Once upon a time, story and history were sisters.
Before textbooks and dusty museums and men with quills deciding what counted as “important,” the word history came from roots meaning to inquire, to know, to witness.
Not to record cold facts like an accountant of time, but to seek meaning in what had happened.
Back then, history was a way of understanding the world.
And story? She walked right alongside her, weaving memory with imagination, stitching emotion into experience, turning events into truth that could be felt, not only listed.
Then along the way, the sisters drifted apart.
History became official, serious, stamped with authority.
The realm of scholars, kings, and “approved” versions of the past.
Story became… softer. Looser. Sometimes sacred and sometimes suspect.
History was fact.
Story was “just” story.
And yet…
Enter myth.
Myth is not a lie.
Myth is a truth wrapped in metaphor because the soul needs poetry where the mind demands proof.
Myth is where goddesses walk, where meaning wears a crown, where human hearts learn through symbols what logic alone cannot teach.
Legend lives somewhere between them all.
A story with one foot in memory and one in magic.
The place where history blushes and admits it always had imagination in its pockets anyway.
Why does this matter?
Because language shapes belief.
And belief shapes everything.
Call something history and people nod with reverence.
Call it a story and suddenly it feels optional.
Call it a myth and someone will tell you it is untrue, not realizing myths tell deeper truths than many timelines ever could.
Journalists say they report history as it happens.
But they choose angles, frames, protagonists, villains.
Academics debate “objectivity.”
Families pass down stories that become private truth.
Cultures anchor themselves in myth.
And every one of us walks around thinking our life story is factual instead of a beautifully biased personal myth we are constantly editing.
This is not bad.
This is being human.
But here is the power: when you know the difference between history and story and myth, you see how meaning is made.
You begin to spot the weave.
You become the weaver.
Ask yourself:
Is this fact or interpretation?
Is this a record or a belief?
Is this my history or someone else's mythology I inherited without noticing?
Because once you can name the narrative, you can choose how to dance with it.
And then, darling storyteller, you are no longer just living history.
You are crafting myth.
Sacred, intentional, alive.
A woman becoming the author of her own legend.
And that is where power lives.
But here is where things get… delightfully spicy...
Somewhere along the line, history put on a suit, polished its shoes, and declared itself the serious one.
Facts. Dates. Battles. Dead kings. Policies. Footnotes that could double as sleeping draughts.
History became the respectable older brother with a diploma and a firm handshake.
Story, meanwhile, was ushered into the corner like the dreamy younger sister who scribbles moon poems, has opinions about goddesses, and can smell a lie before breakfast.
History puffed its chest:
I am objective. I am rational. I am truth.
Story smiled, stirred her cauldron, and quietly continued shaping souls.
Because let us be honest: the “official version” has always sounded suspiciously like the patriarchy clearing its throat.
For centuries, the masculine way of knowing was considered real.
Proven. Documented. Filed in serious buildings with marble floors.
The feminine way was emotional. Intuitive. Lived.
Shared in kitchens, temples, gardens, birthing rooms, fire circles, and whispered sister to sister.
Men: This is history.
Women: This is what actually happened and how it felt.
Men: Feelings are not facts.
Women: Darling, feelings are the reason you do anything, including pretending you don’t have them.
And while the world praised swords and treaties, women carried birth stories, healing stories, ancestor wisdom, mythic truths, and emotional maps that cannot be found in textbooks but can absolutely save your life.
Of course, now science is catching up and murmuring,
“Well actually, narrative shapes reality and memory and identity…”
And women everywhere are sipping tea like,
"Thank you sweetie, welcome to the party."
And it still shows today, does it not?
Look at living rooms around the world.
Men proudly turn on The News, documentaries, Expert Panels, the very serious History Channel.
They absorb charts and headlines and political maneuvers.
Very factual. Very intellectual. Very upright spine.
Meanwhile, women curl up with novels, series, myths, podcasts, and shows that explore love, betrayal, growth, identity, longing, transformation, soul journeys, and the wild terrain of the human heart.
And somehow society decided one is serious and the other is… frivolous.
As if memorizing NATO updates is noble, but studying emotional intelligence, archetypes, shadow work, community, intuition, and human motivation is mere fluff.
Please.
Women are decoding psyche like priestesses with popcorn.
We are doctoral-level analysts of plot, intuition, character, and spiritual symbolism.
We see the twist coming and the truth hidden between lines.
We learn empathy, strategy, patience, power, self-inquiry, boundaries, courage, and rebirth… from what they call “just stories.”
The news tells us what happened.
Stories tell us why humans do what they do.
And honestly, who is more prepared for life?
Men: I know the yen fell three points.
Women: I can spot manipulation in seven seconds and emotionally resuscitate a friend while making soup.
Let us say it plainly:
This world has undervalued story because it undervalued the feminine.
But story is how we remember soul.
Story is where power breathes.
Story is how the feminine has always taught, healed, warned, blessed, and survived.
If history is the skeleton, story is the breath.
And myth is the soul.
So if anyone calls stories frivolous, smile gently, knowing the truth:
Empires fall.
Narratives endure.
And women are storytellers.
Always have been.
Always will be.
Voilà.
I believe that is all for today.
I would be so happy to hear from you.
If this spoke to your heart, I’d love for you to share it with a sister, a friend, a fellow Goddess on the path.
I send, as always, love, light and gratitude.
Isaya
PS:Step into the circle. Share your story. Witness others sharing theirs. This December 12th to 14th, the Women Lighting the Way Summit invites you to gather online with women from all over the world for three days of stories, sisterhood, and inspiration.
Free to attend live, with replay access available, this is your chance to pause, receive, and be reminded of the power of your own voice. Together, we weave a living tapestry of wisdom, laughter, tears, and transformation.
✨ Your story matters. Their stories matter. And together, we light the way.
What a powerful article Isaya! It spoke to my heart. Thank you.
So glad you liked it!