A RECENT CLASS was one of the toughest online memoir classes I’ve ever taught. Utterly challenging, the evening was filled with pieces that while wonderful, were also emotionally wrenching. Many students were writing memoir about family abuse. Some were sexual abuse memoirs; others told tales of emotional abuse. This is not surprising, given the #MeToo movement. Sometimes there are nights like that, and after every one of them I have been suffused with a rare, nameless emotion. Probably some other language has a word for it. English does not.
What would you call the emotional response to the wonder, responsibility, honor, astonishment, and no small amount of anxiety that results when someone brings in a piece about family abuse? On this night there were several such pieces, and since I never give assignments or prompts, exercises, or suggestions of topics, there is no real preparation for editing such pieces. We just dove in and did the work.
What to do when the topic is abuse
Maybe you’re living with something right now that’s too difficult to write in real time. So take notes; during a long writing life, you will find another time, and, more to the point, another angle from which to view anything.
This is true even when the events you choose to portray become as serious as family damage. Even the most polite, best-intentioned families can do very clever damage. And that makes good copy, as does the tragic damage done when people collide, though writing gets trickier faster for victims of abuse who choose to tell their tales.
Over the years, my class has heard of every kind of abuse. And every time an abuse memoir is read, but before we critique it, I remind the students to stick to what’s on the page; not to judge the actions, offer therapeutic help, or their tales of woe; not to ask what happened next, if it’s not on the page. It’s a necessary prescription if we’re to do the work.
Choosing your point of view
First I look for what works with the piece. Pieces about abuse will be cluttered in whorled images, voices, and meaning, but there will be a uniquely illuminating sentence in paragraph eight, or a reverberating image in paragraph twelve, and we’ll start there, since drawing the writer’s attention to what works is the very best way to get more of the same.
Perhaps what works is the point of view of the child who experienced the abuse. What happens if you transpose your tale to another age? Can you tell it, as did one former student, as her eight-year-old self? She had us watch as her father found her crammed into a corner of the attic, and she recounted what she told herself, how she demanded of herself not merely that she survive but thrive, how she clung to the images of school and freedom and friends, so that years later, as a well adult, she was sitting in our class, teaching us about the topic of abuse.
Transporting yourself back to a younger you, remember to use the vocabulary of your eight-year-old self, and nothing from popular culture after that time—no movie references, or books, no cognitive awareness of a teenager. Remaining in the worldview of the eight-year-old, you might finally tackle something tricky you pine to explore.
Reflecting on the topic
I’ll continue to think long and hard about Wednesday night, and in writing this, what came to mind is that what I was witnessing in the pieces that night was nothing less than the human pilot light – that remarkable force that keeps lit under the most crushing of circumstances. Nothing compares to it.
Need more help? Come see me in one of my online classes. The entry-level class, Memoirama, is a one-night, 90-minute class that is taught twice a month, every month but July and August. Follow that with Memoirama 2, and get yourself all set to enroll in the next session The Master Class. Can’t wait to hear about your work in one – or all – of these online memoir classes.
Lynne says
well said Marion, well said.
Myrna says
My sister Carol and I fumble over this topic every time we talk or write to one another. We just recently pulled out our old letters from our siblings and fumbled again. I made a list of the things me and my 4 sisters’ have shared, just as an exercise, or maybe it was a way to test those treacherous waters again. No matter how it’s packaged, it’s caustic.
Marcia Quinn Noren says
Thank you Marion,
Your observations show sensitivity and empathy for memoir writers who shine their unique light into the dark corners of this topic. Each survivor’s story is highly personal and worthy of telling, regardless of the commonalities found at the core.
Your wisdom is appreciated, as you help others work through this process.
Lisa Sypher says
Thank you for stating this so eloquently, Marcia.
Thank you for your post, Marion!
barbara says
I’ve been writing about this subject for over a year on my blog. It took me 40 years to be able to tell the story and it still drains me when I share it. Knowing that my words are helping others who are dealing with their own abusive childhood keeps me going.
Someday I’ll put it in the memoir.
b
Myrna says
@Barbara, I too find it draining to peel back the layers of my abusive childhood, yet I continue to do it. It’s like grief, you must face it, run toward it, and allow yourself to begin healing. Although I have also realized that healing doesn’t mean that its over, but helps me piece together another aspect of my puzzling life.
Grace Peterson says
Powerful, Marion! I just started reading Jaycee Dugard’s memoir and she nailed it. The beginning is very much written through the eyes of an 8 year old on the day of her abduction.
I’ve already done the work and written about a childhood full of abusive situations from parents to peers to extended family to self. The key I think is to not get too self-absorbed. Trying to be as candid as possible without wallowing. It’s taken many, many revisions to find the balance. Keeping the story going is key. Moving on with those damaged threads that come back later is all good storytelling I think. And it’s very cathartic.
I wanted to invite you, Marion, if you’ve got a few minutes to read my short blog entry. It’s a brief glimpse at my life at 15. I’d love your feedback. http://www.gracepete.com/ Thank you. Grace :)
Jess says
Wonderful post with wise instruction. What jumped out at me was: Even the most polite, best-intentioned families can do very clever damage. Thanks.
Barbara Amaya says
Marion, Once again your words prove there are no coincidences to me. Your image of the little light in us all is moving. I joined a writers group when I started to put together my memoir about abuse, now I can understand better how the group must have felt when I shared my stories with them.
marion says
Hello, all: This is lovely of you to comment here on this most difficult of topics. I genuinely appreciate it. Thank you for the support for the work, and for all writers who are tackling the topic of abuse.
RobertJulianBraxton says
How Alice Miller would have loved this kind of support. I have read about ten books of hers with much weeping, beginning with “Gifted Child” and especially a table at the end of the book, which I read first and just could not stop weeping.
stan yake says
Marion dear: I haven’t seen you for a while, but want to say that one of the things that has most impressed me over the past years has been your incredible sensitivity and wisdom in dealing with, and responding to, people who are dealing with enormous pain and its often awkward history in their lives. You are worth your weight in gold!!! and i will see you in the fall, if all goes as planned.
STan Yake
Rose Byrd says
I have turned some of my own experiences as a young child at the hands of a bullying older set of cousins, and the experiences I observed with some childhood friends, into a series of allegorical fairy tales. The group traveling on a quest together are not all victims of early childhood abuse, but all have marked limitations of various sorts. Their strengths combine to make them very mighty working as an organic whole together. So far, I have not really written any memoirs where I am openly the victim. Something to think about down the road!
bonnie beard says
How I miss your class.
And more, the safe space you create – that allows for hidden terrors to seep out through words like toxic gases from a landfill. Your gentle guidance in crafting one well constructed phrase has the power to transform lives. How I would like to share this blog – and the experience – with others I know, too constricted by fears of the past to forge through the muck into life. How very brave the writers; how very privileged the witnesses; how very fortunate the students all.
Sherrey Meyer says
A wonderful post written with abundant wisdom throughout! And thank you for your sensitivity to the subject your students presented in class.
I’m a child of abuse, not the physical variety but the emotional and verbal kind. No physical scars left behind but a myriad of invisible scars that no one knew about but me. You see mine was one of those families you mentioned, “the most polite, best-intentioned families can do very clever damage.” Someday I’ll have my story written down and hope to help some other individual through the myriad of guilt-filled memories you’re left with.
hollis says
Marion,
That must have been a powerful class. it brings me back to sitting and reading my story in your class as well as listening to others’ stories of abuse. I wanted to say to Barbara and Myrna that I’ve been writing about this subject for 3 years(?) now. I can remember how draining it was to write the piece and then the emotions it would bring back to me when I reread it. After letting pieces sit/rest for a year, I was so afraid to go back and reread them because I didn’t want to stir up those emotions again. I have to say, that I know I’ve made tremendous progress when I am not hit by my emotions as a child when I reread them. I can only hope that you find the same is true for you.
Marion, I miss your class. Maybe I’ll be back in the fall when Eliza goes to college.
Hollis
Heather Marsten says
I’m in the process of editing the part of my memoir where my father turns serious in his molestation – I was seven. I’m writing first person as a seven year old – it is challenging but also will hopefully show the reader the terror of a seven year old. You are right – in classes I’ve taken, it is helpful if those critiquing forget the subject matter and critique the prose – I want to write the best I can. Even though the subject matter is painful, good writing should still shine through. I want to know if I’ve achieved a seven year old voice, if the emotions and senses are portrayed, if it is logical, if people get an idea of the setting.
Writing about a painful past is healing, it can be a dumping of emotions, or it can be written from a place where the past has been reconciled and healing has occurred. What saddens me is that one in four have been abused (and I suspect the stats are greater).
The more I read your blog, the happier I am that I will be taking one of your workshops. You seem very sensitive and caring – and someone who will help to evoke powerful memoir writing.
Have a blessed day
Sandra says
Wish there was a “like” button to express how appreciative I am of this class for giving space to this subject; not one I’m ready to broach personally at this point, but with gratitude for those who are.
Donna W says
Thank you for the wonderful insight. I’ve been struggling with how to tell my story. It isn’t as bad as some, but my experiences between the ages 5-12 impacted my life in ways I am still discovering. I listened to your interview today on Storytellers Summit and have resolved to “just get it on paper” but jumped over here to review some of your tips on writing about abuse.
I still don’t quite know how or when to change my pov in the telling of the aftermath of the abuse, but I’ve at least got a different idea on how to tell about those events, I hope to join a class one day!
Thanks!
Marcia Quinn Noren says
Dear Marion,
There is no coincidence in my having received this link, on the very morning that I am about to return to writing the memoir that continues to unfold in my life, today. We are all blessed by the sensitivity with which you approach this difficult theme.
I keep the reader close to my heart, as I write this memoir. I want my reader to remain constantly engaged, and feel that in order to accomplish that, I must protect the reader’s heart, too. How to tell terrible truths without causing great distress and discomfort?
What is my purpose? Healing. Helping. Educating. Nurturing the survivor who may still be out there self-destructing, and giving that survivor hope. The inner child is ever-hopeful. I keep her close and safe, hand in hand with my reader.
Blessings,
Marcia
marion says
Hi, Marcia.
How lovely.
With sentiments like these you cannot go wrong.
Let me know if I can help.
Best,
Marion