Write what you don’t know

And let it teach you about yourself

I used to take for granted the inherent truth of the statement: write what you know. On the surface it makes sense. In fact, I’d go as far as to say it was why I began writing memoir. What topic could I know better than myself? What better place to start?

But over time, I’ve come to realise I had it backwards. Memoirists (or personal essayists) are rarely writing about themselves because they know who they are, or have a perfect perspective on their story. They do so precisely because they do not yet fully understand themselves, their choices and their pasts.

Writing the self, is the attempt to make the unconscious, conscious. It makes the invisible visible. I am rarely transcribing something I already know. More often than not, I think this is what I am doing only to arrive at something new; something previously unknowable.

This is how my brain feels after I finish writing.

It never ceases to amaze me that I can sit down at the page to write a story as I understood it to have happened, only to read it back to myself and see a new perspective has emerged. Or I’ve accidentally stumbled upon a different story entirely. Or even better, a truth. One that my subconscious mind was intent on telling. Usually the perspective that emerges offers a kinder and more compassionate view to the other players involved in said story. Sometimes, also, to myself.

In this way, there is a kind of undertow that develops beneath the surface of a text that has nothing to do with the conscious mind. The best way I can describe my understanding of this phenomenon is a reward we receive for creating the conditions for flow state to arrive. In these moments, I see my curiosity rewarded by leading me back to myself. It offers me a chance to be better.

I believe that in writing the self, I become more available for other kinds of work. It’s like opening a window in a bedroom after two drunk people have been sleeping, excreting thick, turgid, hungover air. It’s a crack where the light gets in. It’s fresh air.

I know that for me, as I bring the exiled parts of myself into an embodied state (via writing and thinking about myself – a seemingly extremely myopic act), I actually make space for others; for those glimmers that make life worth living.

“Like most memoirists, I am a secretive person. The idea that memoirists are oversharers who crave attention is erroneous; we are usually people who have hidden large swathes of ourselves in order to appeal to others, to feel safe. By the time we write our memoirs, those concealed parts have become too heavy to bear. The problem with secrecy is that it isolates us, alienates us from the companionship engendered by a shared truth.” - Melissa Febos

Back in early 2024, I had someone very close send me a text message after I published my second or third Substack article (my first foray into sharing my work in any public way) all of which had been squarely about myself. An extremely vulnerable time, especially as a writer of the self. To paraphrase, she essentially suggested there were more interesting topics I could cover which would allow for a wider audience to enjoy, than stories about myself. The very loud subtext was: this is starting to read like self-indulgent babble.

It was absolutely crushing. A memoirist’s worst nightmare realised. This is embarrassing. I am embarrassing.

I stopped writing altogether for several months and, until relatively recently, I have been regaining the confidence I lost from receiving that text at such a fragile juncture in my writing life.

I have truly come to believe (after many pep talks to myself) that writing as honestly as I can about my own life is not self-indulgent but a public service, of sorts. It lets others feel less alone in their experience of life. And, perhaps more importantly, it allows for the integration of self-knowledge. This leads me to become a better person, a better citizen, a better friend, mother and wife. If this is not the point of being alive, I’m not sure what is.

So if you are struggling with the idea of writing about yourself, remember that your ostensible subject might not be your ultimate subject (the answers will emerge on the page). And if you don’t want your life to be governed by unprocessed experiences, keep writing.

The thing you are writing is the answer to what you are facing.

You are writing because you want to be free.

And perhaps to help others be a little more free, too.