I posted a snippet of a story related to June 7 on my Patreon this afternoon. My intention was to share a meaningful event as part of my writing warmup today. June 7 has a specific meaning to me related to something that happened to me when I was 15 years old, and subsequent revisiting of the things and people which that event made me think about each year afterward. In sharing it, it was just a little sight into a life I keep mostly pretty private and a way to prime the pump for me to do some more writing/editing work today on the project due on June 30.
Currently I’m having that moment where you share a traumatic event with other people - one you’ve fully processed and are at peace with - and then realize they’re all staring at you because they can’t figure out why you don’t seem to realize how horrible the event was from the way you nonchalantly talk about it. Really, I’m 52 now and I’ve had many, many years to sit with those events and turn them into a positive thing in my life, in this case a day when I remember people who died unjustly and offer peace to their memories. But I’m also sorry that I upset some of my readers. Upon reflection yes, I seem to have written a story about some pretty cruel bullying.
I think the part that I’m personally sitting with most this evening is that of all the bullying stories I could share coming from my childhood, this one is a minor incident. Maybe this is why I don’t usually write memoir. Sorry!