The Experiencing Self or the Remembering Self: Who is writing the memoir?
Let me introduce you to 'Hakomi' and why it's pertinent to me right now
Tonight at the opening session for a Hakomi retreat I am attending, I was introduced to the concept of the Experiencing Self and the Remembering Self.
The Hakomi method is something I have been practicing for a number of years. It is a self-assisted psychotherapy based on ‘experiments in mindfulness’ that was developed by Ron Kurtz in the 1970s. You can read more about what “hakomi” means, but in short, it is a body-centred modality that puts emphasis on how experiences show up in our bodies right now, making it less concerned, than arguably other modalities, with ‘stories’ and how we experienced the past. It asks us to consider how our experience of the past is making us behave today.
Core to the method is the evoking of painful memories that created adaptations that blocked our ability to have whole experiences. By cultivating mindfulness and loving presence, along with various other techniques, we get a chance to have that missing experience. We observe ourselves in the present and how past material shows up, which allows us to study our inner workings and coping mechanisms and gain insight into the core system of beliefs that informs how we generally navigate the world. This helps us to consider new, more effective ways of navigating new experiences. It helps us heal old wounds. It helps us have whole experiences—it helps us experience life in the moment, unperturbed by the weight of the past suffering.
In a way, mindfulness and this kind of self-study is the learning of how to experience ourselves so we can find new ways of seeing ourselves and choose the best way to be ourselves.
This week, I am tucked away deep inside a forest in Maple Ridge, attending a Hakomi retreat led by legacy holders from the Hakomi Institute. For the next few days I will be practicing Hakomi, which involves doing my own self-study as well as holding space for others to do their own.
In Hakomi, there is no ‘therapist’ and ‘patient;’ there is only relationship; the person who does the self-study and the person who accompanies them, attunes to them, and creates the conditions for healing.
In some way, this feels a lot like the relationship that is cultivated between writer and reader, except that relationship takes place outside synchronous time and space. You feel the storyteller’s presence alive in the text even if that person may no longer be alive. And as a writer, you are writing to an audience you most likely will never meet. But both are aware of the other even if just for fleeting moments. If it’s a great book, it will feel more than mere awareness though. It will feel like connection.
And this all works inwardly, too, with the relationship we have with ourself. We will better connect through story if we each understand ourselves. The story becomes the bridge to two disparate worlds.
Memoir, by its very nature, is all about memory. The storyteller takes over, right?
Well, not entirely.
For the past two years, while working on the first draft of my memoir, I have been doing therapy with an incredible counsellor who is also a Hakomi practitioner. This has been pivotal to my journey as a memoirist because whatever healing and learning takes places in therapy has undoubtedly transferred to the page. I cannot tell my own story —and connect with readers through that story— without loving presence and compassion for myself and for the people I am writing about.
To cultivate connection, I’ve discovered that in writing my memoir I’ve needed to make more and more room for my Experiencing Self. I’ve had to cultivate mindfulness of the current moment in order to investigate how it feels for me when I write about certain material and memories. Each time I read back a chapter or a paragraph to myself, I am challenged to consider how it resonates with me right now.
We all relate to our own storytellers, but in order for us to heal, and for our art to heal others, I really believe we have to learn to better interact with our experiencing self. I know that if I don’t, it won’t turn out to be the kind of story I want to tell. It won’t be a true story, not really.
I’ve discovered time and time again that my manuscript is filled with contradictions, blatant inaccuracies, and questionable articulations that make me at times wonder who am I? What do I really believe happened? That’s the incredible thing about writing your own story. It shows you the holes and the blind spots. It shows you the missed experiences and offers you a chance to create something whole.