Maybe this post is part 2 of 2 with my previous post, because it deals with similar subject. As I've thought about the pros and cons of sharing my stories, it's started to dawn upon me that they aren't my stories alone: they are our stories. I own my life and many things have happened exclusively to me, but many things have also happened, because of me, to other people.
A few weeks ago, I had an emotional dinner with a good friend who helped me realize that my story is her story. Her story changed because of what happened to me, and being an extraordinary friend to me changed who she is and how she looks at the world. It might seem self-absorbed not to have realized this sooner, but I think when things are particularly difficult it's all too easy to think that they are only difficult for you. These are difficult stories, but they aren't just difficult for me. So when I write about my story, am I exposing the other players in ways in which they might not want to be exposed? Am I violating their trust? Which stories are mine to share and which are theirs to protect?
I've been pondering this question because I've started working on a piece to submit to a well known newspaper for one of their occasional columns. The piece is about my relationship with another person and I am required to use their name (I have no idea why or how this is enforced). My story with this person is on an unpleasant hiatus and tied to extremely personal, difficult events in his life and my own. Writing this piece is a bit like peeling an onion, and as I peel I have a nagging feeling that I'm in someone else's kitchen. If I was a major player in this story, does that make it my story? Do I get to write about it?
Sorting through these issues has been puzzling for me, as I've never thought about my life and my experiences as anything other than my own. But in fact, they are not all my own - they are inextricably intertwined with other people's proprietary experiences, feelings, and memories. It's humbling and important to see the effects that my traumas over the past few years have had on other people and, by extension, that I have had on people I love and care about so much. Humbling, important, and sad.
A few weeks ago, I had an emotional dinner with a good friend who helped me realize that my story is her story. Her story changed because of what happened to me, and being an extraordinary friend to me changed who she is and how she looks at the world. It might seem self-absorbed not to have realized this sooner, but I think when things are particularly difficult it's all too easy to think that they are only difficult for you. These are difficult stories, but they aren't just difficult for me. So when I write about my story, am I exposing the other players in ways in which they might not want to be exposed? Am I violating their trust? Which stories are mine to share and which are theirs to protect?
I've been pondering this question because I've started working on a piece to submit to a well known newspaper for one of their occasional columns. The piece is about my relationship with another person and I am required to use their name (I have no idea why or how this is enforced). My story with this person is on an unpleasant hiatus and tied to extremely personal, difficult events in his life and my own. Writing this piece is a bit like peeling an onion, and as I peel I have a nagging feeling that I'm in someone else's kitchen. If I was a major player in this story, does that make it my story? Do I get to write about it?
Sorting through these issues has been puzzling for me, as I've never thought about my life and my experiences as anything other than my own. But in fact, they are not all my own - they are inextricably intertwined with other people's proprietary experiences, feelings, and memories. It's humbling and important to see the effects that my traumas over the past few years have had on other people and, by extension, that I have had on people I love and care about so much. Humbling, important, and sad.
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