This is so moving, Lindsay. I have a poem I have written on a similar theme; one day I hope it will see the light of day. My Mother and Aunt (the only two siblings left of four, from a deeply traumatised brood) constantly argued over whose version of the many, many family stories was true. It was the one glimmer of light at my Aunt's funeral; now my Mum could assume the position of family matriarch, and own the one version of the truth. We laughed at the concept...
It's amazing how attached to our versions of events we become - I can only imagine how it unfolds over a lifetime in those sorts of circumstances... My brother claims to remember very little! Would love to read that poem of yours.
This was a really interesting, lovely read. I've often wondered about this as I ponder how much of my story to share online - I agree that our stories are our own but we're also part of each other's stories, like you say. So interesting how our memories can be moulded and reshaped around our changing narratives - I've found that the opposite has happened to me too, I've seen a photo or been told a story about a time when I was very small and then I think of it later as a memory but I don't really recall it, it's been given to me in a different way. Does that make sense?! Such a fascinating topic - thanks for sharing. ❤️
Totally agree - there's definitely a sense of making memories from photos, rather than from the lived experience. I wonder how this is evolving in the digital age?
That's an interesting question! I don't think going through digital files would have the same feeling as rifling through a box of old prints - we're all more able to access those timelines and images through our phones and things so maybe the gaps in memory will be less apparent.
This is such a thought provoking post, thank you. It echoes so many thoughts I’ve had around writing my own memoir. There are things I want to say, to talk about, but im not sure if it’s something I can do while my mum is still alive, because she is such an integral part of the story, and there is a lot of deep emotions attached to it.
The different versions of truth that can exist is such an interesting thing too. The same as you, I’ve recently had to revisit some of my own narratives around my childhood and parents after seeing what truths my siblings hold around their childhoods. It’s a difficult thing to do, challenging our childhood causes us to challenge the root of our very identities.
Thanks Karen, so kind of you to respond. I'm continuing to be amazed that older posts are still being picked up by new readers. I comp understand what you say about your mother. It's something I grapple with as well. And the different versions of events as presented by siblings, too! We may have had the same parents/been living through the same events but our memories can be so very different, can't they? I wonder if this is preventing you from writing about those times, or if it's only the publication element that's causing you to pause?
I found you through notes I think! The title stood out to me when I scanned your newsletter so you have a new reader for sure.
It’s a bit of both, to be honest. The versions of truths between siblings is something that I’ve only just become aware of - and I’m grateful for therapy to work through some of it. The things around my mum is more the publication side. I would prefer to speak the truth as I see it but I understand that if I do and family read it, it may cause upset and the resurfacing of small traumas that I don’t feel I have the right to touch. It makes me wonder what my purpose is in publishing something like that. I think I want to try writing things down as if I were writing a memoir, but then see where I sit with it at that point. It’s a hard thing to muddle through.
Your memories left me wanting to read more. And they reminded my of Lily Dunn's childhood and her memoir Sins of My Father, which was "chosen as NON FICTION BOOK OF THE YEAR 2022 by THE GUARDIAN and THE SPECTATOR". She's a founder of London Lit Lab and I've done an absorbing Memoir course with her (online over a few weeks). https://www.londonlitlab.co.uk
Hi Felicity, and thank you so much for reading and commenting. I haven't come across Lily Dunn yet but will, of course, be Googling now. Always love a memoir recommendation now I can safely ready them again (I couldn't read them at all when mired in my own). That course sounds really valuable, too. I did one a few years back with Kerry Hudson, author of Lowborn (and Words on the Water here on Substack), and it was such an important experience. Are you working on a memoir at the moment?
Hi Lindsay, I missed your reply until I had a notification that Lily had replied (I didn't know she was on here!).
Yes, I am writing a memoir, but slowly because I keep on being sidetracked by walks guidebook work. I've just delivered the material for two new titles and hope to pay attention to my own writing (and trying out ideas through a Substack publication) before I am sucked into more research and writing.
This really poignant and timely and honest. Thank you Lindsay. I think the best memoirists recognise their own unreliable narration and yet still find a way to hold space for their own truth (as well as sometimes the truth of others). They manage to corral in this tricksy multitudinous thing. For me, good memoir offers the reader universal truth within the heart of personal story and this gives some leverage I think so say 'this is the overall point even though the minutae may vary' - I hope we can trust our readers too to understand the precarity of some memories. All of this is a separate thing to the ethical issues with those in our stories of course but certainly we need publishers to be a lot better at dealing with this than they are, I think.
Thank you for these reflections, Ruth. I think I was most struck by the way Kit talked about having been ill-prepared for the level of open scrutiny she would find herself subject to in a public space and the need to be prepared for this by those who look after a writer's best interests.
Also, how important it is in memoir to be very clear in the text itself that this story is and can only ever be the writer's version. Their truth.
I love what Damian Barr and Jenn Ashworth spoke about in an episode of his Radio 4 series, Whose Truth is it Anyway? They agreed that it's vital that the memoirist states as soon as possible that this is how they remember it. He says, "Memoir is inherently subjective. It's saying, 'Please believe me.'" To which Jenn responds, 'If a memoirist ever sits down and says, 'I have the whole unvarnished tale, I am the authority,' dishonesty creeps in. I think what it's saying is 'Please believe me as I remember it.'"
Yes! That struck me too. I felt really angry as well, because what right does anyone have to confront a person like that on a public stage. I think it's outrageous anyway, but then there is often this gendered aspect of a man challenging a woman too that is very uncomfortable. I love this advice too to get in top of the subjective truth question ASAP. I think that's sensible. A similar caveat is made in my book for the nature of the client vignettes which are composites of real things put together into fictional characters but there are always going to be people who identify themselves and think 'hey they used me!' Because we so often project ourselves onto things even without basis. So that scares me too but again all you can do is state your caveats and proceed. Nothing else can be controlled. X
That's it exactly. We can't control how readers meet the work, but at the very least can be fore-armed (and hopefully buffered to some extent!) for any challenges that might present themselves when it's in the wild.
This all feels timely discussion as I've been thinking about these very things a lot this past week. And thank you for tagging me here, Lindsay. This is a very moving piece of writing and I am sorry you had a father who had an alcohol problem, which is very familiar to me. That must have been quite a moment for you though when you discovered he had actually been right about the life jacket. But I agree the mis-memory tells us more about your relationship with your father than if you hadn't misremembered it. Patricia Hampl writes brilliantly about the relationship memory has with imagination, and how memoir is the permanent home for memory and the feelings around them which are often estranged. She understands the first draft as a chance to learn what the writing is telling her - and that it is often full of untruths, but untruths that are so revealing of theme that she might not have been aware of when she sat down to write. It's a brilliant essay, which you will find fascinating and I will share it with you.
I've been following you for a while, Lindsay, and just subscribed. I'm glad I did. I'm thinking I'm about the age your Dad would have been (I'm 72), and that you're around my daughter's age (she's 40). Her mother and I divorced when she was young.
We just spent some lovely time together. There's always a little tension though.
On a previous occasion it came out (actually through her partner) that she feels a cognitive dissonance between the dad she sees now and the dad she remembers from then. It's unsettling for her , because the dad she remembers from then (and his shortcomings) are part of her origin story, part of the story she tells about who she is and why. And although I might remember her childhood differently (and who knows what the truth is), it's not for me to take her story away.
I have my origin story too, and my parents didn't appreciate their role in it.
But we don't have to remain stuck in our own story. And we don't have to remain stuck in a part we're playing in someone else's. I let my parents go from their role in my story. I think my daughter is doing the same.
John, I have to tell you that on reading this response earlier, I felt my loss again so profoundly as well as a swell of the complicated mixture of sadness, regret and love that continues to colour my (our?) relationships with my parents. Thank you for taking the time to share your experience and, yes, I am the same age as your daughter so perhaps that added to the feelings.
I am delighted that you two have developed a new way of being together as adults but understand that this can't help but be influenced by the past. From other family relationships, I know how hard it can be to allow others their right to a different story, so it's important to hear that you don't try to take hers away despite whatever your version might be.
Oh, families. It's never easy. But in opening up this discussion, and I so appreciate your viewpoint from the parent-side, is so healing. Sorry - a bit of a ramble.
Oh, one good ramble deserves another! Thank you for taking the time to reply.
Stories shape us. I know that it's how I felt about my childhood, rather than any facts, that have made me who I am today.
I live now in the American West, a place built on myth. That myth is no longer serving us, in fact it's killing us, but it's incredibly hard to collectively let it go. Arguing about the facts isn't going to get us there. Perhaps a better place to start is to allow each other the right to a different story.
Weeping at work, Lindsay. So glad someone shared this recently for me to discover. I look forward to the day I can devour your book and joyful hold your memories with you.
This is so moving, Lindsay. I have a poem I have written on a similar theme; one day I hope it will see the light of day. My Mother and Aunt (the only two siblings left of four, from a deeply traumatised brood) constantly argued over whose version of the many, many family stories was true. It was the one glimmer of light at my Aunt's funeral; now my Mum could assume the position of family matriarch, and own the one version of the truth. We laughed at the concept...
It's amazing how attached to our versions of events we become - I can only imagine how it unfolds over a lifetime in those sorts of circumstances... My brother claims to remember very little! Would love to read that poem of yours.
I loved this- thought provoking and so well written.
Thanks Michelle!
This was a really interesting, lovely read. I've often wondered about this as I ponder how much of my story to share online - I agree that our stories are our own but we're also part of each other's stories, like you say. So interesting how our memories can be moulded and reshaped around our changing narratives - I've found that the opposite has happened to me too, I've seen a photo or been told a story about a time when I was very small and then I think of it later as a memory but I don't really recall it, it's been given to me in a different way. Does that make sense?! Such a fascinating topic - thanks for sharing. ❤️
Totally agree - there's definitely a sense of making memories from photos, rather than from the lived experience. I wonder how this is evolving in the digital age?
That's an interesting question! I don't think going through digital files would have the same feeling as rifling through a box of old prints - we're all more able to access those timelines and images through our phones and things so maybe the gaps in memory will be less apparent.
This is such a thought provoking post, thank you. It echoes so many thoughts I’ve had around writing my own memoir. There are things I want to say, to talk about, but im not sure if it’s something I can do while my mum is still alive, because she is such an integral part of the story, and there is a lot of deep emotions attached to it.
The different versions of truth that can exist is such an interesting thing too. The same as you, I’ve recently had to revisit some of my own narratives around my childhood and parents after seeing what truths my siblings hold around their childhoods. It’s a difficult thing to do, challenging our childhood causes us to challenge the root of our very identities.
Thanks Karen, so kind of you to respond. I'm continuing to be amazed that older posts are still being picked up by new readers. I comp understand what you say about your mother. It's something I grapple with as well. And the different versions of events as presented by siblings, too! We may have had the same parents/been living through the same events but our memories can be so very different, can't they? I wonder if this is preventing you from writing about those times, or if it's only the publication element that's causing you to pause?
I found you through notes I think! The title stood out to me when I scanned your newsletter so you have a new reader for sure.
It’s a bit of both, to be honest. The versions of truths between siblings is something that I’ve only just become aware of - and I’m grateful for therapy to work through some of it. The things around my mum is more the publication side. I would prefer to speak the truth as I see it but I understand that if I do and family read it, it may cause upset and the resurfacing of small traumas that I don’t feel I have the right to touch. It makes me wonder what my purpose is in publishing something like that. I think I want to try writing things down as if I were writing a memoir, but then see where I sit with it at that point. It’s a hard thing to muddle through.
Your memories left me wanting to read more. And they reminded my of Lily Dunn's childhood and her memoir Sins of My Father, which was "chosen as NON FICTION BOOK OF THE YEAR 2022 by THE GUARDIAN and THE SPECTATOR". She's a founder of London Lit Lab and I've done an absorbing Memoir course with her (online over a few weeks). https://www.londonlitlab.co.uk
Hi Felicity, and thank you so much for reading and commenting. I haven't come across Lily Dunn yet but will, of course, be Googling now. Always love a memoir recommendation now I can safely ready them again (I couldn't read them at all when mired in my own). That course sounds really valuable, too. I did one a few years back with Kerry Hudson, author of Lowborn (and Words on the Water here on Substack), and it was such an important experience. Are you working on a memoir at the moment?
Hi Lindsay, I missed your reply until I had a notification that Lily had replied (I didn't know she was on here!).
Yes, I am writing a memoir, but slowly because I keep on being sidetracked by walks guidebook work. I've just delivered the material for two new titles and hope to pay attention to my own writing (and trying out ideas through a Substack publication) before I am sucked into more research and writing.
Thanks Felicity, and hello!
This really poignant and timely and honest. Thank you Lindsay. I think the best memoirists recognise their own unreliable narration and yet still find a way to hold space for their own truth (as well as sometimes the truth of others). They manage to corral in this tricksy multitudinous thing. For me, good memoir offers the reader universal truth within the heart of personal story and this gives some leverage I think so say 'this is the overall point even though the minutae may vary' - I hope we can trust our readers too to understand the precarity of some memories. All of this is a separate thing to the ethical issues with those in our stories of course but certainly we need publishers to be a lot better at dealing with this than they are, I think.
Thank you for these reflections, Ruth. I think I was most struck by the way Kit talked about having been ill-prepared for the level of open scrutiny she would find herself subject to in a public space and the need to be prepared for this by those who look after a writer's best interests.
Also, how important it is in memoir to be very clear in the text itself that this story is and can only ever be the writer's version. Their truth.
I love what Damian Barr and Jenn Ashworth spoke about in an episode of his Radio 4 series, Whose Truth is it Anyway? They agreed that it's vital that the memoirist states as soon as possible that this is how they remember it. He says, "Memoir is inherently subjective. It's saying, 'Please believe me.'" To which Jenn responds, 'If a memoirist ever sits down and says, 'I have the whole unvarnished tale, I am the authority,' dishonesty creeps in. I think what it's saying is 'Please believe me as I remember it.'"
Yes! That struck me too. I felt really angry as well, because what right does anyone have to confront a person like that on a public stage. I think it's outrageous anyway, but then there is often this gendered aspect of a man challenging a woman too that is very uncomfortable. I love this advice too to get in top of the subjective truth question ASAP. I think that's sensible. A similar caveat is made in my book for the nature of the client vignettes which are composites of real things put together into fictional characters but there are always going to be people who identify themselves and think 'hey they used me!' Because we so often project ourselves onto things even without basis. So that scares me too but again all you can do is state your caveats and proceed. Nothing else can be controlled. X
That's it exactly. We can't control how readers meet the work, but at the very least can be fore-armed (and hopefully buffered to some extent!) for any challenges that might present themselves when it's in the wild.
This all feels timely discussion as I've been thinking about these very things a lot this past week. And thank you for tagging me here, Lindsay. This is a very moving piece of writing and I am sorry you had a father who had an alcohol problem, which is very familiar to me. That must have been quite a moment for you though when you discovered he had actually been right about the life jacket. But I agree the mis-memory tells us more about your relationship with your father than if you hadn't misremembered it. Patricia Hampl writes brilliantly about the relationship memory has with imagination, and how memoir is the permanent home for memory and the feelings around them which are often estranged. She understands the first draft as a chance to learn what the writing is telling her - and that it is often full of untruths, but untruths that are so revealing of theme that she might not have been aware of when she sat down to write. It's a brilliant essay, which you will find fascinating and I will share it with you.
I've been following you for a while, Lindsay, and just subscribed. I'm glad I did. I'm thinking I'm about the age your Dad would have been (I'm 72), and that you're around my daughter's age (she's 40). Her mother and I divorced when she was young.
We just spent some lovely time together. There's always a little tension though.
On a previous occasion it came out (actually through her partner) that she feels a cognitive dissonance between the dad she sees now and the dad she remembers from then. It's unsettling for her , because the dad she remembers from then (and his shortcomings) are part of her origin story, part of the story she tells about who she is and why. And although I might remember her childhood differently (and who knows what the truth is), it's not for me to take her story away.
I have my origin story too, and my parents didn't appreciate their role in it.
But we don't have to remain stuck in our own story. And we don't have to remain stuck in a part we're playing in someone else's. I let my parents go from their role in my story. I think my daughter is doing the same.
Thank you for holding the space for this.
John, I have to tell you that on reading this response earlier, I felt my loss again so profoundly as well as a swell of the complicated mixture of sadness, regret and love that continues to colour my (our?) relationships with my parents. Thank you for taking the time to share your experience and, yes, I am the same age as your daughter so perhaps that added to the feelings.
I am delighted that you two have developed a new way of being together as adults but understand that this can't help but be influenced by the past. From other family relationships, I know how hard it can be to allow others their right to a different story, so it's important to hear that you don't try to take hers away despite whatever your version might be.
Oh, families. It's never easy. But in opening up this discussion, and I so appreciate your viewpoint from the parent-side, is so healing. Sorry - a bit of a ramble.
Oh, one good ramble deserves another! Thank you for taking the time to reply.
Stories shape us. I know that it's how I felt about my childhood, rather than any facts, that have made me who I am today.
I live now in the American West, a place built on myth. That myth is no longer serving us, in fact it's killing us, but it's incredibly hard to collectively let it go. Arguing about the facts isn't going to get us there. Perhaps a better place to start is to allow each other the right to a different story.
Thank you for making me think!
Weeping at work, Lindsay. So glad someone shared this recently for me to discover. I look forward to the day I can devour your book and joyful hold your memories with you.