3 months ago
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Photo by J W on UnsplashToday’s post is by author and consultant Samantha Perkins.
“One Person,” I told my husband when he asked why I wanted to write my memoir. “If I can help one person, then it’s worth it to me.”
I repeated this to myself as I wrote about my childhood, high school years and old jobs. I repeated it as I shared embarrassing stories that I once tried to keep a secret from everyone I knew. I repeated it as I wrote about my darkest moments and the shame I held. One Person.
The thought that my book might help someone clung to me like plastic wrap around a fruit cake. I had always been a service-driven person, so I saw my memoir as an act of service. It was a way for me to advocate for women and shine light for others who may have felt alone and ashamed about similar things.
As I wrote more words I noticed that my deep shame started to soften. I felt less afraid of my secrets. There wasn’t anything that anyone could do or say to me that I hadn’t already thought or said to myself. I was my own worst critic. While these thoughts stayed in my head they spiraled, leading me to believe all sorts of terrible things about myself. But writing them on the page made it feel manageable. They were no longer as scary. I began to think to myself I’m not that bad. I began to view my own story in the same way I might view a friend’s. I felt compassion and kindness for parts of my story. I began to offer myself grace instead of more ruthless self-hatred.
The page revealed to me what my head could not. The words, once edited, weren’t as monstrous. They were simple and obvious. I was doing the best I could at the time.
I didn’t love feeling vulnerable. I continually asked myself, Am I really going to write this down in a book and then share it with people? But when I tried to go a different route, the pen wouldn’t budge, the words wouldn’t come. I felt I had no choice.
By the time I got to the end of my book I gained clarity. It was like clearing the windshield of fog. It became obvious—I make mistakes because I’m human. As I read through the words, I was able to laugh at some of the dumb ideas I had. I cried when I saw how low I felt at times. I wanted to embrace myself in a hug. These feelings were all a stark transition from the mean self-loathing I was so used to when all my words lived only in my head.
When it was all said and done, I guess I did help someone. Me. I helped myself in ways I could have never predicted. I helped myself reframe old narratives. I helped myself gain confidence. I helped myself heal old wounds. I helped myself reconcile things.
Storytelling as a tool
It’s no surprise that so many people feel called to write memoirs. As humans, we are meaning makers. Writing is just another tool we use to narrate our experiences. But something special happens when we work to recount every little detail about a certain experience—we unravel so much insight and clarity. We explore the beliefs we held and why we held them. We ask things like Are these beliefs still true? Were they ever mine to begin with? Do they still serve me?
If we take our time when writing our memoirs, we can answer these questions with care. We can look at our experiences through the eyes of our readers. We can see ourselves as they see us. I’ve had the luxury of sitting with many writers as they witness themselves on the page. The truth, while brutal at times, can be very freeing. There is no better way to get to the truth than to write it out just as it happened—without the chatter of our minds telling us all kinds of terrible things.
Writing our own stories can be a powerful coping tool. Sure, we could write out stories without exploration or curiosity, but what a waste! Why not go ahead and allow ourselves to check in, ask questions and discover treasures that only the page could reveal? If you’re writing a memoir you probably already know this. You’ve been through something worth writing about. But as you work to get your story out into the world and help others, don’t forget that it might be you you’re helping the most.
We have a lot in common
When I set out to write my first book, I thought it would fall somewhere in the self-help category. I wanted to use facts and quotes to tell people about ways to improve their lives. My writing coach at the time encouraged me to tell my story instead. Who did she think I was—a president? What could I possibly have to say that anyone would care about?
In the past, I’d only read self-help books that were national bestsellers and talked about on the morning news. I dutifully jotted down notes and underlined important to-do items. One day that all shifted. While perusing the internet I came across a blog of a woman who was sharing her personal story. She was a lot like me with much of the same “noise” in her life. I could see parts of myself in her story. This led me to believe that if she could change, so could I. This was more valuable to me than another list of life hacks. After that, I couldn’t get my hands on enough memoirs. Each story I read left me feeling more connected to the world around me.
Once my own book was published I was most moved by the readers who made comments like, “I felt that way too.” It made me feel less alone and like less of an imposter. Hearing from people like me was remarkably healing.
In the end, writing a memoir did change one person. It changed me. Seeing my story revealed on the page gave me the perspective that I needed to shift any lingering doubt. By sharing my story I connected with many women who have the same struggles, despair, hopes and dreams. Finally, following through with writing a book gave me confidence and I am more resilient because of the process.
If you’re writing a memoir to try to help people, you’re on the right track.
