Write your story

Why not write your own story?

Or better still get someone to write it for you or with you.

It’s what I decided to do when I made my decision to write my own memoir. I had so much to share. There was so much more I still had to learn about my family. I wanted to see what I could find out. I set myself a deadline. 23rd July 2023. My 60th birthday. I managed it. But only just.

Many of us have often wondered what it would be like to write our life story. When I ask what’s stopping you, they tell me they have nothing to write about. They’ve led a boring life. Or the almost universal ‘who would want to read my story.’

I guarantee you someone will.

I had no idea how to write a memoir. I just knew I had to write it.

It all began back in December 2022 when my paternal uncle died and then my maternal aunt, just a few months later. It suddenly dawned on me I was the next generation. My cousins were the next generation. My sisters. I needed to find out as much as I could about my family and family life, before it was too late.

I decided to take a few short weeks to read about how to write a memoir, all the while penning my chapters and shaping my story.

I would start off from the time in which I was born and move it on. Slowly, but surely it began to take shape.

There were so many questions I began to ask. What was going on the day, week, month and year in which I was born? What was the music scene? Who was at number one? What sway did other countries have on how we lived our lives? What influences were to shape my life? What tragedies were to unfold?

Photographs, memorabilia, awards, school reports, memories, old school friends can all help shape our history. The impact of family life; school days; crushes on the boy next door; jobs, children can all make for an interesting read.

Give someone a piece of history and they will all have an interpretation of that event. But sadly there were things I just didn’t have any more. Gymnastics awards, school reports, but there was so much I did. I was grateful for what I had kept.

As I delved into the history of many of the photos that my auntie had, I looked at a photograph of my probably 10-year-old dad and I cried. I had never seen it.

The more I explored family life the more I felt a connection to my grandad. I felt sorry. Sorry, that I don’t remember him. Sorry I didn’t have the chance to talk to him more. He had a hard life. A challenging life. He did his best. He died at 57, as did my dad. A miner, he was riddled with cancer. Dad died in 1999 from a severe stroke, the type of stroke often fatal, as was his.

There are so many family members I never really met, or if I did, I don’t remember. I wish I knew more. There are ways and means of finding out. I have more time now. Time to explore, search for birth certificates, marriage certificates, and death certificates. They tell a story don’t they? They help piece the jigsaw together. To paint a picture.

Through my writing, I learned a little more about myself. I learned a little more about my family. I learned a little more about my mum. Some things hurt. I felt for my mum. I could never understand, but I did gain insight.

Sharing my story created meaning. There is so much that caused sadness in my life, but so much more that created joy. Memories don’t ever truly leave us. And it’s important we share them in our own way, before it’s too late.

So, don’t leave it to chance. Don’t let others tell your story. The only person who can truly do your story justice is you. The only person who can really bring your story to life is you.

Imagine the legacy you leave behind. For your children, grandchildren and generations to come.

If you want to know more. Ask me. Take that first step.