All writing, even fiction, contains some truth. Characters are usually based, at least in part, on someone we’ve met in our lives. Our perceptions, beliefs, and experiences can’t help but come through in our stories.
But when writing memoir, the author can’t hide behind a character. And no matter how much you might try to avoid telling a story, it will eventually have to be written or you just can’t move on with your life. I read somewhere that author Kathryn Harrison had to write about her incestuous relationship with her father, something that had been running in her head for years. When she finally wrote it out, she was no longer blocked. Said Harrison, “One of the solaces that art can offer you is the chance to make something out of what’s hurt you. You can objectify an experience, put it on paper, craft it, and shape it. There’s perhaps an illusionary control over it. But it is significant.”
I wrote my memoir piece for the anthology Voices of Multiple Sclerosis several years after being diagnosed with the disease. As often happens with me, essays start to flow out once I have that first line—and it just had to be shared. I suppose it is the same with all artists: writers need to write as painters need to paint as musicians need to play. Many love songs are about being heartbroken; many paintings express incredible pain. I am inspired every day by other people’s stories—told in whatever medium they choose. That is part of the reason I decided to make a very personal piece a public one.
I mainly look at myself as a freelance writer and photographer, but I also work in social services. I frequently joke that working in social services gives me plenty of book material, but I am actually quite serious. A serious comment. A serious business. My clients inspire me every day. What they have had to overcome in their lifetimes—often on a daily basis—would make most people just roll over and quit. But they keep on trying, and better than just surviving, they keep on excelling.
A couple of years ago I had a particularly difficult client, on a particularly difficult day, say something that hit me hard. You develop a thick skin in this business, but I admit I’m still a sensitive soul, some days more than others. On this day he was really struggling and he lashed out at me: “It must be nice to not have anything wrong with you.” As politely as I could without lashing back I said, “I suppose it would be, but I wouldn’t know. I have plenty of things wrong with me. Remember, not everything is visible.” I let it go at that and changed the subject. When you are working with someone who is having a hard time, you put the focus back where it belongs and off you.
I’ve thought of that encounter often . Some of my clients are just elderly and frail, some have physical disabilities, some have had traumatic brain injuries, and some are very mentally ill. I sincerely like all my clients. I learn from them as much as I can teach them. I help them, and quite often they unknowingly help me. I have numerous quotes for future books, many funny lines, and some characters that are so rich I couldn’t make them up even if I tried. I say it all the time: “We all have something wrong with us. We are all human. ”
When my client said, “It must be nice to not have anything wrong with you,” I felt fortunate that my issues were hidden. I’ve had asthma since I was a kid, and until better medications came out a few years ago, I would frequently be in the emergency room getting adrenaline shots because I couldn’t breathe. I also lost the ability to have a child a few years back. Those two things I’ve become open about. But there’s one that I have always been quite silent about—having multiple sclerosis.
I wondered a few years ago if I would ever realize my dream of being a recognized writer. Now, many articles later, that has become a reality. And, at the end of 2009, I finally got into my first book, the anthology. And this time the thing I’ve always been silent about has made it so I just can’t be silent anymore.
Because, if you can help someone, you should. And if you have a story that reaches out to others, you should tell it. And even if your disease is invisible, maybe there is someone else feeling the same way, and it is time to use your voice to tell people, “Hey, I live with this. And I struggle like everyone else. Every day. But I’m living pretty darn well. And I’m positive and happy—and sharing my story.”
Although I know I have many other stories to tell, there is something particularly important about telling this one. And I was thrilled one day last November when I came home to find a cardboard box sitting on my doorstep: an advance copy of Voices of Multiple Sclerosis. The book’s subtitle is The Healing Companion: Stories of Courage, Comfort and Strength. As scary as it was to tell a then-awful story of the discovery of the disease, during a then-awful year, things are different now. I have trouble with my eyes sometimes, I’m a bit unbalanced, I have some pain in my legs, I have some numbness in my hands, and I have a hard time with fatigue and heat. But, like my clients, I recognize myself as not just a survivor. I too am learning and growing every day.
My friends remember all the horrible things I went through during that time—the MS diagnosis was just the tip of the iceberg. My little story, “Tough Year,” near the back of the book, sums it up pretty well. But I lived through it. And now, with its publication, it is just another example of something I have always believed: there is always something good that comes out of something bad. My first book, my first real voice on the matter. And for that I am thankful and blessed. And, most important, no longer silent.
Caryl Yvonne Hunter is a freelance writer and photographer living in Minneapolis. She also works in the social services field in outreach programs throughout the Twin Cities area. She has been a member of The Loft Literary Center for several years. The book Voices of Multiple Sclerosis, an anthology of 33 articles by people with multiple sclerosis, caregivers, children, and doctors, is available at bookstores. It is also available on lachancepublishing.com and amazon.com.

Strong
August 24, 2010
Inspiring and insightful. I hope to see more of your work in the future.
Tammy
August 25, 2010
Great work Caryl. As an artist it is great to be reminded that it is our art that frees us & that I should let myself be more free with my work, sometimes I cover my hurt instead of letting it go. also, to remember that not all hurt shows on the outside. Some of the people with the most pains in their life that I know, never show it on the outside & still try to comfort everyone else around them.
Sid Korpi
August 26, 2010
What a wonderful thing you’ve done, not just in sharing your painful story in the book, but in reminding your fellow writers of the benefits not only our readers but we can receive from taking the risk to tell our toughest stories. When I’d lost my mother, stepfather, uncle, dog, two cats, cockatiel and 15-year marriage over a few short years, I feared my reason to remain here was gone. It wasn’t until, years later (and after several more deaths of loved ones) I was compelled to write “Good Grief: Finding Peace After Pet Loss” that I saw the purpose behind that boatload of suffering. I feel I am now the strongest me I’ve ever been, not without scars and not impervious to hurt, but confident that there really was a reason I survived this tsunami of loss. I lived, literally, to tell the tale.
You’re an inspiration! Thank you again for sharing this.
Carla
August 27, 2010
You are a wonderful courageous woman! Congratulations!
Jody
August 27, 2010
Caryl, the way you write is so “comfortable” to read. And way to go, I’m proud of you. Love ya.
Shirley
August 27, 2010
Thanks, Caryl, for sharing this with me. It made me think of how proud Susan would be to know her friend definitely came out of her ‘comfort zone’ to share her own personal story. I’m sure it wasn’t easy but you did it ‘cuz it may help others in similar situations. That sounds like something she would want to do in her own way, not necessarily the same as your way, but just being helpful & caring for others. Thank you for being you, my friend.