Your Unclear Narrative is an Energy Problem (Not a Branding Problem)
I dropped my kids off at school this morning knowing I’d need to pick them up early for a dentist appointment. Three project meetings ahead. Two deadlines that probably need to shift. A sick family member, which means I should figure out what might be sitting on their plate. I should have gone to the gym. I have no idea what we’re having for dinner. The furnace is making a weird noise. I glance at my calendar and remember I have coffee with a former colleague.
This is how days start for a lot of adults. A rolling scroll of logistics, responsibilities, decisions, and noise. And somewhere inside that swirl… is you. Your job search. Your pivot. Your consulting practice launch. Your “can we talk?”
Your need is landing in the middle of someone else’s very full life. Not because people don’t care or aren’t generous. Modern life is loud. Most people are operating right at the edge of their cognitive bandwidth. The inputs never stop: work decisions, kids, headlines, texts, logistics, responsibilities layered on top of responsibilities. Which means your opportunity isn’t really fighting for priority. It’s fighting for energy.
The people who gain traction fastest aren’t always the most qualified - they’re the clearest. A strong narrative acts like compression. It takes years of experience, nonlinear paths, layered skills, and big ambitions, and turns them into something digestible. It helps someone quickly understand what you’re great at, what you’re moving toward, and where you create value.
Think about a day where everything feels like too much. It’s very human in those moments to unload, describing the chaos, the stress, everything coming at you sideways. From your perspective, you’re asking for help. From the other side, it lands more like venting than a request. You’ve dropped an avalanche on someone who is already carrying their own snow. Most people don’t step into avalanches.
A simple example: imagine texting a friend, “I’m drowning today.” You’ll probably get empathy. Now imagine texting, “I’m drowning today and could really use a small favor. Any chance you’re near Chipotle and could grab my lunch order?” Same reality. Same overwhelm. Completely different outcome. One invites care. The other invites action.
If you approach networking with an avalanche, you’ll struggle to get traction. Long backstories. Open-ended asks. Unclear direction. It creates the same reaction: concern without movement. When your ask is clear, people don’t have to work hard to help you.
The subtle shift is moving from overwhelm to specificity. Instead of “I’m drowning, and everything is a mess,” the more useful question becomes, “What’s one small way this person could help me today?” That question forces clarity. It turns emotion into action. It makes help possible.
If you want to pressure test your narrative, start here:
When someone asks, “Tell me about you,” do you feel grounded, or do you find yourself circling the story? How easily can you orient someone without over-explaining?
What's the energy like in the conversation? Do people lean in and start offering ideas or connections? Or does it drift into polite encouragement? The response you get is often a signal of how usable your positioning is.
If someone genuinely wanted to help you after a conversation, would they know how? Not in a theoretical way, but in a concrete one. Could they picture a role, a company, or an introduction?
Specificity is what turns goodwill into momentum.
About the Author
Jennifer Chenoweth helps experienced professionals clarify their career narrative so they can move toward meaningful work with confidence. Through coaching and strategic storytelling, she works at the intersection of clarity and momentum across resumes, LinkedIn, interviews, and the conversations that shape what comes next. Her work is grounded in a simple belief: no one should feel stuck or invisible in their career.