Self-examination via writing, an act of narcissism or necessity? A Behind the Scenes post on serializing an intimate story of a marriage in crisis, the call to personal writing, and what to do when a quest of three decades ends. Plus, a prompt. 🎤
It is a rainy Sunday morning here in Paris. I want to stay in bed but....I can't. So I picked a middle ground and listened to Chapters 4 and 5 and this post on Memoir writing. That way I could close my eyes and have Jennifer read to me. Once again, I was struck by the bravery to write about and expose the failure of a third marriage. After all, we aren't supposed to know at this point where it is all going. Jennifer writes in a way that I think which makes it all the more vulnerable to me and I have thought several times, "we are looking into her mind, her inner dialogue. WOW!" Clearly my words don't suffice.
My journey was one of addiction....to certain foods: sugars and grains (the ingredients in alcohol). Because the world sees food addiction as a weight problem, I lived in a kind of hell never knowing what was wrong with me and unable to find help because people didn't actually know about food addiction. When I finally found the solution via my sister who had the same issue, I didn't like it. And in my arrogance, kept asking whoever is up there, if there wasn't another solution--one I liked better. The answer was No--not for me. And, finally driven to my knees by this insidious disease, I followed directions even though I didn't like it and was sure it wouldn't work for me. And now fifteen years later, I know a kind of freedom that only an addict can know when they release the chains of whatever it is they are addicted to.
I am not in the thick of it but I'm always aware that I am one bite away from going back there. I keep going because I'm not alone. I stay connected with other food addicts like me who understand completely the hell of being in the food and the freedom of not being there. And I had to do a lot of spiritual work that was not easy but turned out to be easier than what I was doing.
I have a huge support network which I'm so grateful for. Too many people, insulted because I can't taste something special they made, ask me "But can't you have one bite?" The answer is No. I can't anymore than an alcoholic can have one little drink to please a host. I have learned that I have a disease, and that it is not a moral issue. That is what I grew up with: Shame that I couldn't do what everyone else seemed to think should be easy for me--if I would just.......
I wrote a book about my food addiction mostly for others who suffer as I did, to say there is genuine hope. We never again have to feel ashamed of having a disease.
That is my journey--which is not over. Living in the solution has opened up worlds for me that I thought were only available to other people. I get to live in Paris, I get to write. I get to finish things. And most important of all, I get to live through uncomfortable, often painful, feelings without abusing myself.
Thank-you for sharing! I was fascinated to read about your journey with memoir, as I relate very much feeling compelled to dig deeper and deeper to understand myself like an obsession. I too wondered if it’s a narriscistic reflective eye 👁️ but something compels me to continue and I follow this feeling…to understand my life. I am soooo intrigued to hear that voice in you is quiet now. 🤫 so, now what is the journey?
Not that you had done wrong or that something was wrong, but that you were wrong… Just wrong for being alive
What if you were a deviant, a sociopath—criminally minded with a black heart… But all the while, seeing yourself, believing yourself to be one of the good guys… A+ student, honor roll, that nice boy down the block.
Years in prison, I wasn’t one of them. Didn’t fit. Didn’t belong.
10 years later, a careless accident cracks your skull, scrambles your brain and you wake up different….with the haunted memory of who you were….and maybe still are.
What if a sneeze, cough, bump on the head or careless accident brings it all back and you become HIM again?
Boy am I glad that I landed on this page today of all days!
I relate very strongly to your quest to understand what happened and make sense of your life and experiences. I also relate to (what is for me) the primal urge to tell these stories and make sense of them in a way that helps other people make sense of their lives too.
I have been on a journey as a writer, thinker, and (above all) truth seeker as far back as my conscious memories go.
As a child I wrote fiction and that grounded me for through around 8th grade, but it wasn't until I started examining my life, beliefs, and experiences critically through writing that I was able to start the process of overcoming. Like you and like many others, I had a less than ideal childhood and I still struggle very much with the overwhelming sense that I simply cannot relate to my parents on a fundmantal level.
For context, I grew up the deep south enmeshed in the web of fundamentalist christianity. At around 19 or 20, I began deconstructing my "faith" (through writing) and that is when the disconnect between my parents and I began to seem insurmountable because (in my experience) fundamentalism is completely integrated into the adherent's lives. For me, it's not about the religion itself. I'm not here to change anyone's religious beliefs. It's about the fact that in my hometown being "Christian" and voting "Republican" are considered to be synonymous.
Fast forward to today, and I woke up determined to write the script for my podcast and work on the overall design for my substack (as I have attempted to do over the past few days), but I became plagued by self-doubt and fear.
Thanks so much for sharing this Jennifer. I am planning to start serializing one of my finished manuscripts. It's memoir, poetry and photography. I also plan to self publish it as well. A lot of health issues keep getting in the way of doing both. And perhaps a little bit of fear...
Hey fellow three-timer! My third marriage is ending in bankruptcy, fatigue, and regret that I blew off the gym all these years. Well hell--I'll be poor and fat and on my own. Room to breathe. Pass the BlueBell Cookies 'n Cream.
A journey from being a motherless child and an abused child who has forgiven but not forgotten. I’ve been on many journeys looking for my way. Journeys that sometimes come to a dead end. All of them worthy prompts to write about and explore.
What did you feel/do when you came to the end?
Reflect on why I was on that path, how I wouldn’t be me if I hadn’t taken it. (Also, a fabulous prompt as it has allowed me to explore through writing the “what ifs” of not ending.) I’ve come to realize through writing my true weaknesses and vulnerabilities. And I’ve learned to accept and embrace them rather than have disappointment and embarrassment for them.
Still in the thick of it. I keep going and honestly feel blessed that I’m still learning from my journeys. My stories develop from my journeys, turned fictional so that I can explore the what ifs. It’s cathartic and exciting to write in this form–it’s like bringing your daydreams to life.
An act of narcissism or necessity? It took me nearly thirty years from the very first ping of need to get my two memoirs into the world. Sure, I didn’t yet take it seriously, owned my own business, was working globally, raising kids, getting divorced and remarried, but as I reflect on that lifetime of time it also took that long to grow developmentally, to begin to write creatively, to construct scenes, to write down to the deepest fears, shame, vulnerability, to process all that it meant, to write 100 times the first and last chapters. Some did think I was obsessed (true); some thought I should “play” more/not work as hard (true), a few best friends understood the need. “Speaking truth to power” was a lifetime in the making. I could speak it until I felt it and thankfully I had a few teachers who asked me the right questions. I’ve had a decade long love/hate (not hate, but what?) relationship with the time I spend creating. But really, what else is there to do with our one precious life? Whether creating marriage, children, literary works, gardens, friendships, a meal, don’t they all spring from our human need to understand ourselves within this time, this body, this crazy life we get to live? ❤️ to you Jennifer for these questions.
🎤 Your turn:
What long journey have you been on?
What did you feel/do when you came to the end?
Or are you still in the thick of it now? How do you keep going? Why? What do others say to you as you struggle?
I hope you’ll share. I’m listening.
What long journey have you been on?
Still in it. Writing poetry and working on my memoir. A discovery into healing and creating from the things we are told are ugly.
What did you feel/do when you came to the end?
Not at the end. Still writing still finding.
Or are you still in the thick of it now? How do you keep going? Why? What do others say to you as you struggle?
I have no option. Stopping is no option.
It is a rainy Sunday morning here in Paris. I want to stay in bed but....I can't. So I picked a middle ground and listened to Chapters 4 and 5 and this post on Memoir writing. That way I could close my eyes and have Jennifer read to me. Once again, I was struck by the bravery to write about and expose the failure of a third marriage. After all, we aren't supposed to know at this point where it is all going. Jennifer writes in a way that I think which makes it all the more vulnerable to me and I have thought several times, "we are looking into her mind, her inner dialogue. WOW!" Clearly my words don't suffice.
My journey was one of addiction....to certain foods: sugars and grains (the ingredients in alcohol). Because the world sees food addiction as a weight problem, I lived in a kind of hell never knowing what was wrong with me and unable to find help because people didn't actually know about food addiction. When I finally found the solution via my sister who had the same issue, I didn't like it. And in my arrogance, kept asking whoever is up there, if there wasn't another solution--one I liked better. The answer was No--not for me. And, finally driven to my knees by this insidious disease, I followed directions even though I didn't like it and was sure it wouldn't work for me. And now fifteen years later, I know a kind of freedom that only an addict can know when they release the chains of whatever it is they are addicted to.
I am not in the thick of it but I'm always aware that I am one bite away from going back there. I keep going because I'm not alone. I stay connected with other food addicts like me who understand completely the hell of being in the food and the freedom of not being there. And I had to do a lot of spiritual work that was not easy but turned out to be easier than what I was doing.
I have a huge support network which I'm so grateful for. Too many people, insulted because I can't taste something special they made, ask me "But can't you have one bite?" The answer is No. I can't anymore than an alcoholic can have one little drink to please a host. I have learned that I have a disease, and that it is not a moral issue. That is what I grew up with: Shame that I couldn't do what everyone else seemed to think should be easy for me--if I would just.......
I wrote a book about my food addiction mostly for others who suffer as I did, to say there is genuine hope. We never again have to feel ashamed of having a disease.
That is my journey--which is not over. Living in the solution has opened up worlds for me that I thought were only available to other people. I get to live in Paris, I get to write. I get to finish things. And most important of all, I get to live through uncomfortable, often painful, feelings without abusing myself.
Thank-you for sharing! I was fascinated to read about your journey with memoir, as I relate very much feeling compelled to dig deeper and deeper to understand myself like an obsession. I too wondered if it’s a narriscistic reflective eye 👁️ but something compels me to continue and I follow this feeling…to understand my life. I am soooo intrigued to hear that voice in you is quiet now. 🤫 so, now what is the journey?
The Journey, she says.
What if you were born wrong?
Not that you had done wrong or that something was wrong, but that you were wrong… Just wrong for being alive
What if you were a deviant, a sociopath—criminally minded with a black heart… But all the while, seeing yourself, believing yourself to be one of the good guys… A+ student, honor roll, that nice boy down the block.
Years in prison, I wasn’t one of them. Didn’t fit. Didn’t belong.
10 years later, a careless accident cracks your skull, scrambles your brain and you wake up different….with the haunted memory of who you were….and maybe still are.
What if a sneeze, cough, bump on the head or careless accident brings it all back and you become HIM again?
Boy am I glad that I landed on this page today of all days!
I relate very strongly to your quest to understand what happened and make sense of your life and experiences. I also relate to (what is for me) the primal urge to tell these stories and make sense of them in a way that helps other people make sense of their lives too.
I have been on a journey as a writer, thinker, and (above all) truth seeker as far back as my conscious memories go.
As a child I wrote fiction and that grounded me for through around 8th grade, but it wasn't until I started examining my life, beliefs, and experiences critically through writing that I was able to start the process of overcoming. Like you and like many others, I had a less than ideal childhood and I still struggle very much with the overwhelming sense that I simply cannot relate to my parents on a fundmantal level.
For context, I grew up the deep south enmeshed in the web of fundamentalist christianity. At around 19 or 20, I began deconstructing my "faith" (through writing) and that is when the disconnect between my parents and I began to seem insurmountable because (in my experience) fundamentalism is completely integrated into the adherent's lives. For me, it's not about the religion itself. I'm not here to change anyone's religious beliefs. It's about the fact that in my hometown being "Christian" and voting "Republican" are considered to be synonymous.
Fast forward to today, and I woke up determined to write the script for my podcast and work on the overall design for my substack (as I have attempted to do over the past few days), but I became plagued by self-doubt and fear.
This is my journey.
"What did you feel/do when you came to the end?" I'll let you know. Just kidding. Ambivalence. And not kidding
Thanks so much for sharing this Jennifer. I am planning to start serializing one of my finished manuscripts. It's memoir, poetry and photography. I also plan to self publish it as well. A lot of health issues keep getting in the way of doing both. And perhaps a little bit of fear...
Hey fellow three-timer! My third marriage is ending in bankruptcy, fatigue, and regret that I blew off the gym all these years. Well hell--I'll be poor and fat and on my own. Room to breathe. Pass the BlueBell Cookies 'n Cream.
What long journey have you been on?
A journey from being a motherless child and an abused child who has forgiven but not forgotten. I’ve been on many journeys looking for my way. Journeys that sometimes come to a dead end. All of them worthy prompts to write about and explore.
What did you feel/do when you came to the end?
Reflect on why I was on that path, how I wouldn’t be me if I hadn’t taken it. (Also, a fabulous prompt as it has allowed me to explore through writing the “what ifs” of not ending.) I’ve come to realize through writing my true weaknesses and vulnerabilities. And I’ve learned to accept and embrace them rather than have disappointment and embarrassment for them.
Still in the thick of it. I keep going and honestly feel blessed that I’m still learning from my journeys. My stories develop from my journeys, turned fictional so that I can explore the what ifs. It’s cathartic and exciting to write in this form–it’s like bringing your daydreams to life.
An act of narcissism or necessity? It took me nearly thirty years from the very first ping of need to get my two memoirs into the world. Sure, I didn’t yet take it seriously, owned my own business, was working globally, raising kids, getting divorced and remarried, but as I reflect on that lifetime of time it also took that long to grow developmentally, to begin to write creatively, to construct scenes, to write down to the deepest fears, shame, vulnerability, to process all that it meant, to write 100 times the first and last chapters. Some did think I was obsessed (true); some thought I should “play” more/not work as hard (true), a few best friends understood the need. “Speaking truth to power” was a lifetime in the making. I could speak it until I felt it and thankfully I had a few teachers who asked me the right questions. I’ve had a decade long love/hate (not hate, but what?) relationship with the time I spend creating. But really, what else is there to do with our one precious life? Whether creating marriage, children, literary works, gardens, friendships, a meal, don’t they all spring from our human need to understand ourselves within this time, this body, this crazy life we get to live? ❤️ to you Jennifer for these questions.