Dear Amy, I have not experienced this with your memoir experts "I’d accidentally written my father as a noble, disabled hero and myself as a martyred caregiver” Your caregiving was a loving, necessary response. Though you were burdened by all the responsibilities, as anyone would be, I did not perceive that you felt martyred. Likewise, the care you extended to your siblings was a natural extension of your sensitive nature and the only response possible. As you mentioned in “Judge” your dad is a normal person, who happens to have cerebral palsy. He was a hero and also flawed. Each one of us is a fluid mix of admirable traits and moments when we could have done better. To me, your excerpts capture life’s complexity and the wonder and power of love.
Thank you, Luci. This note means a great deal to me. It's reassuring to know how the scenes feel to you. I can only sense them from inside the memory - inside the space of the story.
I think that we (you and I) are going to witness more of this rocking motion - as I move in and out of the harder material. I am going to feel these movements, these surges of feeling and sometimes, I am going to stop and talk myself through them -- sometimes privately. Other times in a post like this. It's part of the process of becoming visible. Something I did not expect but I am willing to go through when something makes me freeze up and question whether Ive crossed a boundary or hurt someone. It's part of my journey. Beautiful, hard. Surprising. As the journey is unfolding I'm discovering it as I go.
I felt a lot of emotions reading this. Understanding nodding in agreement. My husband wanting to go meet with friends and me grunting...ugh. resentment. I just want to be with him and my cats and my pool and sunsets, books, cooking, naps, laughing. I dont want to get in a car, drive to a crowded loud overpriced restaurant to shout across the table at people. Then as the story went on felt sad. About you and your sister. And my heart broke a little more.
I had a lot of emotions writing it. I am trying to write what really happened what it felt like what it looked like to me when I was that age and now, this age, looking back. I'm sorry if your heart broke even a little. (We're okay now. Me, my sisters. It's hard to write truth about the past from the present when you are no longer living that story. Im not sure it seems so important to do that but it does.)
Dear Amy, I have not experienced this with your memoir experts "I’d accidentally written my father as a noble, disabled hero and myself as a martyred caregiver” Your caregiving was a loving, necessary response. Though you were burdened by all the responsibilities, as anyone would be, I did not perceive that you felt martyred. Likewise, the care you extended to your siblings was a natural extension of your sensitive nature and the only response possible. As you mentioned in “Judge” your dad is a normal person, who happens to have cerebral palsy. He was a hero and also flawed. Each one of us is a fluid mix of admirable traits and moments when we could have done better. To me, your excerpts capture life’s complexity and the wonder and power of love.
Thank you, Luci. This note means a great deal to me. It's reassuring to know how the scenes feel to you. I can only sense them from inside the memory - inside the space of the story.
I think that we (you and I) are going to witness more of this rocking motion - as I move in and out of the harder material. I am going to feel these movements, these surges of feeling and sometimes, I am going to stop and talk myself through them -- sometimes privately. Other times in a post like this. It's part of the process of becoming visible. Something I did not expect but I am willing to go through when something makes me freeze up and question whether Ive crossed a boundary or hurt someone. It's part of my journey. Beautiful, hard. Surprising. As the journey is unfolding I'm discovering it as I go.
I felt a lot of emotions reading this. Understanding nodding in agreement. My husband wanting to go meet with friends and me grunting...ugh. resentment. I just want to be with him and my cats and my pool and sunsets, books, cooking, naps, laughing. I dont want to get in a car, drive to a crowded loud overpriced restaurant to shout across the table at people. Then as the story went on felt sad. About you and your sister. And my heart broke a little more.
I had a lot of emotions writing it. I am trying to write what really happened what it felt like what it looked like to me when I was that age and now, this age, looking back. I'm sorry if your heart broke even a little. (We're okay now. Me, my sisters. It's hard to write truth about the past from the present when you are no longer living that story. Im not sure it seems so important to do that but it does.)