Survival Means Piecing Together The Truth of a Life You Can't Recall. You can’t remember your life because you weren’t there. Life, your life, is something you learned, you piece together scraps and evidence to tell yourself your story.
So powerful and honest and moving. I really relate to the concept of questioning what really happened. Some memories are crystal clear in every detail, and others are things that I know took place but I don’t remember anything about them- like a blank space. Sometimes I will remember the feeling of certain events, perhaps a pit-in-my-stomach feeling that gets triggered, but details are fuzzy. I have some diaries starting from when i was a child, interesting to ponder what might have been left out. Certainly fascinating to explore. Thank you, as always, for sharing with such honesty.
The more I learn about memory, the more I realize it’s nothing like what I grew up thinking it was supposed to be. I’d always imagined everyone else had the equivalent of a DVR in their brains, recording everything….
This is one of my faves of yours so far. You are not alone in this. I have whole chunks of childhood that have gone missing. Should put them on a milk carton. I too spent time in closets. I tore up pillowcases in there. Didn't slice cushions though. And as I know you know, I also carried - and threw around - rage as I wrote about this week. But what I didn't do was write or record anything. I purchased journals and diaries that sat empty or barely marked with a few words or doodles. I have such regret over that. I wrote but not about my life. I wrote about make believe stuff to escape my own. Oh how I wish I would have documented things. Then I wouldn't have such blank spaces and so few memory snapshots.
As much as I like hearing that you share some of this, I'm sorry you do. Missing chunks of one's life are never a good sign (unless of course, you've had a traumatic brain injury). I didn't record feelings, was too far removed for that, but I did record events. It felt, and still feels like, if it's not written somewhere, how do you know it really happened? I love that you get the idea of memory snapshots ❤️ You might have more evidence than you think, it takes time to assemble old calendars and such...and extrapolate from there.
There’s an exercise I do with my students that might help spark some things. You’ve saved more than you realized. Some things have travelled with you from home to home, city to city, depending on your travels, and if you stopped to think, you’d have no idea why. Then think some more and you’ll discover things. The example I use is this: When I was 17 I was in love with a boy named Frankie who gave me two necklaces that meant so much to me, I wrote each one down on my calendar the day he gave them to me. I don’t have them anymore and have no idea what happened to them. What I do still have is a pin that was given to me by a boy named Andy. It’s a cat pin, plastic with gold paint that was peeling off when he gave it to me, the hasp on the back was broken, so you couldn’t pin it on anything. It had obviously been run over and found in the street. Andy took me down to the basement of the grocery store where he worked to make out, when we got there, someone else was waiting in the dark and reached out. I ran, nothing happened, but I was frightened as hell. I still have the cat pin. I was 13 or so when that happened. I’ve dragged that broken pin around for 54 years, Why did I keep that and let the gift necklaces go? That is where the story is. For me. I have my students grab something, out of a junk drawer or wherever, not something that has immediate sentimental value something you’d have to think about. Why am I keeping a box of mismatched fuses that were in this apartment when I moved in? 17 years ago? Fear of the dark? Of not having what I need? Of not having someone who could help me if I was sitting in the dark? Like that. Grab a thing that doesn’t mean a lot to you, that you’ve had around forever and ask it the hard questions, like why do you keep following me around?
Thank you. Just what I've been thinking about. The slippery memories even sober. I just looked at a journal from my five year clean and sober anniversary, 1993. It was hilarious story of couples fighting. I don't remember it at all.
We are our own unreliable narrators, some more than others. If I didn't have the documentation I was smart (or anal) enough to save, I'd have no idea who I was, or who I am. Thanks for reading.
So powerful and honest and moving. I really relate to the concept of questioning what really happened. Some memories are crystal clear in every detail, and others are things that I know took place but I don’t remember anything about them- like a blank space. Sometimes I will remember the feeling of certain events, perhaps a pit-in-my-stomach feeling that gets triggered, but details are fuzzy. I have some diaries starting from when i was a child, interesting to ponder what might have been left out. Certainly fascinating to explore. Thank you, as always, for sharing with such honesty.
The more I learn about memory, the more I realize it’s nothing like what I grew up thinking it was supposed to be. I’d always imagined everyone else had the equivalent of a DVR in their brains, recording everything….
You're awesome. Such a good writer, Jodi.
This was such a terrific journey. Total pleasure to read - thank you. 🫶🏽
Thank you, bridget. I appreciate the eyeballs and the words.❤️
This is one of my faves of yours so far. You are not alone in this. I have whole chunks of childhood that have gone missing. Should put them on a milk carton. I too spent time in closets. I tore up pillowcases in there. Didn't slice cushions though. And as I know you know, I also carried - and threw around - rage as I wrote about this week. But what I didn't do was write or record anything. I purchased journals and diaries that sat empty or barely marked with a few words or doodles. I have such regret over that. I wrote but not about my life. I wrote about make believe stuff to escape my own. Oh how I wish I would have documented things. Then I wouldn't have such blank spaces and so few memory snapshots.
As much as I like hearing that you share some of this, I'm sorry you do. Missing chunks of one's life are never a good sign (unless of course, you've had a traumatic brain injury). I didn't record feelings, was too far removed for that, but I did record events. It felt, and still feels like, if it's not written somewhere, how do you know it really happened? I love that you get the idea of memory snapshots ❤️ You might have more evidence than you think, it takes time to assemble old calendars and such...and extrapolate from there.
Yes, I'm hoping the deeper I get into personal writing, the more things will start to bubble up.
Oh I love this idea. Once I do it, I’ll report back.
There’s an exercise I do with my students that might help spark some things. You’ve saved more than you realized. Some things have travelled with you from home to home, city to city, depending on your travels, and if you stopped to think, you’d have no idea why. Then think some more and you’ll discover things. The example I use is this: When I was 17 I was in love with a boy named Frankie who gave me two necklaces that meant so much to me, I wrote each one down on my calendar the day he gave them to me. I don’t have them anymore and have no idea what happened to them. What I do still have is a pin that was given to me by a boy named Andy. It’s a cat pin, plastic with gold paint that was peeling off when he gave it to me, the hasp on the back was broken, so you couldn’t pin it on anything. It had obviously been run over and found in the street. Andy took me down to the basement of the grocery store where he worked to make out, when we got there, someone else was waiting in the dark and reached out. I ran, nothing happened, but I was frightened as hell. I still have the cat pin. I was 13 or so when that happened. I’ve dragged that broken pin around for 54 years, Why did I keep that and let the gift necklaces go? That is where the story is. For me. I have my students grab something, out of a junk drawer or wherever, not something that has immediate sentimental value something you’d have to think about. Why am I keeping a box of mismatched fuses that were in this apartment when I moved in? 17 years ago? Fear of the dark? Of not having what I need? Of not having someone who could help me if I was sitting in the dark? Like that. Grab a thing that doesn’t mean a lot to you, that you’ve had around forever and ask it the hard questions, like why do you keep following me around?
Thank you. Just what I've been thinking about. The slippery memories even sober. I just looked at a journal from my five year clean and sober anniversary, 1993. It was hilarious story of couples fighting. I don't remember it at all.
We are our own unreliable narrators, some more than others. If I didn't have the documentation I was smart (or anal) enough to save, I'd have no idea who I was, or who I am. Thanks for reading.
I love hearing about the role of your diaries in reconstructing the past. Powerful stuff, as always, Jodi.