🌱 The Real Reason You Haven’t Told Your Story (Yet)
And what it costs you to stay quiet in your shell.
Let’s be real:
The hardest part of telling your story… isn’t the writing or the telling.
It’s other people.
It’s what your parents might think.
What your cousin might say.
What that teacher, that ex, that sibling, that coworker might assume.
It’s the fear of being misunderstood.
Of being “too much.”
Of telling your truth and someone else feeling implicated by it.
And to be 1000% honest with you?
I’ve only ever had a hard time writing when I was afraid of the truth coming out.
Not the grammar.
Not the structure.
The truth.
When I let myself write from the wellspring of truth? I flow.
But when I hold back, when I write for Instagram, for respectability, for “likes,” for what I think they want to hear, or when I try to control the narrative by conjuring up what I want people to think or say about me, that’s when I freeze.
Because I’m not just writing for me anymore.
I’m writing with a chorus of opinions behind my shoulder.
“What will people think of my parents?”
“What if someone gets mad?”
“What if they say it’s not how it happened?”
You know that quote, “Hell is other people?”
It is when other people get in the way of you truly being seen.
So much of my resistance to storytelling didn’t come from lack of words.
It came from feeling like I was burning under their spotlights.
It came from too many witnesses.
But let me offer you this:
What if the first person you tell your story to… is yourself?
What if this isn’t about “putting your business out there,”
but gathering yourself back together?
What if telling your story — your truth, your perspective, your lived experience —
isn’t about indicting anyone else,
but freeing you?
Because let me tell you something most people never admit:
Self-expression requires self-trust.
And self-trust is fragile when it’s built on fear of disappointing everyone around you.
I used to be a very shy child.
Tugging the hem of my mom’s skirt.
Staying behind my grandfather’s legs.
Always finding something or someone to hide behind.
Quiet, obedient, overachieving.
I got straight As and cried when I got a B.
“Meek,” they called me.
“Too nice.” “No backbone.”
“Spineless.” is what they called me in high school.
“Shame-faced” is what the elders called me as I was frozen in what I learned to be called, anxiety, in the stairwell on my way to speak to them in the kitchen.
But when I look back?
Even then I was obsessed with histories, herstories, and family.
In 3rd grade I wrote about the importance of family history.
In 5th grade. In middle school. The family trees, the power mapping. The pattern recognition.
It’s always been in me, this desire to document, to preserve, to connect.
And as I grew older, what changed was this:
🌱 I was tired of letting other people define me.
🌱 I was mad that I was the runner-up, the sidekick, the punch line, the supporting actress in my friendships and in my family.
🌱 I was angry that no one actually knew me, they just thought they did.
🌱 I felt so unbalanced that as I grew into myself, that the world knew me, but my home did not.
🌱 And I was real with myself that I was the person holding myself back.
🌱 And I gave myself permission to break out of the shell.
To let go of perfection. To let go of being “good.”
To stop writing — to stop existing — for other people’s approval.
To stop protecting everyone else's feelings at the expense of my own freedom.
Seeding Memories Is About That Moment.
That break-through-the-shell moment.
The sprout.
The root pushing through resistance.
The story finally told.
Not for a platform, but for peace.
This work isn’t just about “legacy.”
It’s about liberation.
Because there are people who are so scared to be seen…
they edit themselves out of their own story.
They critique their voice, their face, their pace, their pauses.
They spectate, watch, and participate in other people’s lives except their own.
They’re terrified that the truth will reveal something they worked hard to bury.
But staying buried isn’t safety.
It’s stagnation.
As I reflect on my own breadcrumbs, like school reports, journals, newspaper clippings, and photos.
As I reflect on the serendiptous God winks and helpers that put me back on course
That shows I was on this journey of preservation, oral history, and connection
Before I had language to see I was doing this…
I see now that it is undeniable that I am doing this work because it is my soul's calling.
I’ve seen the consequence of not living into my calling to break out of my shell.
And I’m not just talking about one direct experience that I still feel.
There was a time when a woman told me, “Wow, I wish I had this before my grandmother passed.”
And that’s when I realized - if I didn’t delay, someone would have had, at least, the option to capture moments with their beloved before they passed.
But because I was too scared, too timid, too self-occupied, thinking this work was solely about me, someone else missed out on an opportunity to steward knowledge, to have peace, to have a memory to keep with them and their family until their day.
I share what I do widely, I write this newsletter, I serve my clients,
And I’m offering Seeding Memories because I want to keep my side of the street clean.
To write when called.
To plant the seed.
To remind you that you are already enough, and that your story deserves to live.
Because it’s my responsibility to break out of my shell and share what’s possible.
It’s my responsibility to let you know:
Hey, you, too, can start today to build your legacy, to build connections, to build real memories with those you find important.
And it’s your responsibility to honor the voice in you.
Because what we read may be interpreted differently than what is said out loud, please know I say this with tender accountability.
If you don’t share this with someone you know this is perfect for?
If you don’t answer that call for yourself?
If you “know, that you know, that you know” (as my mom says) this is something for you?
Then at least, you can say honestly:
“I did know. I chose not to.”
This is not about blame.
This is not about guilt.
This is not about “I told you so.”
This is about real life.
And the fact that, life,
Just like that project at work
Has a deadline.
But when it comes to our lives and those we love
We just don’t know when it’s due.
Many people would call me a late bloomer.
And honestly? In some ways, I agree.
But now I can see what needed to be cultivated.
What needed pruning.
Where I needed transplanting.
Where I needed care.
And why how I’ve designed Seeding Memories
As a nursery of tender touch to help you, your story
Transform from seed, to seedling, for a garden of your own.
Gardening has taught me so much —
Not just about growth, but about timing.
And right now? The window is closing.
🌿 The doors to Seeding Memories close today.
I cannot promise what tomorrow will bring.
But I do know this:
This is a place where I teach — and you transform.
This is soul work.
This is practice.
You will break open your shell,
And you will begin your story.
Not for “them.”
But for you.
And then you’ll be the one who benefits from the growth,
The flowers,
The connection,
The clarity.
But only if you start today.
But if you’ve felt the tug?
If you’ve seen the signs?
If you’re ready to listen
If you’re ready to be heard
If you’re ready to be witnessed under soft, growing lights
If you’re ready to be known. Remembered?
🌱 Message me. Join us.
Let this be the year you sprouted.
Not in someone else’s shadow.
But in the light you made room for.
With clarity and care,
Ambar