✦ Welcome to Dangerously Good Stories ✦
Why the hell should you read this?
Let’s talk about the moments shaping your life—the ones you notice and the ones quietly slipping away unnoticed.
Hi there—I’m Marie Masse (that’s pronounced ‘moss’), and I’m thrilled you’re here.
Really.
〰️
“What’s this publication about? What’s in it for me?” you ask.
The polished answer:
Dangerously Good Stories (DGS) is a space to uncover and engage with the tiny stories shaping your life—and use them to live more boldly, deeply, and fully awake.*
The really real answer:
For anyone tired of pretending they’re fully self-aware while quietly reshaping their stories to feel safe, there is a better way—and it’s beautiful.
Whether you’re navigating a tough chapter, feeling a quiet disconnect, or simply craving more meaningfulness and joy, this space is for you.
The Backstory
I think about death a lot (in a good way, mostly). When I’m on my deathbed, looking back at my life, I don’t care so much about whether I “fully lived” like most people say. What I value most is this:
Did I live awake for my life, or did I sleepwalk through it?
This question hits differently when you’ve been blindsided by grief or spent years unintentionally untethered from yourself.
To understand where I am now, we need to go back to high school.
I was a burned-out, gifted kid.
Not yet identified as the Autistic ADHDer I am today, high school was about survival mode: burnout, zoning out, visible shutdowns in the classroom, sleeping through or skipping classes, and scraping by with a 2.78 GPA.
School was boring. I know now that my nervous system and personality thrive on autonomy, meaningful, interest-based work, and creativity. As an AuDHDer, I need them to function at my baseline and to self-regulate. Without them—and being ‘forced’ to learn things I wasn’t interested in—I disengaged.
Years of disengagement left me burned out. By the time I graduated at 17, I had no plan, no direction, and no clue who I wanted to become.
So, I took the first opportunity that came my way: a full-time receptionist job at $8.75/hour. 💰 It felt like a win—money for a car, moving out, real-world job experience. I also enrolled in community college, but not with a career path in mind. It was solely so that I had an answer to all the “So, Marie, what are you gonna do next?” questions.
Aviation sounded impressive, so I tried that. It was boring. I switched to criminal justice, then dropped out altogether when my job in the mortgage industry allowed me to buy a condo at 19. What did I need school anymore for? I had it all figured out.
Then, the 2008 mortgage crash happened. I lost my job, my condo, and, with it, any sense of “I’m a grown up now 😄” that I thought I’d built.
No one was hiring in the mortgage industry, and I still had no idea who I wanted to become. But at least now, I had a partner (Dave) and wasn’t entirely alone.
Rebuilding led to the reclamation of my innate self.
Getting out of the corporate environment and starting over turned out to be a gift. I had at least six months in my condo without a mortgage payment due to bankruptcy and foreclosure, and I used that time to let myself play with what was possible.
I let go of what I ‘should’ do or what the smartest, safest next step could be. Instead, I lived in the headspace of ‘What would you do with your life if money wasn’t a barrier?’
It was freeing in a way I’d never experienced before and lastest long enough to teach me that living from a place of ‘What’s possible?’ wasn’t just fun but also actually possible.
That lesson stayed with me as I started to rebuild. During that ‘space between,’ I reconnected with parts of me that had been stifled in school, burnout and adolescent masking: intellectual curiosity, creativity, learning for the joy of it, and self-expression.
Plus, I married Dave, and we started a family. I felt in control of my life and path because I was actively making decisions:
Where should our forever home be?
What colors should the walls be?
Pampers or Huggies?
See? I was actively co-creating our life.
And life felt full. It really did. We were building something beautiful.
But after the rush of marriage, moves, and babies settled down, grief jolted me awake. What they say is true: you don’t know what you don’t know.
Grief invited expansion.
Between 2004-2013, I lost a dear friend at 18 years old and then later four family members in five years. But it suddenly hit me in 2014.
It wasn’t just the loss of people—it was the loss of the stories and experiences that tied us together. That awareness felt like staring at time itself, realizing how fast it moves when you’re not paying attention.
One memory during this period of awareness stands out.
Why my brain made this leap in this moment? I’ll never know.
My daughter Kendall, two years old, standing in the grass, her tiny hand falling limp on her chest as she was completely captivated by an airplane flying overhead.
That moment, seeing her so captivated, was a stark awakening to time and loss. I thought about the people who would never get to meet her. Then, I thought about the experiences that were lost with them:
long phone calls with my dear friend,
catching bullfrogs at Uncle Steve’s pond,
holidays filled with yelling at the Detroit Lions on TV and adults playing cards while we kids ran amok,
and summers seeking turkey feathers in the mornings and crawdads in the afternoons at Grandma and Papa’s place “up north” in Michigan.
This was the loss of the dreams and plans I’d subconsciously made for my life. The places, the people, the experiences—all of it, gone.
These storylines had been part of my life forever. They’d been reliable. There was no need to “make plans” because the plan was unspoken.
So, it was like a lightbulb turned on, “Hey, these storylines won’t be happening again. Hey, wait a minute, I wasn’t ready. I didn’t get to go through those experiences with the mindset of ‘This is the last time,’ and that’s not fair.”
I truly felt the sneaky stealth of time and change… and I didn’t like it.
I started to see life differently. It was a cumulative process of small awarenessness and meaning-making over several years. Life felt more precious and painfully temporary.
Time and change became my sharpest teachers. And while I deeply felt it, most people around me were just like, “Well, that’s life. Stories end. People die.”
Me? I wasn’t having it. Obviously, I can’t stop endings and death, but I needed to do something about it. I needed to ensure I’d never be blindsided by grief again.
And there’s this saying, or a truth, perhaps: All good things come to an end. I hate those seven words. I felt like, “Oh yeah? Not on my watch. I’m gonna keep my stories alive.
They may change format (from living experience to, say, recorded stories) but they they will remain accessible. I’m going to pay attention and soak up every bit of the goodness, so that when things do end, I’m prepared.”
And that’s exactly what I set out to do.
A Moment That Sparked Action
My paternal grandma died from Alzheimer’s in 2008, only eight weeks after we lost my grandfather to Leukeima. I’d spent lots of time with her once she wasn’t able to be left alone. During those final months, we had life-giving conversations. The kind of conversations that transformed how I saw her—not just as “Grandma” but as a full, complex woman with a lifetime of stories.
But in 2016 when a colleague asked me to share a caregiving memory, my memories were fuzzy. Too fuzzy. I couldn’t remember the timeline of events in the right order. The details were blurry. The emotions? Still vivid. But the stories were out of reach.
When I couldn’t recall the details of those conversations, I felt a mix of disbelief and frustration. How could something so meaningful slip away? It was a stark reminder that even the most vivid stories fade if we don’t actively engage with them.
Loss of memory is loss, too.
That realization broke something open in me:
Even the most meaningful stories fade if we don’t take pause to really look at our lives. To pay attention, not sleepwalk and scroll on through. To take notice and respond boldly to the tiny stories that make up our lives.
The 5-Part Story Work Practice was born.
I started thinking about how to turn that insight into action - a process - so we can hold onto what matters a little longer.
Less than a year later, I had uncovered five areas to tend to: Observe, Document, Express, Connect, & Cultivate.
Together, these elements comprise a framework for Story Work, a gentle practice to unearth, engage, and respond to your stories with intention.
And I’ve been sharing this with anyone who will listen ever since.
This space will go much further in depth as we go, but as a brief explainer, Story Work meets you where you’re at and helps you do things like:
Process and work through emotions with curiosity and heart
Self-discovery and insights that invite bold action for more authentic living
Identify and amplify the meaningfulness that already exists in your life - the good stuff hiding in plain sight.
Whatever your approach, Story Work is an invitation to live more deeply connected to yourself and your life.
We have so much to talk about! And we will, so please subscribe.
Why This Space Exists
This Dangerously Good Stories publication is where Story Work meets the unfiltered truth of being human.
It’s about uncovering high-value moments hiding in plain sight, like:
A sliver of peace in the middle of chaos.
The way your partner’s hand feels in yours on the drive home from surgery.
The quiet rhythm of connection that exists, even in strained relationships.
It’s not to negate the hard stuff. It’s to resource you through amplifying the good stuff.
Story Work is looking at your stories not as baggage but as artifacts—fragments of your life to explore with curiosity and heart.
If you think it sounds like a lot of work, you should know: This isn’t about adding more to your to-do list or trying to “do better.” It’s about finding (noticing!) richness in what’s already there.
Whether you’re navigating grief, joy, or the messy in-between, Story Work meets you where you’re at and invites you to slow down, notice, and live more boldly.
What You’ll Find Here
📚 Free Resources: Foundational guides like 120 Stories You’ve Already Lived to help you start your journey.
✨ Exclusive Essays & Exercises: Paid subscribers unlock prompts, exercises, and monthly reflections to deepen their practice.
🎁 Community Discounts: Paid subscribers also enjoy 20% off in the DGS digital shop.
More than that, this space is a sanctuary that’s ad-free, noise-free, and deeply rooted in meaningful self-exploration and connecting with others seeking to live awake, too.
No rush, no pressure. Just a rhythm of noticing and connecting that fits your vibe.
Why Substack?
In a time when the world feels noisier than ever, this space offers a quiet refuge to reconnect—with yourself, your stories, and your life.
On a personal note re: why I chose Substack:
After PTSD and burnout wiped me out in 2021, I paused my business and actually dismantled my entire web presence. This was a big step after 10 years of creating over 300 articles, digital tools, podcast episodes, courses and more.
While I may offer other things here and there, I want to pour my creative drive into serving ONE core place. As I’ve returned to myself, I need that ease.
That’s what this space is about.
Substack is simple, sustainable, and soul-feeding. It’s a quiet corner to explore the stories shaping your life. No funnels, no algorithms—just me, you, and the stories we’re here to uncover together.
What’s Next?
If you’ve ever felt stuck, disconnected, or like life’s moving too fast, this space is for you. For us.
Together, we’ll explore what it means to slow down, notice, and live boldly through the lens of your stories. Thank you for being here. It’s an honor to share this space with you. Let’s begin.
Subscribe now to stay connected.
*What does ‘living awake’ mean?
Living awake means being fully aware of the stories unfolding around you—noticing the details, feeling the emotions, and choosing how to respond. For me, I guess you could say it’s about having more control of how I engage with my life.
Want to dive deeper? Read more about living awake here: [coming soon].