ourselves as finished products rather than fellow travellers.
But people don’t connect with perfection. They connect with truth. And the truth is messy, ongoing, and beautifully unfinished.
What Your Unfinished Story Offers
Your story doesn’t need to be complete to be valuable. In fact, its very incompleteness might be its greatest gift:
Permission to be human. When you share your unfinished story, you also give others permission to be works in progress. You normalise the struggle, the uncertainty, the beautiful mess of becoming.
Real-time wisdom. The insights you’re gaining right now, in the midst of your journey, are often more relevant and accessible than the polished wisdom that comes after years of reflection. You remember what it feels like to be where others are now.
Authentic connection. There’s something profound about saying, “I don’t have this all figured out, but here’s what I’m learning.” It creates space for genuine dialogue rather than one-way teaching.
Hope in the darkness. Sometimes, the most powerful thing you can offer someone struggling is proof that it’s possible to keep going without having all the answers. You can write your way through confusion and offer light while finding your own way.
The Stories That Need Telling Now
Think about the story you’re living right now. The challenge you’re navigating, the question you’re wrestling with, the transformation you’re in the middle of.
What if that story – unfinished as it is – contains exactly what someone else needs to hear?
Maybe you’re learning to set boundaries for the first time and feeling like you’re doing it all wrong. Someone needs to hear that it’s okay to be clumsy at first.
Maybe you’re rebuilding your life after loss, and some days feel like progress while others feel like moving backwards. Someone needs to know that healing isn’t linear.
Maybe you’re trying to align your work with your values, and it’s messier and scarier than expected.
Someone needs to see that it’s possible to make these changes even when you can’t see the whole path.
Your unfinished story might be precisely the map someone else needs.
The Courage of the Incomplete
It takes loads of courage to share an unfinished story. To say, “I don’t know how this ends, but here’s what I’m discovering day by day.”
There’s vulnerability in admitting you’re still figuring things out and risk in offering insights that might evolve as you continue growing. There’s uncertainty in speaking from the middle of the story rather than its resolution.
But there’s also incredible power in that honesty. Pull on your big girl knicks and tell it…
When you share your unfinished story, you model something utterly gorgeous: it’s okay to be a work in progress, growth is ongoing, and we don’t need to wait for completion to be of service.
Writing From the Middle
My memoir/self-help book doesn’t need to be another polished memoir from someone who has it all figured out. With some persuasion from my wild heart, I knew it needed to be my account of what it’s like to be human, to struggle, and to keep going without knowing how it all ends.
And you know what? I wrote the first draft and discovered the thyroid thing and was like shit, how do I weave that in? I stopped and added a chapter at the end that showed that even when you think something is finishedish, something invariably comes along, which is okay.
Others need your unfinished story.
Because somewhere out there, someone is living a story remarkably similar to yours. They’re in their own messy middle, wondering if they’re doing it right, if it gets easier, and if there’s any point in continuing.
Your willingness to share from the thick of it might be what allows them to keep sharing their own story, one uncertain, courageous word at a time.
So start from where you are, not where you think you should be. Share the story you’re living, not just your completed one.
Your unfinished story is already complete enough to matter.
Writing Invitation: Permission to Be Unfinished
Find a quiet space and light a candle if you have one. Place your hands on your heart and take three deep breaths.
Now write a letter to yourself that begins: “I give myself permission to be unfinished…”
Let whatever wants to come through flow onto the page. Don’t edit or censor. This is about honouring where you are right now, in all your beautiful incompleteness.
You might write about:
- The story you’ve been afraid to tell because it’s not “done”
- The wisdom you’ve gained in your messy middle that someone else might need
- What it would feel like to stop waiting for permission to share your truth
- The parts of yourself you’ve been hiding because they’re still evolving
Write for as long as it feels right. When you’re finished, read it back to yourself with compassion. This is your reminder that you don’t need to be complete to be valuable, whole, or worthy of being heard.