by Amber Nicole Hayes.
Until I became a published author, I never considered myself a writer. I had a story to tell, but over the years, I convinced myself that it was too common; what could I possibly add to the conversation by writing a memoir?
At the same time, I had changed and grown from having finally managed to lift the veil of false perfection I’d hidden behind my entire life and knew others had done the same.
I wanted to write a story to inspire people who were like me, people who have lived through trauma, and in acknowledging it, found out who they truly were, and learned how to not only keep going but also how to find happiness and healing.
Though I doubted myself and kept myself safe with thoughts of, ‘who was I to think I had something to add,’ deep down, I knew writing about my life was important.
Once I started, I was motivated to keep going all the way through, and I persisted.
But I learned that telling the story was only half of the work; it was also important to do so in a way that would invite readers in.
Connecting with the right editor who helped coach me through revising my book so it would be meaningful to others changed everything for me as a writer.
With my editor’s care, encouragement, and skill, my memoir has become something that has already moved countless people. For this, I will always be grateful.
My story is a difficult one- both for me having lived through it and for someone to read. But one thing I knew when I was writing it was I didn’t want to hold back out of the fear that I might make someone uncomfortable. It felt important to be truthful because that was the real reason for me to share all I had been through. I didn’t want to protect the people in my life who had harmed me anymore. It was time for the real story to come out.
This non-negotiable made my experience with the publishing world a difficult one. Writing the book was emotionally challenging, but I did it, and I was proud of myself for accomplishing it.
Yet when I submitted the first draft of my memoir to my publisher, they sent me back to make substantial changes. They said readers would develop “compassion fatigue;” that my abuser should not be named to protect his legal right to privacy; that the story was too long; and that I was too close to it.
The publisher suggested that I hand my story over to someone else for them to write it for me so it would be more “readable.”
I said no. I had put myself through fire to authentically share my journey, and the more I struggled and sweated to bring my life, growth, and healing to light, the more I felt convinced that the reason my book would be meaningful to anyone else, particularly someone who had lived through similar trauma, was precisely because it was authentic, true, and in my imperfect human voice.
Being told that I would have to re-shape my work to appease the publisher was a blow to my already shaky confidence and felt like an impossible mountain to climb. I had been proud of myself for writing about and through my trauma, and being told I had to consider my book as “entertainment” was a headwind I wasn’t prepared to confront.
Over time, I did learn that while authenticity is imperative, a memoir must also take on certain writing craft elements to be engaging, vivid, and accessible, all with a mind toward helping a reader enter the world of the story so they could be moved by it.
As much as I wanted to be done with the book, I realized it was important to make those changes if I wanted to get it into people’s hands.
Fortunately, I was introduced to Jenna at One Lit Place, who matched me with their incredible nonfiction editor, Shasta Grant. Shasta adeptly became the perfect intermediary between ensuring my book was real and told on its own terms but also that it would be a work written accessibly so it could find its way into the hearts of readers.
Shasta worked with me on tackling the edit from a developmental perspective. Each revision was meticulously crafted and ensured there was progressive depth of character and grounding elements.
My desire to get my story out had resulted in me telling it unflinchingly but quickly. By backing up and addressing the book in layers of theme and purpose, Shasta created a safe space for me to put myself back into those moments of trauma and sit with them.
Once I was able to view the moments of my life more as an artist and less as a participant, I was able to rewrite them at a slower pace, pull them out into scenes with both showing and exposition, and create an environment for the reader to enter and see what was happening themselves.
One question people often ask me is whether it was healing for me to write my memoir. The truth is: it wasn’t.
Having to return to my past to add depth and grounding elements to key moments was necessary and important, but revisiting a difficult time in my life and sitting with those details was hard.
There are surely some memoirists out there who might have fictionalized some of the details to make their writing more descriptive so they could move on, but for me, though it was painful, I forced myself to return to my memories as they happened and to render them truthfully.
I have an innate ability to remember details. Whether it’s the shape of someone’s hands, the creak of a door, or a missing knob on a dresser, I’m able to see those elements clearly. Most would assume this is from having a great memory, but I know it is a survival mechanism developed as a child.
My brain and body have been conditioned to be on high alert at all times since I was a young child. I would observe people and my surroundings trying to anticipate their next move and assess their risk.
Shasta encouraged me to use this skill to recreate events and situations from the book. Eyes closed, I returned to the most difficult part of my childhood: A sexual assault at the age of 12.
Shasta coached me: “Look around, what else is going on? What’s happening outside? This feels like a very important part of the story. I want you to slow it down. Tell me what happened before and after the abuse.”
I put myself back into the living room of my childhood home. I saw the dusty rose carpet, the pastel armchair and sofa, the metal blinds that covered the two large windows. I could smell the cigarette smoke escaping the fibres of the furniture. I remembered the abuse at the hands of my older brother and felt the volatility of our home made by a mother with an undiagnosed borderline personality disorder.
Yet unlike when I lived through these episodes and felt fear and shame, this time I felt empowered.
I was actively choosing to relive these memories in order to make meaning from them, to explore them from several sides, and to make them accessible to others.
Knowing this helped me through the revision and to slow down the story and make the work better.
Ever conscious of keeping the experience positive and healing, Shasta helped me take my most difficult memories and guided me to transform them. I went from racing through them to slowing them down, providing physical and sensorial details, and made space for the reader to enter my life with me.
In the end, both Shasta and Jenna were an integral part of my writing process. The transformation of my book was profound after reaching their hands.
My book, The Obedient Daughter, was published in the fall of 2024. Since then, it has already moved countless people and helped other survivors of childhood sexual abuse, domestic violence, divorce, BPD, and difficult family circumstances.
I have been scheduled to meet with several book clubs, and as a Featured Book Club Author for One Lit Place, have arranged to meet yet more people to talk frankly and from the heart about important issues that need to be discussed.
These topics have kept survivors quiet for too long. It is time for us to feel empowered and speak our truth. I have urged my readers to pass along a copy of my book to a friend, a sister, or a relative. Pass it along to anyone they know who is experiencing undiagnosed health issues, or who may find themselves dealing with depression. Place a copy in a neighborhood library in the hopes it will find its way to someone who really needs it.
Victims of abuse deserve to know it is never their fault. I believe it only takes one person to create change, to create a ripple effect that could last for generations.
I encourage anyone who wants to tell their story to use your voice and speak your truth. If you’re not ready to write about it, sharing it with a therapist, a friend, or a spouse is valuable. I promise it will ignite your healing and make way for happiness.
Amber is dedicating a portion of her book proceeds to charities and foundations that support those who have been through CSA trauma. You can buy her book here.
To chat with Amber about visiting your book club, please contact her via her website: ambernicolehayesauthor.ca
As survivors of sexual and domestic abuse, we hold within us the power to inspire others by speaking up and sharing our healing journey. Through our courage to break the silence, we not only confront our own trauma but also pave the way for, and inspire others, to do the same. By sharing our stories, we create a community of validation and understanding ... where every voice, no matter how soft, can be heard. Together through advocacy, therapy, and supporting one another - we embark on a path towards truth, healing, reclaiming our voices, and finding strength in our resilience.
If you are ready to tell your story and know that partnering with a writing coach will give you the compassionate focus, advice, and guidance that will help you do it, please reach out.
We are here to help you do this important work.
RESOURCES:
If you or someone you know is experiencing abuse, please access the following supports:
National Domestic Violence Hotline (USA)
Family Violence Resources (Canada)
Our 4-month Mentored Book Programs, Online Courses, & Writing Coaching and Editing Hours. From November 21-27, 2023