When you’re working on a memoir, you spend a lot of time thinking about how to tell your story—what to tell, how much to tell, and how to tell it truthfully.
What does it mean to tell the truth?
What are the consequences of telling the truth?
What is the truth anyway?
These questions plague the memoirist.
What should be included when telling one’s story?
Are there things that are better left unsaid?
How will people respond to what we say?
Should that potential response inform what we write?
Why even tell our stories in the first place?
There’s no end to the questions.
Or to the kinds of truth we wrestle with (just to name a few):
Spiritual truth
Scientific truth
Factual truth
Somatic truth
Emotional truth
Psychological truth
Situational truth
Lived experience truth
Or the ways we perceive the truth (your lenses may be different):
Through the lens of expectation
Through the lens perspective
Through the lens of self-deception
Through the lens of conditioning
Through the lens of bare awareness
Through the lens of compassion
The general consensus is that the memoirist is to tell her emotional truth as honestly as possible. Certain facts may be forgotten or buried, specific conversations recalled inadequately, or memorable moments blurred through the lens of time. The theory is, if the memoirist adheres to emotional honesty as a north star, the story will hold. But it takes courage and fortitude to face oneself and one’s past in this way.
A memoir is not an autobiography. It is not a recitation of facts, dates and locations. It is a slice of someone’s life whose unique and specific experiences point to more universal truths that resonate with others. Events, relationships, dialogue and scenes are curated to distill the essence of the story and find meaning in it.
Why does the memoirist go through all of this?
We tell our stories with determination—to claim our space, raise our voices, understand ourselves and connect with others.
We offer our stories with intention—to bring hope, advise caution, develop camaraderie, share wisdom, process pain, confess sins, laugh through the tears and learn something new.
We release our stories with vulnerability— knowing that once launched, they are out there in the world subject to review, criticism, misunderstanding and judgment. We no longer control the narrative.
Writing a memoir is not for the faint of heart.
“Nevertheless, she persisted.”