I’m delighted to welcome today with her insights into the reasons why we should tell our stories. Ros is teaching a masterclass on my brand new Mindful Memoir Course that starts on 16th June. Just two spaces left! Info here.
My three troubled boys had finally fallen asleep, and I was lighting a spliff to sever the neural connections sparking self-hatred. In my mental cell with razor-embedded walls, cannabis was my padded jacket.
I was in a court battle with my abusive ex-husband. Broke, emotionally wrecked, dreams of writing in the dustbin.
But everything was about to change.
I was writing then, too: working on a novel with a protagonist too close for comfort, filling journals with rambling, fierce anger, penning poems from cliff-edge despair. That writing mattered therapeutically, but it lacked the benefit of overview. The overload of emotion created too much mental static.
Only with time, healing, and distance did I feel equipped to write these stories as memoir.
The Mirror That Doesn't Lie
Memoir shows us ourselves in a mist-free mirror. We can trace what has made us who we are now and note how pain becomes the source of strength and learning. Though I've told my stories to friends and loved ones multiple times, writing them brings fresh insights that telling never could.
Telling is skimming the surface; writing is depth.
When I wrote The Penis in the Pate, a story I'd used for entertainment dozens of times, I had a revelation that helped me understand my mother better. Who knows what gems your subconscious has to gift you, which will help you bring more peace and joy to your life?
Why Our Stories Matter
Why write memoir? Because the unexamined life is not worth living. Socrates was perhaps a little hyperbolic. A delightful life can be lived moment to moment: delighting in a child's laugh, spring sun warming your upper arm, the melting of lemon gelato on your tongue.
But has anyone ever managed to live a whole existence only savoring and never suffering? Our lives are full of contrast. Unless we die young and swiftly, we get acquainted with sorrow. Our periods of darkness give greater brilliance to the light and help us learn who we are. Tensioned between the tug of the past and hopes for the future, we grow.
The Power of Speaking Up
Publishing memoir feels even more powerful than just writing it—to speak up where we have been silent and find connections with other writers and readers. We find inspiration and strength in other people's tales of survival, and we gain courage to speak out ourselves.
This is the strongest reason for writing memoir: to tell your story and let it find others who resonate. We build connection and community, and deeper understanding of what it means to be human. That we were not "mad" (though I narrowly avoided being sectioned 25 years ago). That we were just suffering—and suffering is normal. If you're put through the mill without support, your life might go to dangerous places. But if you've come back from that darkest place with courage to speak: what a light you carry!
What I've Learned
Through writing memoir, I've learned new things about myself. I've understood how strong and resilient I am—the core of steel that pulled me through, the will to live, the surrender that turned my life around, an enduring quest for unconditional love that was finally satisfied.
This is why I love memoir so much. It gives us a chance to re-see ourselves.
It has taken so long to get to the point where I can write about the darkest time of my life as I do in the opening passage. Writing memoir may not be as easy as leaving your history buried, but it's probably one of the most powerful things you can do with a virtual pen.
This just sounds so sensible. And your “Penis in the Patè” brought back memories of my Mum walking round the house with her tits out - empty sacs hanging down in front of her ribcage. I think it’s why I detest nakedness.
I have realised lately that my brain has some definite aversions to certain body parts (including all feet, some noses, old ears, wrinkly bits, hair) and I would rather not see them.
In fact the only part of the body that I really like is hands. I love the stories that hands tell.
Memoir is hard for me - I don’t have memories.
I think it would take some intense therapy-like work for me to access memories for decades of my life, which I have never had time for. I construct my history from photos, single memories like snapshots that have no before or after, and diary notes, in the years when I kept diaries.
Every so often, I think of diving in, but I am a little cautious of what I might find there. It would be like a trip to a war zone, and I am not sure the value of the journey!
Oh no! I was this close to resigning myself to just forget it. All unfinished 65 pages that aren’t enough. But yes, you are right. ❤️