“If I have been given the gift of a good, clear memory, how do I use it? It isn’t likely that God conferred this gift on me for the purpose of dredging up old wrongs, injured feelings, futile regrets and personal sufferings. That would clearly be a misuse of His gift, when everyone has so many pleasant and satisfying things to remember.” (ODAT, 10 September)
I used to have the nerve to say I had a terrible childhood. I certainly felt terrible for moments and patches, but I also felt great for moments and patches.
Beyond the feelings, there were the facts: besides the disagreeable events, there are the endless examples of good people, comfortable settings, the ordinary, neutral progression of life in western civilisation.
The narrative of the terrible childhood was a fabrication.
My identity—tied to this narrative—was a fabrication.
The real horror was to have lived such a lie for so long.
Now, I actively recall the good things. And these way outnumber the bad.
I remember someone once saying they were unhappy because they were ‘in the midst of a divorce’. At that moment, they were in the midst of friends. They denied the friends and conjured the divorce from another part of the day, from another place.
This is the cautionary tale that guides my present vigilance against the construction of fabricated victim narratives.