We’re excited to introduce you to the always interesting and insightful Lily Be. We hope you’ll enjoy our conversation with Lily below.

Lily, appreciate you joining us today. What’s been the most meaningful project you’ve worked on?

The most meaningful project I’m working on is actually happening right now. I’ve been collaborating with different creative people—serving as both a creative assistant and a show producer—to help them cover their living expenses. What makes this so powerful for me is that I didn’t understand why I needed to be homeless until now. Because I live in my van and don’t rely on an income from these shows, I’m able to give 100% of the ticket sales directly to the performers. I don’t know of any other shows that operate like that.

It’s like a modern-day rent party, but through storytelling. The community shows up, supports, and everyone leaves better for it. In this model, I get to live out both my creative and philanthropic dreams at the same time—and it feels wildly fulfilling

Great, appreciate you sharing that with us. Before we ask you to share more of your insights, can you take a moment to introduce yourself and how you got to where you are today to our readers.

Let’s be clear: I didn’t stumble into storytelling—I walked in with purpose, and the stories found me.

I’m a storyteller, a story doula, a narrative care provider. I work in radical acceptance, and I create spaces where people can speak their truths—without shame, without performance, and without needing to make it neat for anyone else’s comfort.

How did I get here? The long way. The hard way. I had everything taken from me by someone with power, privilege, and protection. When that happened, I realized that the only thing I truly had left was my voice. And I used it. A friend invited me to a storytelling show because she knew I was drawn to healing through art. That single invitation became a turning point.

Despite having no formal training, Second City hired me. Not because I had the résumé, but because I had the ability. I taught politicians, marketing executives, and community leaders how to access and share their stories. I later became the education director of a global storytelling organization, where I trained scientists, researchers, and health professionals from around the world—including sessions for the World Health Organization.

And yes, I’m from the West Side of Chicago—Humboldt Park. I didn’t grow up with access or prestige, but I’ve still been invited into rooms with some of the top professionals across industries. I’ve been an assistant to a former director of the American Marketing Association. I’ve worked with people whose credentials fill pages. But what sets me apart is that I didn’t get here through traditional paths—I got here through lived experience, deep listening, and the ability to connect across divides.

I can walk into any space—red states, blue states, boardrooms, block parties—and I’ll find the story that links us. That’s what storytelling is: a tool for survival, for dignity, and for building bridges even in the most unlikely places.

I’m also the creator of my own long-running show, which ran for almost a decade in Chicago. It was one of the few, if not the only, storytelling spaces—aside from Grown Folks Stories—that centered Black and Brown voices exclusively. That’s intentional. That’s necessary. Because in most shows, those voices are either tokenized or missing entirely. I build platforms where marginalized stories are not the exception—they’re the rule.

What I do is not performance. It’s presence. It’s care. I help people find their way back to themselves through the stories they didn’t think they were allowed to tell. I don’t curate to impress—I hold space so people can express.

My work is rooted in community, in truth, and in making sure no one feels like they have to earn the right to be heard.

Let’s talk about resilience next – do you have a story you can share with us?

You want a story about resilience? My whole life is one.

I moved out when I was 15. I had a child that same year. Today, my son is a scientist. That’s not a cute headline—it’s a reality built from grit, love, and the refusal to quit, no matter what the world threw at me.

I’m 46 years old. I don’t have money in the bank. I don’t own property. Technically, I’m homeless. But I am not lost. I’m happy. I’m healthy. I’m strong. I live in community. I laugh every day. I make art. I help others tell the truth about their lives. I am living in a way many people don’t even think is possible—off the grid of traditional success, and fully aligned with what matters.

I’ve been a full-time artist and producer for over 600 days now, living on $550 a month and the generosity of people who believe in what I do. And I’m not just surviving—I’m thriving. I’ve worked with global health professionals, taught at Second City, led international storytelling programs, and built a life out of care, creativity, and connection.

I’m not here to fit into systems designed to exclude people like me. I’m here to live proof that you don’t need the chains we’ve been told are security. You don’t need the performance of success. You need truth, community, and courage. And I’ve got those in abundance.

So yes—if you want to talk about resilience, I’ve got stories for days. But the most powerful one? I’m still here. Still creating. Still healing. Still free.

Is there mission driving your creative journey?

Absolutely—there’s a mission driving everything I do. And it’s not just about me—it’s about us.

I’m in this to break the mold. To question the systems we’ve been told are normal. Why are we packing 500-seat venues, charging $25 a ticket, and giving performers next to nothing? Why are artists—the very people creating the experience—treated like they should be grateful just to be there?

I’ve performed at major, well-known establishments in this city where they couldn’t even comp me a meal. That’s not just disrespectful—it’s a symptom of a bigger problem. And I’m not here to play along with that.

My creative journey is about building a different kind of model—one where artists are valued, where community is currency, and where storytelling is not a commodity to be extracted, but a gift to be shared, sustained, and honored.

If you’re not going to pay me, I’ll do it for free—with the people who do pay me in something more valuable than money: care, reciprocity, truth, community. I’ll give everything I have to spaces that pour back into me and my people.

So when I choose clients or collaborators, I ask: Will this nourish not just me, but us? Will this uplift my community? Because let me be clear—Google could call me today, and unless they’re ready to invest in me and my community’s ability to thrive, it’s a no.

I’m not here for exposure. I’m not here for prestige. I’m here for liberation. I’m here for equity. I’m here for us.

That’s what drives my process. That’s who I do this for.

Contact Info:

• Website: https://Stoopstylestories.com
• Instagram: stoopstylestories
• Linkedin: https://www.linkedin.com/in/lilybe/
• Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/@Homelesshomegirl
• Other: https://patreon.com/stoopstylestories

Image Credits

Antwan McHenry-Belmar Took the first photo and the rest were taken by Iris Diaz. The Logo is Me.