When I began to write again in September 2014, the first story I attempted to write and did not finish was a fictional piece where the main character was loosely based on me and my life experiences. In doing this, I found that some of the events from my dating and romantic relationships in my early twenties weren’t what I’d always thought they were.
As I wrote scenes in which my main character reacted to the boyfriends and men in which she had crushes, this became apparent to me, especially for one intense relationship I had. I’d spent twenty-five years seeing it all through my perspective and believing I’d been wronged and the guy was a jerk. As if everything I did was wonderfully good and considerate and his was absolutely bad and apathetic. Not so.
This narrow view expanded to a more balanced and clearer picture. It was a bit of an epiphany . . . a painful and stunning discovery, mixed with regret and shame, in which I’d been so self-absorbed only caring about my own feelings and never considering or understanding his. Now, it’s true this one boyfriend didn’t volunteer any of his deep, personal feelings with me, so I wouldn’t, couldn’t have known. But twenty-five years later, it’s quite evident that there were problems that neither of us knew how to deal with and didn’t have the knowledge and relationship tools in which to figure it all out.
This first writing endeavor truly turned the mirror on me and my behavior in my early twenties, for which I’d been selfish, naive, and clueless. But writing what I did brought about a catharsis for which my past hurts and whatever disgruntled feelings or misunderstandings and frustrations I’d felt so strongly then dissipated and resolved four years ago, leaving me with a sense of understanding and peace within me.
Having experienced this, I wonder if this happens to other writers, especially those who write memoirs. Writing truly is an outlet to self-discovery and catharsis.