Honesty versus loyalty in memoir writing

Last night I had one of the most vivid and disturbing dreams I have had in years. In it, my father put his hands around my throat and tried to strangle me. After an initial struggle I managed to overpower him, wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze the life out of him.

Normally, that would have been quite enough to be going on with, but, in the way of dreams, I realised that earlier in the day I had somehow also been responsible for killing my mother. In the dream I was not overly upset by their deaths, my major concern was over how to dispose of their bodies without being caught.

Jump to a moment of me chopping up bodies and putting them in a suitcase (I have recently watched The Jinx, I am hoping I can blame it for this turn of events!). Then jump to a moment of me shoving the suitcase in the back seat of the car I was using to drive me to bookstores to promote my newly released memoir.

Now I know people say that hearing other people’s dreams is about as interesting as watching paint dry, so most likely there will be very few people still reading at this point, but for those of you who have persevered, this dream feels like it is a doorway into the deeper feelings I have about putting my story out in the world.

Writing a memoir is, by its nature, a very personal experience. I am telling the story not just of my life, but of the lives of others. I have tried my hardest to do that story justice – to be honest, transparent and generous. But a lot of the terrain I have covered in my book is not pretty. And I do wonder how my Mum and Dad would feel to see themselves represented through my lens.

There’s a saying that goes, “Blood makes you related, but loyalty makes you family.”

I have thought a lot about this during the process of writing my book. So what is loyalty? The Oxford Dictionary defines it as, “giving or showing firm and constant support or allegiance to a person or institution.”

It also defines the word “betray” to mean, to “expose (one’s country, a group, or a person) to danger by treacherously giving information to an enemy.” Or, in another definition, “Be gravely disloyal to.”

Intellectually, I know that in family systems, especially family systems where abuse is occurring, the concept of loyalty can be extremely damaging. It can mean that children become secret keepers. That they see themselves as worthy of abuse rather than asking whether what their parents are doing is wrong. It can mean that they would rather betray themselves than their parents. It can also mean that when these “loyal” children develop into adults, they stay true to the dynamic of their family of origin, which may mean that their own children may be doomed to live within familiar patterns of abuse.

There can be big downsides to loyalty. But there are some pretty major upsides as well. For me, the biggest upside is the sense of belonging. I think one of the reasons writing a memoir is difficult, and is now giving me nightmares of myself as a callous murderer, is the deep-seated fear that I am now moments away from being thrown out of my tribe.

There is also the fact that I generally think of myself a loyal person. If I love you, I will fight for you, defend you, sing your praises, help you succeed. I am loyal to my Mum, my brother and sister. I am loyal my husband and kids. I am loyal to my friends.

But I also have a strong need for openness and honesty. If there is an elephant in the room my brain keeps shouting, “Elephant! Elephant! Elephant!” so loud that the words often end up trumpeting out of my mouth.

The people in my life who get me, love that about me (thank God, because seriously I can’t seem to shut myself up!) But not everyone is so keen on honesty. Some people think that loyalty means seeing no evil, hearing no evil, keeping quiet and toeing the line. For those people, loyalty and honesty are completely at odds.

But for me, they aren’t. I want the people in my life to speak their truth. I want them to tell me when I step on their toes or push against a boundary or say something that hurts them. And I want them to know that though the moment might feel a bit awkward and full-on, and though it may not always be handled graciously, I will always circle back, reflect on what they have said and hear them.

In making room in my relationships for both loyalty and honesty, hopefully it will mean that I have the privilege of truly knowing the minds and hearts of my nearest and dearest, so I can connect to them more deeply. That has got to be a good thing.

So maybe I can find a new way to interpret the dream. Reflecting on my childhood has allowed me to see my parents as flawed people who were doing the best that they could, rather than merely objects that failed to fulfil the needs and wants of my childhood. Maybe the father and mother I murdered was the outdated image I was held of them from the past. Maybe I needed to chop my parents into pieces so I could put them back together again in a way that made sense to me. (But don’t tell the dream police, I’m not sure they would understand.)

What do you think? Is it possible for loyalty and honesty to exist together? Would you ever write a memoir?