The Role of Vulnerability in Writing

AS SOMEONE WHO TEACHES online memoir classes, I take a lot of questions on the fly. And, I admit, after all these years, I have many ready-made answers to those questions I’ve been asked repeatedly. Every once in a while, though, comes a question that penetrates to the heart of what every memoir writer must know, and stops me, causing me to acknowledge that not only have I never been asked this before, but that I will need to pull from some new place to provide an answer. This was the case recently, on a large, open online class, when someone asked, “how important is vulnerability in writing?”

I bowed my head and heard myself reply, “It’s everything.”

Because it is.

Why Do We Resist Vulnerability?

I am a huge believer in reporting on one’s life when writing memoir. I teach a webinar about it and talk about it all the time in The Master Class, and elsewhere, and practice it every day. The single greatest cure for any kind of writers’ block or stuck-ness is research, which is merely another name for reporting.

So, instead of just asking myself about the role of vulnerability in writing, I reached out to my friend Marsh Rose, an author and writer of considerable talent in her own right, and a licensed therapist, with whom I’ve sorted some of life’s deeper questions.

She reminded me that vulnerability “is one of the least appealing emotions we want to have,” which is why we avoid it when writing. She pointed out that when reading about vulnerability, “it taps into our own in a safe way,” but that when we write about it, it can feel “out of control.” As a result, we resist.

Makes sense, right?

What is Vulnerability?

All too often we associate vulnerability with weakness. Do you do this? You might. And if you so, it is hurting your memoir writing since it’s only when you go deep that you get the goods.

So, let’s attempt to Greenlight your vulnerability and use it to your best advantage, and let’s start by considering these words by poet David Whyte.

“Vulnerability is not a weakness, a passing indisposition, or something we can arrange to do without, vulnerability is not a choice, vulnerability is the underlying, ever present and abiding under-current of our natural state. To run from vulnerability is to run from the essence of our nature.”

He has more to say in this poem of his, which I strongly suggest you listen to and consider.

In it, he reminds us that to cut ourselves off from vulnerability is to “immobilize the essential.”

No artist wants to do that.

Does All Art Require Vulnerability?

Consider this quote from the great Mikhail Baryshnikov.

“ ‘My jump isn’t high enough, my spins aren’t perfect, I can’t put my leg behind my ear.’ Please don’t do that. Sometimes there is such an obsession with technique that it can kill your best impulse. Remember that communicating with an art form means being vulnerable, being imperfect. And most of the time it’s much more interesting. Believe me.”

I do.

How to Greenlight Your Vulnerability

With the help from the quotes above, I think we can agree that while we fear our vulnerability, we need to tap into it to create the art we were born to make. But how?

Let’s start with that idea of imperfection. Wrap your arms around it and consider it.

It’s possible that we learn the best stuff when examining our imperfection.

To do so, think in terms of what I call moving from “here to there.” This is something I talk about extensively in Memoirama, my intro online memoir class. To successfully write memoir, you must cover the territory only from here to there – from when you did not know something, to when you did; from when you could not do something, to when you could; from when you did not have something, until you did; or from when you had to shed something, and you did, and what life looks like now. Here to there. Remember: You are not writing autobiography when you write memoir. You are merely taking on one aspect of your life and showing us, in scenes, your transcendent change from here to there.

Consider a “here to there” of your own. What did you need to learn, not know, need to get or have to quit? When did you know you needed to change, how did you change and what are the results? And here’s a tip: Read those three questions again, answer them, and you have the three acts that portray every piece of memoir. 

Your vulnerability will be needed here to admit that you did not know something, could not do something you needed to do, that you lacked something or that you were perhaps addicted to something that you needed to quit. In fact, only vulnerability will reveal the big and small scenes that portray large and small life change. So tap into it.

How to Portray Vulnerability?

Consider any recent transaction you’ve had with someone or something. Specifically, sort for an experience during which you felt something shift inside you. Perhaps you had an encounter with your child, a stranger, your dog, a spouse, in the garden, listening to a song (yes, I co-wrote the lyrics for this one and yes, I sobbed while writing it, but more to the point, I changed outlooks during the work), or with someone at the post office.

What happened there? This is the essential question. Ask yourself, “What just happened?” In what ways do you feel different? Did something you once thought get edited, heightened, demolished or otherwise changed?

Now zero in on where you initially learned the idea, what about it was changed, just how that happened and where that new information might take you.

This is the territory of memoir, where we frequently shift from what we inherited from our family – their politics, religion, biases, culture or belief system – and take on something new, heighten and add to what we already know, or drop that inheritance in favor of something that better suits us.

I would argue that the very best memoir is written within the argument that you can say no to some inheritances. Don’t believe me? Have you ever tried to shed something you learned in your family of origin? It’s hard work – life work – and the very stuff of good memoir.

Simply put, if there is no change, there is no piece of memoir. Why not? Because merely recording what happened is autobiography, and knowing the difference between autobiography and memoir is essential to your success as a memoir writer.

Be Vulnerable When Writing

Go back and reconsider that experience where you felt that shift. Now dial back even further. What did you once think that got reconsidered or remade, and where did you get it?

For us to value that change, you must first show us what you once believed and where you got it, and while we do not need your entire childhood laid out for us, we need specific proof of that familial inheritance.

Maybe you remember being a child and going to vote with your mother, and maybe you remember your shared staunch devotion to some candidate from a party you can no longer support. Look at that arc. It takes us from here to there, and might make a lovely personal essay or scene in a book-length memoir about saying no to some inheritances.

What is the Greatest Obstacle to Vulnerability?

Perfectionism. Period. Trying to get it right with every sentence will curtail your honesty and demolish your curiosity, as well as your success. Here at The Memoir Project, we refer to a first draft as “the vomit draft.” Talk about being vulnerable, right? Few things bring us to our knees like a good vomit.

Simply put, perfectionism makes vulnerability impossible. When we set our sites on perfect, we are so busy trying to look great, sound great and be great that we miss the beauty in the mess.

You’ve got to walk into the mess, writers. Why? Because only then can you appreciate and chronicle how you walked out.

Want more help? Join me in live, online memoir classes

Memoirama: Live, 90 minutes. Everything you need to write what you know.

Memoirama 2. Live, two hours. Limited to seven writers. What you need to know to structure a book.

How to Write Opinion Pieces: Op-eds, Radio Essays and Digital Commentary: Live, 90 minutes. Get your voice out into the world.

And keep in mind that I am now taking names for the Master Class, the prerequisites for which are Memoirama and Memoirama 2. Live, once a month. Limited to seven writers. Get a first draft of your memoir finished in six months.