Remembering Ourselves

 Memory is a funny thing. Remembering, even for those of us with good memories, is only partly accurate and often incomplete. James Olney once said that Richard Wright is a powerful example of the autobiographer of memory- a creative memory that shapes and reshapes the historical past in the image of the present, making the past as necessary to this present as this present is the inevitable outcome of that past. I am on a journey of reframing/reshaping my history such that the pieces of me that were left behind, silenced, or hidden are now able to be fully present- not that I am about to start sharing all of my business with people. But I am re-membering myself whole. This means that I am no longer only including the most traumatic and painful experiences of my life when telling my story. Even the way I was remembering my story was causing me unnecessary grief. I needed to take another look at my life.

That look came around this time three years ago. I posted a picture on Facebook. It was to wish my cousin a Happy Birthday. It was a picture of us at my grandmother’s house. The picture shows me with this smile that brought tears to my eyes. It was in looking at that picture that I realized that I had experienced more than trauma as a child. It was looking at that picture that I remembered joy.

This reframing of my life's narrative has been a helpful tool as I navigate my way through grief. I didn’t realize that I had unprocessed grief from my childhood. And that unprocessed grief was impacting me in ways that I couldn’t quite explain. It was impacting the way I viewed my life; the way I understood my life and the way I told my story. I needed to process this stuff. And one of the ways that I process stuff is journaling and writing poetry. So, I wrote. 

Sleep Without Sleeping was the poem that came out of this “Re-Membering” and processing period. It was in this poem that I revisited this unprocessed grief and shame. It was here that I went back to talk to the six-year-old me so that the thirty-six-year-old me could experience some healing. I’m not going to share the entire poem here.  You’ll have to look up Getting Naked to Get Free. But here is an excerpt:

I told that six-year-old, “It wasn’t your fault.”

I told that thirteen-year-old, “You shouldn’t have had to go to the clinic alone.”

I told that twenty-year-old, “You are special just the way you are.”

I told that twenty-seven-year-old, “You don’t have to hide who you are. You just have to be the best you.”

I told that thirty-year-old, “You’ve come a long way but still have work to do.”

I told that thirty-five-year-old, “It is okay to smile and cry because it doesn’t say you’re weak.”

I told that thirty-six-year-old, “Get yourself some sleep.”

Because I had learned to sleep without sleeping, to always be aware of every movement around me. And at thirty-six, it was becoming tiring.

It was necessary for me to address some grief that had gone unchecked for years. Perhaps you need to do the same. Don’t be afraid to go back, to revisit, to re-examine old wounds, for your healing. I’m not suggesting that this is necessary for everyone. However, so often, we try to move forward, to press our way, before we've had the opportunity to do the hard work of healing. Yes, healing is work. But it’s worth it. This is not judgment for those who moved forward with the wounds before getting the healing. I moved forward, too. I was surviving. But let's examine where we are today. Do we have an opportunity today to set aside time for healing? Do we have time for remembering ourselves whole?    

*Frederika, J.. Getting Naked to Get Free. iUniverse. Kindle Edition.*