The Transformative Power of Memoir

Some people write memoir to celebrate, some to inform, some for self-exploration, some to heal. In her second guest post on this blog, Samantha M. White explains that the results can go beyond your initial intention. 

Writing my memoir transformed my life. Not only my day-to-day present, and my future, but even the past about which I had written!

Transformation was not my goal. I wrote it because I had a story pent up inside me, pressing to be told – to share what had happened to me, and how I had found my way out of pain. I wanted to assure readers of the universality of suffering, and the reality of healing and finding new joy. I felt driven, and afraid that if I died before publishing the book, an important message wouldn’t be heard.

I had read that one-third of trauma survivors never recover, and another third make it back to approximately where they were before the trauma occurred. Following the violent death of my daughter in the wake of two other major life losses, I knew I didn’t want to end up in either of those two groups. I couldn’t bear to waste the pain. I needed to honor her life.

So I set my intention to land in the remaining third – those who grow from trauma, become stronger, deeper, wiser, and more effective at bringing about positive social change. How I accomplished that is the subject of my memoir, Someone to Talk To: Finding Peace, Purpose, and Joy After Tragedy and Loss. The book gestated in me for years before I actually began the writing, and took fifteen grueling months of daily writing to complete. The results of all that effort were multiple: I enjoyed the great satisfaction of having completed something that felt important to me; I reached and helped people in need whom I didn’t even know; I was acknowledged for my achievement, and received a prestigious award (a 2012 Nautilus Book award); I even got a flash of something feeling like fame when a short clip of a TV interview of me ended up on YouTube; and a new identity: I introduced myself to my new neighbor (“Hi, I’m Samantha White,”) and she gasped, “The author?”

But the big prize at the end was that my painful past had morphed into something else – a happy past!

None of the facts had changed – my first marriage was still over, ended tragically, I had been betrayed, and my daughter was gone from me forever. But many of the other hurtful incidents, the lies and insults, the feelings of shame, and even my anger – had fallen away, lost their importance in the larger picture. The woefully long story of my personal suffering had been whittled down to what mattered, and the rest, I realized – well, the rest didn’t matter. Instead of continuing to passively allow my crippling memories to assault me, I could begin to choose what to remember and what to forget.

I choose to focus now on what I’m grateful for, and what fulfills me. I have resumed doing something I enjoyed before my daughter’s death – public speaking – and am making new friends, learning new things. I have a new husband and a life rich with music, laughter, and love. My book seems to be flying on wings of its own to people who want to learn how to triumph over trauma, and in that way honors the memory of my daughter.

It wasn’t catharsis, as people assume. Catharsis went on for many years before, when I wept and spoke of my sorrow, over and over again. This was not merely a final emptying of the deep well of my sadness. It was a penetrating examination of what was causing my pain, resulting in a metamorphosis, what some Buddhists call “turning the pain into medicine.”

The pain itself, which drove me to write the book, became the cure for not just my losses, but for my life, now renewed. My past no longer hurts me. Writing about it turned it around and helped me see it as something else . . . as the platform for my growth and (here’s that word again) transformation.

In my line of work (psychotherapy), it’s what we call “reframing.” Remove an old, murky, indistinct painting from its battered frame, dust it off and rotate it, examine it to find what’s hidden there, choose a truer frame, and hang it in a better light. Voila! – from a tired, old scene emerges a fresh, new view.

That’s what writing memoir can do, did do, for me.

You can read Samantha’s previous guest post, Accessing Intuition, here. Visit Samantha’s website and read more of her insights on her blog.

Write now: Do some freewriting about how writing has transformed your life – or how you hope it will if it hasn’t already. In the latter case, dream big. Make a list of topics to explore in writing that you’d like to understand better or see “detoxified.” Keep that list and write your way through it, but take your time and don’t rush. Leave a comment about your thoughts or plans.

Alpacas Are Mom Enough

On a recent trip to Bolivia and Peru, our tour group stopped at the mysterious Sillustani burial towers near Puno, Peru. As we hiked up to the site, I was amazed to see a young alpaca nearly as big as the mother root for swigs of milk between mouthfuls of succulent grass. I was equally amazed that Mom didn’t seem to notice. Female  Alapacas are obviously mom enough, I thought, zooming in for a closer look at a picture I took.

My thought harks back to the May 21 Time Magazine cover. Its provocative picture of Jamie Lynn Grumet breastfeeding her three-year-old son as he stands on a stool created a predictable storm of controversy. The caption, “Are You Mom Enough?” added fuel to the fire, seeming to throw down a gauntlet to advocates of early weaning.

A quick search led me to an article showing that the proper age and process for weaning alpaca crias is as controversial among ranchers as the human topic.

You know where this is all going: story time! I became a mother just as Lamaze classes and La Leche League were picking up steam in Boston. Fellow grad student wives introduced me to these cutting edge trends that defied the tradition of the anesthetized birth experiences our  mothers had undergone and the hassle and hazards of bottle feeding. I inadvertently ended up with an “old school” Harvard Med professor obstetrician about my grandfather’s age, and their pep talks prepared me to stand my ground.

My dignified doctor was aghast at my plans to breastfeed. “We don’t raise our young women to be cows!” he said. “We’ll be traveling across the country when the baby is four weeks old …” I shot back. He gruffly conceded the point, but obviously clung to his belief.

Over the ensuing years, conversations with women friends have often ventured onto experiences and memories of breastfeeding. Some did, some didn’t. Some tried and soon switched to bottles for various reasons. 

We talk about it freely, but of all the hundreds of student stories I’ve read over the years, I do not recall a single one addressing the topic of breastfeeding— not even peripherally.

What a shame! What better topic to share with future generations than your experience in this regard, whether it be good, bad, or indifferent. These are the stories that bind generations, and may also serve as encouragement.

Before you write, consider your feelings about the topic. Does it embarrass you? Do you still feel the need to keep a blanket over the topic as you once hid your suckling infant from view? Does the topic of breasts seem too prurient to write about publicly? Where did your attitudes originate?

While you’re on the topic of feelings, think about the physical sensations and emotions involved – the feel of the child in your arms, the chair you generally used, satisfaction, pain, dismay – anything that comes to mind. If you chose to or had to bottle feed, how did you feel about that? Did you feel like a failure for not breastfeeding? Were you relieved? Follow your intuition to the bottom of this feelings barrel. What smells do you recall? How about sounds?

Do you have childhood memories of feeding babies? Did you help bottle feed siblings or babysitting charges? Did your other breastfeed you or your siblings? Did you hear her talk about it?

These questions have no right or wrong answers, but they are important. Weaving insights into a story or essay on the topic will give it life and meaning beyond anything a factual account could possibly achieve. Your thoughts and memories are an important part of the history of child reading and nutrition.

Write now: a story or essay about your experiences with breast or bottle feeding. If you never had children and/or you’re a man, your views still matter. You may not have had the same experience, but everyone has had experiences with this important subject. Please leave a comment about your feelings on writing about this topic.