Barbara J. Hamby

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Pre Traumatic Stress Disorder

Yesterday I had a strange experience--brought about, I believe, by reading the latest episode from my memoir stories. Writing it had been difficult but I hadn’t expected the prospect of reading it aloud to my critique group would make me physically ill. As my turn to read approached, I began feeling weird symptoms. I wondered if I could be having a T.I.A. (a mini-stroke). I was dizzy, nauseous, sweating and flushed. I decided I would read the piece and then go home early to recover from my sudden illness. At first I didn’t associate the symptoms with the reading. Not until I’d finished, and another writer asked, “Was that hard to write,?"To which I replied, “You bet,” did I begin to recover.

Driving home after the meeting, I asked myself why I think I need to put myself through such stress. Does anyone care that much about the stories from my life? My genealogist sister may be the only person in the world with any interest. There is a slim chance that one or both of my children may, at some time in their lives, be curious. It’s unlikely I’ll still be around when and if that occurs.

Its been many years since the deaths of my parents, and I do have unanswered questions about their lives. I chastise myself for not asking more when I had the opportunity. A few tidbits of information dribble in periodically from genealogical records and from their siblings (only one of whom is still alive).

Later, I comforted myself with the knowledge that the worst parts of my life have been recorded and the pain those stories dredged up has dissipated. While pulling the existing stories and the ones still unwritten into a cohesive unit will be grueling, it shouldn’ be extremely emotional. Some of the rest of the writing will likely even be fun.

A psychologist could possibly shed some light on whether or not the life experiences of one generation can be helpful to following generations. Perhaps there are lessons to be gleaned, although I can’t think of many instances where one person has learned from another’s mistakes. Even profiting from one’s own mistakes is rare.

Probably I’ll plod on with this project. I do envy my fiction-writing friends who can view their characters with amused detachment and curiosity.

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