I’ve often wondered if I should tell my own story. My friends are always telling me to write about my own life and the troubles therein, however, I wonder about the wisdom of doing just that when most of the players in my story are still living.
Even my counsellor advised me to tell my story. She said there would be a lot of healing in telling it. I have to say, that after a lot of thinking, I agree with her. It would be nice to finally get my story out there, but whether anyone would believe it through the thirty-plus years of lies that have been told about me, I don’t know.
Perhaps it would be better to write the abuse, physical, emotional, and mental, into my books and deal with it all that way.
What I do know is that I am tired of the lies. It always amazes me that those who ought to know me the most, hate me the most, but this is borne from the fact that they do not and never have known me at all. They have latched onto the lies,treated them as truth, and judged me rather than getting to know me and discovering for themselves what is clear to everyone else – the ‘tall tales’ are not true. I have friends all over the world, and, with my hand on my heart, I can say that I feel more love from them than I ever have from my relatives.
That in turn reminds me of something else my counsellor said – a relative that lies about you disqualifies themselves from being your family.
Bearing that in mind, should I, after so many decades, even care about telling my story and hurting those who perpetrated my own hurt?
I’m not sure I should. Why? Because the scars they’ve given me run so deeply that they touch my everyday life.
What do you think? Should I write a book about my life? Or should I write all the mental, emotional, and physical abuse into my stories? Would the healing be equal?
Writing novels is not easy, but telling your own story is more so.