I have said this before, memories are tricky, unreliable things.
I believe that most, if not all, of our memories consist of factual truth, embellishments of emotion, imagination and external influences (such as seeing a picture, news article, or hearing someone else’s account).
While they may not be 100% fact, memories, especially those from childhood, can tell us a lot about how we were feeling at the time. They should not be judged. They should not be criticized. And, there’s often no real need for them to be “set straight”. They exist for a reason.
They are called “Autobiographical Memory”.
Our memories help shape us and, in turn, our lives. I grew up as the baby of the family. I am used to having everyone else tell me how “things were” or at least, how they remember them.
I also have grown-up constantly trying to keep the peace and protect everyone around me. This has meant that, time and time and time again I have never shared what I remembered, how I have felt about things and the memories that have been my experiences through life.
Even now, as I started this blog, I have had to constantly battle the urge to edit or not write because I didn’t want to upset anyone. I have held my own memories, recollections, feelings, thoughts, and stories close to my heart, where they could be safe, long enough. I want to share them. I want to share this world that I grew-up in. As I remember it.
I know that my memories are never going to be 100% truth. Sometimes, they may not even be more than 20% truth. But, they are mine.This is how it was to me. And, as part of who I am, they don’t need to be corrected, just accepted as part of me, my story, my substance. I know that they are not, necessarily, perfectly accurate and I know that there are other people involved who have their own versions of the stories, their own memories, their own feelings. I do not write to take that away from that. We all experienced things through our own lenses. This is my space to share through mine.
Fear, loneliness, trauma, anger, shame, embarrassment, love, uncertainty, humor, imagination, sadness-they will all be a part of why I recall things the way I do. And that’s important.
This is what my world was. These are the experiences, memories and feelings, both fact and fiction, that all led-up to this point. Right here. Me.
Here in all my strengths, weaknesses, victories, failures-the love, the hate, the fear the bravery. Everything I am comes from these memories.
It may not be 100% factual truth-but, it is 100% me.