My mom said something to me after my last newsletter went out. We were talking about her response, which was that she “loves reading my work1, even when it's harsh.” I'd balked at that word, scoured the latest post for mean comments about my mom, and finally asked for clarity.
"No no," she said. "You weren't mean. Sometimes your writing is harsh, but that's because you're honest. Sometimes that means being harsh."
I was still unsteady. I spent the first 28 years of my life as a people-pleaser – a happy one, at that. I didn’t think there was anything wrong with wanting to please, with putting others before myself. It took years of therapy and a lot of painful experiences for me to realize that chronic people-pleasing is basically a dressed-up version of lying to everyone, and for me to begin to value honesty above almost everything else. And I still struggle to accept that being honest sometimes means not being 100% nice. That’s hard for me to swallow.
In the memoir classes I teach, I'm inevitably asked about how to balance family relationships against the need for honesty. My initial response is usually more flippant than helpful, I’m afraid. I tell my students that the best guard against the fear of people’s reaction is to forge ahead with blinders on, armored with the certainty that nobody will ever publish your work anyway.2
make a very short list of the people whose relationships are valuable to you, and let those people give you feedback on their appearance in your work. Everyone else can feel their feelings after publication
After that, I’ll attempt a more useful bit of advice: make a short list of the people whose relationships are most valuable to you, and let those people give you feedback on their appearance in your work. Everyone else can feel their feelings after publication and (as long as you haven’t written anything legally murky) their feelings can be their own business.
For me, this list is extremely short – it’s basically just my husband, who has veto power precisely because he would never use it lightly. I suppose when my son grows up a bit he’ll make the list too. Everyone else is entitled to their feelings, but after an entire life of familial gaslighting I no longer feel I owe anyone a check-in about what constitutes the truth.3
In fairness, I didn't have to write anything at all to lose the family members with whom I no longer have a relationship. I had only to be honest, privately, about the level of respect I believe I (and others) deserve. I suppose that's a privilege of sorts: I don't worry about what I might publish, because I have so few people left to worry about offending.
Recently, I told an especially hard truth. One that blew up someone else's relationship, and that pressed on my own forever bruise. One that necessitated breaking loyalty to one person in order to be fair to another, and true to myself. One that lost me yet another relationship.
But here’s the thing: the truth is addictive. Once you’ve stopped telling little lies all the time and big lies some of the time, it’s hard to even tell a little lie here and there – let alone hold onto a huge, life-altering lie at someone else’s request. I lasted a few months before I broke, and those three months were some of the worst of my recent life. No relationship is worth rotting my own mental health for, and anyone who really cares about me shouldn’t want me to make that kind of sacrifice.
What crime could be worse than to, in attempting to make ourselves understood, portray someone else in a way that misunderstands that person?
Living honestly is beautiful, and it’s also often really painful. The hardest thing I’ve ever done is to do what I know is right, even when someone is telling me it's actually selfish. It is hard to raise the volume of your own inner voice, to shout over the voice of your critics. We have to do this with writing, and it's really hard; it's even harder with relationships. But it’s worth it.
Not only do I not have the brain space to keep lies in order and prevent slip-ups, but the problem with people-pleasing is that inevitably you encounter a situation in which pleasing one person means hurting another (to say nothing of how much you’re hurting yourself). It’s impossible to be nice all the time and keep everyone else happy.
As for writing, the truth differs from person to person. This is why so many memoirs have forwards or author’s notes talking about “the best of my recollection” or “my personal experience.” We’re all terrified of being accused of lying, or making things up, or villainizing some innocent party.
What crime could be worse than to, in attempting to make ourselves understood, portray someone else in a way that misunderstands that person?
But we can’t do it all. If you’re writing memoir, you have to focus first on expressing yourself and your experience, second on doing your best to fairly represent the other people in your story, and third on letting go of control of other people’s reactions. They can write their own memoirs if they don't like the way you've told the story.4
Of course, that’s the hardest task of all: letting go of control. It helps me to remember that control was always an illusion. They were always going to feel however they feel. No use twisting yourself into knots only to get the same result you were always going to get.
Recent Writing
This is still it, I’m afraid. I hope it’s been worth the click!
Recent Reading
Oh, so many audiobooks! Let’s see, recent favorites have included Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, and Tomorrow, by Gabrielle Zevin and Lessons in Chemistry, by Bonnie Garmus, and I was super impressed by the writing in The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue, by the very prolific V.E. Schwab. There were others, but those are the stand-outs in my waning memory.
A Random Joy
I live in the tulip capital of the U.S., and between work and in-law visits and daycare viruses I was worried we’d miss the bloom this year, but the flowers showed out for my in-laws’ last day here – we even got a little sun!
Awwwww <3
This worked wonders for me when writing my first book.
I know some of you know what I’m talking about. As for the others, maybe you come from a family and community that’s always valued honesty over composure or appearances – what must that be like?
This is what I tell my father when he bugs me about my writing. You should write your own book! I mean it both snarkily and genuinely – everyone has the ability to express themselves. It’s not our job to express their experience accurately on their behalf.