Memoir Is Medicine: Why Your Story Matters More Than Ever

I didn’t expect to write about love today, but here we are. I know many of you are navigating tough seasons with unexpected and unwanted changes, crises, losses, and so much more. Art can feel either frivolous during challenging times or like a lifeline that keeps us tethered to this earth. Here’s why writing, and especially writing your memoir is medicine.

For me, art has always been the tether. Writing helps me understand how I feel and gives voice to my experiences. Its capacity to help us survive and thrive is why I teach it to others. I see the work not just as recording the right words but as crafting stories that transform your life. By examining your life, you can do what Viktor Frankl writes about in Man’s Search for Meaning: decide how to respond. Your response is the one thing no one can take away from you, and it’s your ultimate power. Owning your responses is also one way to love yourself.

Over the weekend, I traveled to Washington, D.C. for the Psychotherapy Networker Conference. It was the first psychology conference I’ve attended in eleven years. Logically, it seemed like an odd choice, given that most of my work has been in writing and publishing, but something urged me to go. Even when some unexpected (and tough) travel at the beginning of the month suggested I should take it easy, the call to attend never faded.

So, I joined thousands of therapists to learn from rock stars in the field like David Kessler, Jon Kabat-Zinn, Frank Anderson, Jacqui Johnson, Esther Perel, and many others. I dove deeply into the topics that allow me to call myself a trauma-informed writing coach, such as attachment theory, polyvagal theory, and Internal Family Systems. I left with forty pages of notes, some of which will become blog posts I’ll share in the coming months.

My mind still swirls with all that content.

Here’s the most important lesson I gleaned from the conference about why memoir is medicine: what we do is vitally important. While I’m not a therapist anymore, I’m still in the trenches, helping people uncover deep truths as they rake away the bullshit that keeps them from being—and loving—who they truly are.

All weekend, presenters said the phrase what’s your story so often that if this were a drinking game, I’d have the worst hangover ever.

So much of life revolves around the story you tell yourself and what you do with it. As writers, we have the tools to revise our narratives into something incredible.

At the start of my trip, I said a little prayer: Let me leave this conference knowing why I needed to be here.

That prayer was answered in countless ways. I learned new skills that will help me serve you better, met some incredible people, and departed with a renewed sense of purpose and passion for the power of memoir, especially after the session I attended with Frank Anderson, a renowned trainer in Internal Family Systems and author of Transcending Trauma.

In 2024, he published his memoir To Be Loved, which chronicles his journey to heal from child abuse and dark family secrets.

As Frank wrapped up his talk, he said, “I healed more while working on my memoir than I did in all my years of therapy, and now I want to figure out how to do this with others.”

I smiled, knowing this is what I do. Whether your story is an emotionally difficult one about loss, immense challenges, or trauma—or something funny or miraculous—it’s what you do too. As you write your story, you learn to love yourself a little more, which is the greatest gift you can give not just to yourself, but to the world.

It’s why I invite you to always—always—write on.

Warmly,

Lisa

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