"The memoir is, at its core, an act of resurrection. Memoirists re-create the past, reconstruct dialogue. They summon meaning from events that have long been dormant."
-Carmen Maria Machado, In the Dream House
After taking an advanced creative nonfiction course with Professor Winter in the Spring of 2020, I realized two things: my thesis was going to be nonfiction, and it was going to be painful to write. A memoir about my body, medical issues out of my control, and sex would maybe not be as difficult to write if shame weren't included in that mix. But I had to go with what had a hold on me; my bodily shame was demanding my attention. Carmen Maria Machado's quote from her recent memoir, In the Dream House, explains what it was like to write this thesis: resurrecting memories, both painful and joyful, has led me to newfound meaning.
Writing nonfiction allows you to be honest with yourself. If you know how to write your story without protecting yourself, it's a painful yet rewarding endeavor. I view writing as a way to reclaim control over what I have experienced. I know if some of my family members or ex-boyfriends were to read this thesis, they would say that something happened differently from the way that I've put it. And that is okay, because everyone experiences the same day, same moment, differently. As long as it is not blatant lying, I think that it's okay to have different perceptions of an experience. An experience is, after all, a memory. We all know that memory is unreliable. And I think that is what makes memoir so great. We know that the writer is basing their craft on memory. We know memory is never reliable, but we believe them anyways. Because that is the art of storytelling and making meaning of our own experiences.
I think that writing a memoir goes hand-in-hand with allowing yourself to be vulnerable. Yet there is a balance that needs to be maintained: "I am allowing myself to be vulnerable, but not too vulnerable that I am saying `Look at all of this stuff that has happened to me.'" Personally, I think that I avoid this tone by writing in present tense. I've found that when I write in past tense, I tend to take on a tone that wants to over describe everything that has happened to me. My awareness of the fact that the moment is in the past is heightened. When I write in present tense, I find that it is easier for me to write scenes and put the reader into a present moment, where they can see for themselves how I felt. I don't need to over describe because the scene and the actions tell the story. I know that there are still times where I tend to over explain, and Professor Winter has pointed them out to me. One thing he always says when workshopping is "trust the reader." I know that sometimes we feel like we need to describe everything so that the reader gets it right. But trusting the reader and letting them do some of the lifting in the story helps the writer out and allows the reader to trust the writer in return.
We've had a lot of discussions about the art of writing memoir in Professor Winter's classes. Our discussions always seemed to come back to the idea of trust and the notion of "this is my story. This is how I experienced it. You may think differently, and that is okay." In Tara Westover's memoir Educated, she acknowledges that many of her traumatic experiences were not remembered by her brother, Tyler, who discussed memories with her for her book. Tyler also acknowledges that many of the memories are so traumatic that it would be difficult to remember them exactly as they have happened. Trauma affects us in more ways than we can imagine, and perhaps memoir is able to show us that.
We are unkind to ourselves when we feel shameful for things that are out of our control. There is no remedy or prevention for such things, yet we find that we hold ourselves accountable. I had no control over the medical issues that would influence every detail of my life. Urinating, one of the most thoughtless daily tasks, has always been something more for me: a chore, a nuisance, a burden. I would dread using the restroom in high school, afraid that someone might notice that I always take my pencil pouch with me, or that someone might catch me quickly rinsing my catheter in the sink. The thought of what a fellow student would say was never positive in my mind: "What is that?"; "Why do you have it?"; "Ew, you stick that in your crotch?" The shame of this is something that I have embodied, so much so that I feel as though there is still a disconnect between my mind and body.
Even after writing this memoir, I still find it hard to tell people that I use a catheter. In some ways, this memoir was written to help overcome that fear; putting it all out on the page makes my shame of using a catheter seem a little ridiculous. But using a catheter is not the only thing I've been ashamed of. As a woman that has experienced sexual assault, a large part of my life has been engulfed in the notion that my body is not mine. It's hard to put into words how I felt for years after sexual assault, but Machado's short story "Difficult at Parties" sparked the determination in me to tell my story, arrive at an understanding of what happened, and love myself. But this thesis is not just about sexual assault. This is not that story. This is the story of the relationship between me and my body, and many of those that have come in contact with it.
This thesis began with a manuscript that I turned in for Advanced Creative Nonfiction. Within this manuscript was everything that I told myself not to tell anyone: the fact that I used to self-harm, that I masturbated to the thought of someone hurting me, that I was sexually assaulted by my own boyfriend. I wrote it, regretted it, and turned it in anyway.
"This is a manuscript, you know?" was Professor Winter's response.
This reverence for something I had felt so ashamed of surprised me. I kept the email.
After workshopping the manuscript, I realized that there was so much more that I needed to say. The subject of this piece (my body) did not have to be constructed by only pain and trauma. Fortunately, my body has experienced more than that. With Professor Winter's guidance, I began to write about whatever came to mind: my relationship with my mother, yoga, swimming with my brothers when we were kids, my parents' divorce. On the surface these did not appear to link to my body, but Professor Winter showed me the connections: moments where I am present, familial relationships, and things outside of myself and out of my control. As I continued to write, I felt as though my body was unraveling on the page. Machado puts this feeling into words in "Difficult at Parties", "Her body-my body, mine-is still striped with the yellowish stains of fading bruises. It is a body overflowing out of itself; it unwinds from too many layers" (241). There is not enough space on the page for the story of my body, but forty-five pages is a start.
It's liberating to write about whatever grabs at you. When I decided that I wanted to continue writing about my body for my thesis, I didn't think that I would be writing about cheerleading, or my mother's mental health, or how she will one day lay in her coffin. With each short story I wrote from small inspirations came the delightful surprise that each fit into my thesis, and even more so, added depth to it. Because of this, I am indebted to the writers who inspired me: Carmen Maria Machado, whose story "Difficult at Parties" started this project; Leslie Jamison, whose honest essays made me feel less shameful about my scars; and Sarah Ramey for bringing awareness to the mysterious illnesses that impact far too many women, including myself. Formatting this thesis in short sections of various moments was inspired by Francisco Cantu's The Line Becomes a River. Professor Winter asked our Advanced Creative Nonfiction class to write in Cantu's style for an exercise, which led to me discovering that I love writing short and impactful scenes.
I wouldn't have been introduced to any of these works without my thesis advisor and instructor. Professor Winter: I consider you a source of inspiration and motivation in many, if not all, of my work. I've turned in work that I thought was mediocre, and by the end of a workshop you've always had me believing I could publish. And I did, thanks to you. Your faith in me has always stayed with me: through writing this thesis, applying to MFA programs, and accepting admission to Manhattanville. This all happened because you made me write, you instilled confidence in me, and you made me realize what I want to do with my life: "I want to do what you do." Thank you.
I would like to thank my oral defense committee - Dr. Barbara George, Dr. Sarah Smiley, Professor Sarah Pierce Brown, and Professor James Winter - who have volunteered their time to read my story and discuss it. I hope that this speaks to you, whether that be in the form of tears, laughter, or something in between. Thank you for the opportunity to share my work.
Writing this thesis was a struggle for me because writing about my body is difficult. I am attempting to show that there is a disconnect between me and my body, but also trying to write in a way that allows readers into my body to feel specific pains and experiences with me. This is something I struggled with because feeling connected to my own body has always been a struggle to begin with. But I think that writing this thesis has opened a world of opportunities for me to continue connecting with my body. And so, that is how this thesis came to be. From stories that I typed quickly in my phone to the manuscript I wrote in the Spring of 2020 came this revival.