MEMOIR NOTES #7: No One Really Cares About Your Story
Wait, what? Uncovering The Shadow In Your Healing Writing Process
The Memoir Notes is a series of real-time notes inside Heart’s Content documenting my process as I write my memoir. I share story drafts with my private community in each month’s intimate, bonus newsletter for paid subscribers. Join us if you want to follow along in real-time, read what I’m writing, and chat with us about it. I hope it might also encourage you to write and heal your story.
In this series, I'm not only writing about difficult personal stories but also openly sharing the emotions they stir within me, which is a distinct and challenging aspect of the project.
"No one really cares about your story."
Or so it can seem when our wounds arise.
Last week, I sent out a story to my private community of paid subscribers. It was a lengthy, potent story from my childhood. For me, a technicolor memory, as vibrant and clear as watching a film. It felt risky and raw and vulnerable to share, and it also felt really good to send it out to that community to be witnessed. I modeled the behavior of:
owning my story
writing my story
discovering insights
sharing it to be witnessed
and by sharing: supporting and encouraging others to share theirs.
All those intentions were met, so why did I feel kind of let down and lonely afterward?
This wasn’t the first time I felt this way, but for some reason, this time, it landed hard.
So, what happened?
Well, kind of nothing happened.
Mostly silence. Crickets. Not even from my own family or some of my closest friends. No response except for that one dear friend who always emails me something encouraging. And I found myself in that familiar territory of feeling unseen, surprisingly hurt, and kind of lonely. I noticed how I was feeling, and I wondered why.
Before I go into the feelings, let me tell you how much I loathe the thought of coming off as whiny or needy or needing positive feedback. But to show up honestly here, I can't hide these vulnerable aspects of the process from you.
I wondered:
“Does my writing just… suck? Do I share too much or am I holding back and not showing up fully? Why don’t I get more response? Does my writing help anyone anywhere? Does any of this make any difference? Why am I even doing this?” A spiral of self-doubt, insecurity, and a torrent of other thoughts and feelings began to spill out. It was a low moment, for sure, and a slightly embarrassing to share with you. It had less to do with this particular story and more to do with reaching a tipping point of not feeling seen. I would soon discover that I had been feeling this way for a long time.
Never mind that people have their own busy lives with their own stories and have more to do than read everything I write and then respond to it! Never mind that not everyone is actually interested in the details of my life. And never mind that this work is mine to do and has great inherent value whether anyone else reads it or not. But we all know how feelings like these can rush up and start swirling in moments of vulnerability and self-doubt.
Then the next cycle of self-pity emerged. I pouted to myself: “It really feels awful to vulnerably pour your heart out onto the page and have no one even respond. It’s like no one really cares about what happened to me.”
And BOOM. There it was.
"It’s like no one really cares about what happened to me" is exactly how I often felt as a little girl. Ah, now we’re getting somewhere!
Here’s a text I sent to my circle group as this connection was beginning to dawn on me:
And here we are.
WHEN NO ONE WITNESSED US
When we were kids, going through some pretty tough stuff, it often felt like we were invisible. Our pain went unnoticed, unacknowledged. Perhaps no one was capable of giving loving witness to our pain. There were other times when our pain wasn’t allowed to be shown, or when our caregivers, whom we needed to comfort us, were in so much pain themselves that there was no room for ours. Some of us suffered mostly alone. And from that space of aloneness with our pain, we began to believe that our pain just didn’t matter to anyone. It wasn’t much of a leap to then begin believing that we didn’t matter. Today, we carry these parts inside of us who are still waiting for someone to acknowledge them, to help them, to hold them. They are waiting and crying out for a witness. Ours. They are calling out to us.
Truth be told, when I was struggling with this last week, I wasn't seeking an outpouring of sympathy or comments on the hardships I've endured. It was the silence, the void left by most, that somehow caused my soul ache. And what I made that lack of response mean. Be careful with your meaning-making. I made it mean that my pain didn’t matter because when I was little, well, it didn’t. I made it mean that it was still happening to me when it actually wasn’t. I came to realize that when I share my stories now - narratives that require courage to bring forth and, in essence, relive - the absence of response evokes memories of my lonely past. It feels again as though nobody cares. These feelings echo from a distant time and are an inaccurate reflection of my present reality.
It's an echo from another era, reminding me that I genuinely needed a compassionate witness back then, and this profound need still yearns for healing in my present life. The undeniable and understandable need for a child to have their pain acknowledged, and conversely, their positive attributes reflected back, cannot be overstated. I did receive instances of positive validation during my childhood, but there were far more times when I suffered alone.
I'm learning how vital it is to be mirrored and witnessed as a child for healthy development. As I nurture and guide my inner child now, I witness and feel her painful emotions, release them, and extract wisdom from them as I am able so that young Mary doesn't have to bear that burden alone any longer. I continue to evolve into a better witness for my own wounded self. I find that we are often better at listening and holding sacred space for others than we are for ourselves.
"No one really cares about what happened to you" might have been how I felt as a child. But as an adult, it couldn’t be further from the truth.
I now receive abundant support in healing my story. I am blessed with an incredible family, devoted friends, and readers who often provide profound witness and encouragement, both online and offline. I never expect my readers to step into the role of therapist or perpetual cheerleaders, but in my unwavering commitment to transparency and authenticity in this journey, I felt compelled to share these emotions with you, even if doing so makes me feel vulnerable and somewhat uneasy. I take courage because I know that while our individual experiences may differ, you can relate to the emotions and the phenomenon of carrying our unhealed wounds into the present.
When you start down this road of healing, your past comes back to haunt you in some ways. How else can you heal the shadowy parts unless you shine a light on them?
Maybe jumping into a newsletter thing and laying it all out here was a bit impulsive, but then again, maybe it's exactly what I needed to sustain my momentum and remain dedicated to this profound work. This is the territory one treads when delving into the healing power of memoir writing.
But know this, I'm genuinely thrilled that you're here. I'm grateful that we're tackling this together. Perhaps you needed to hear that you're not alone in this maze of tangled emotions and old patterns that keep cropping up as we try to make peace with our stories.
If there is any way I support you and your efforts, please reach out. I care about your story, too. Each story we are willing to write and heal is another step of our reclamation.
Lots of love,
xo Mary
I ask myself questions like “When do I remember feeling this way before? Or what is the first memory I have of feeling this way?” It makes it easier to find my way back to an earlier hurt and work there.
REFLECTION :
What kinds of feeling emerge for you when you share something you value and feel unwitnessed? How can you use that moment as an opportunity to look deeper within or ask someone you trust to give you some positive feedback?
How can you show up to witness your younger self ? What might she need today?
Mantra: Healing my story is life-changing, world-changing work.
3 THINGS WORTH SHARING THIS WEEK:
My friend Judy sent me this Huffpost article and invited me to be a Glimmer Buddy with her! Glimmers are the opposite of triggers. They are an easy, accessible way to notice more joy in your life. Check this article for more. Thanks, Judy!
Here are a few glimmers from my last week:
I planted some wildflower seeds in tubs in my backyard this summer. I kept waiting patiently and after 2.5 months, voila! Here’s a little bouquet.
My daughter Aiyana and her partner are moving up to Colorado at the end of this week. ( Be still my mommy heart!). As she was packing up, she found her childhood teddy bear and shared this photo with me. What precious memories.
Last week, I joined some friends to tape out a temporary labyrinth in the dining hall of the church. We laughed a lot and enjoyed the process! This is a temporary version as we plan for the permanent one we will create outdoors.
Do you love historical fiction? I’ve got a great book for you by my friend, author Phylis Caskey! I’m trying to slow down and savor this story, but she doesn’t make it easy because it is its definitely a page turner! You will love her female characters and depth of the relationship you build with them.
The Wind Has A Voice by Phylis Caskey
In the early hours of dawn, a violent raid shatters the peaceful life of a young female nomad. When her family is brutally killed, she is left with no choice but to flee with her wounded sister, leaving behind everything she has ever known.
Pursued through a brutal Mongolian landscape by relentless trackers, Khâsi must rely on her skills to survive. Her knowledge of the land and her people’s ways become her greatest assets, as she battles the elements and evades danger at every turn.
But the harshest enemy of all–winter, is fast approaching, with its numbing cold and unrelenting storms. As the sisters push on through the snow, they know that their survival is far from guaranteed. Yet, they cling to the hope that awaits them at the end of their journey: a chance for a new start and to honor the memory of those they have lost.
This is a story of courage, resilience, and the indestructible bond between two sisters, set against the backdrop of a harsh unforgiving wilderness.
Connect with Phylis Caskey’s work here.
What did this writing today evoke in you? Or perhaps you would like to share a “glimmer” from your week? Leave a comment below if you are inclined.
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Mary, I resonate so much with all the feelings and emotions you shared. The vulnerability of your writing gives me courage to face and explore what I’m feeling and experiencing. Your beautifully expressive writing draws me in every time. I’m very grateful you started this Substack!
First, the name "Heart's Content" is just right, as you write to your heart and to ours. Second, you have been and will be a wonderful, engaging, nourishing writer. Nourishing writing like yours gives us not only things to chew on, but substance for our growth and expansion. Sometimes I read you and reflect on your offerings, only to return and reflect more. That's good stuff! (I want to hug your little self and big self often!)
One friend of mind immersed herself in art therapy, and the Painting Experience became her rich life of expression. Healing came forth in her life in colors and patterns she didn't know existed. A local restaurant invited her to display and sell her work there, work which she wished to be her legacy going out into the world. In short order, the restaurant burned to the ground, her grief compounded beyond any she'd known before. Her deep grieving of her stories on canvas morphed into her exhibitions of photographs of nature. Annelle Hollingsworth, Whidbey Island, WA wrote beyond pain and loss, adding poetry to her magnificent photos. You care about yourself enough to continue beyond where you thought you would go, as Annelle has. It's an absolute blast, a joy to witness where you were, are now and will be~ Go Mary!