Captured Memories, Part I
It had been many years since I’d opened the tattered family photo album I’d known since childhood. I never took much interest in it as a child and never wanted to be reminded of my early years as an adult. Early in recovery, my mother wanted the two of us to stroll through those captured memories—a sentimental bonding experience, I suppose. I’d always refused. Although there are definitely happy memories, on the whole, my childhood was not a happy one. I was afraid the photos would open emotional doors of anguish so I did everything possible to insure those doors remained tightly shuttered. Some doors . . . or photo albums are better left unopened, right?
Wrong.
When I began writing my memoir, I had to reconstruct images of my experiences from memory, so in a way, I had already gazed deeply through images stored in my memory; that internal photo album that exists in each of us. Indeed, some of the images I’d awakened from their slumber were so vividly horrifying, I would put the memoir away until I’d exorcised their power. Intellectually, I knew the album from my mother’s home—one consisting of primarily happy photographs (either authentic or strained) would be far less threatening to my serenity than the graphic, raw, and uncensored snapshots of my mind. Therefore, along the journey of writing my memoir, I found myself ready to confront all aspects of my past, regardless of how difficult. There is a readiness for everything, just as my beloved, late mother-in-law often said.
I have very little documentation of my life. Always so careless, I moved from place to place—often leaving entire households in a sudden escape in the middle of the night. I didn’t care about belongings. Wanting no identity to tie me to anyone or anything, I never collected or cherished possessions in the way that most people do. I never sought to build memories . . . or roots for that matter. I was happy to be a perpetual transient.
But writing my memoir has made me hunger to reclaim my past. It has become almost an obsession to immerse myself in the experiences I have been writing. So the journey of writing this book has been as much about embracing my past as it has been to inspire others to change their lives. To write this memoir, I have had to think deeply about people, places, and things I’d previously kept locked tightly away—those too painful, too shameful, too humiliating, and too traumatizing experiences that nearly destroyed me.
I began yearning for photos—and they have been hard to come by. I spent the past weekend visiting my mother in beautiful Bozeman, Montana. Of course, I was looking forward to seeing her as I always do—but I was also looking forward to finally opening up that tattered cover of the old family photo album. I was very glad I did. Going through these albums made me remember even more vividly some of the experiences I’d written about—it helped sharpen the focus and adjust the colors a bit more. Going through the pages of photos also brought back the recollections of people who had vanished in the smoke of memory decay.
For the next few blog posts, I will be sharing some of the photos that brought a particular story or experience to mind. I will go through these in a chronological manner, starting with the earliest days of my childhood up through the early years of my young adulthood. Perhaps these photos will help you perceive some of my personal stories more sharply and vividly. I hope so.
Here I am, a tiny babe in my mother’s arms; my likeness captured for the first time.
I like these two photos because of the memory they represent. 
On the afternoon these snapshots were taken, one of the most profound experiences of my life occurred—even though I was less than two years old (and actually, I think I am about one)! We had returned to the U.S. from Egypt to visit my American grandparents and my mother and sister had taken me to a park in the small town of Waupun, Wisconsin. As I was playing (and photos were being snapped), I came to a striking realization. The realization was that I existed. I was a being. It’s difficult to explain—but this is an absolute true memory. I distinctly remember thinking, “I exist—I am alive. I belong to the world in general and to the people who are with me here, specifically.” And as quickly as that, I went from nonentity to a living being. When I told this to my mother, she was amazed—as she said she didn’t acknowledge her existence as an entity until she was much older. It was also during this visit to the park that I became terrified for the first time because during the course of the afternoon, I thought I had been lost by those people that I had just acknowledged belonging to. Of course, once you know you exist, you know you can become lost—and I became fearful that my mother had lost me at the park that day. Of course, in my tiny world, they had not vanished but were simply out of my immediate view. I also recall thinking “I will never forget this day”. And I never have.
I love this photo taken in the Iowa winter, because it is one of the few pictures from my childhood where I look naturally and spontaneously joyous. We had just arrived from Egypt and it was the first time my sister Noelle (left) and I (right) ever saw snow. Obviously we took to it!
This was my sister Noelle (right ) and my (left) passport photo—we shared one in early childhood. We were returning to the U.S. for the second time and final time, as we said goodbye to Egypt and made the U.S. our home. What strikes me about this photo was the look of wariness and distrust in my eyes. I feel it is rather telling—I feel a look exists in my eyes that should not be present in a young child. 
I think this photo is quite representative of how I viewed myself in childhood. I loved being the center of attention and from as early as I can remember, I wanted to be an actress. Looks like I am practicing for my future photo shoots!
This final photo of me in the gypsy costume was taken on Halloween. I imagine I was about five years old at the time. I always loved dressing up in costumes (and to be honest, I still do!).
That’s it for this post—but I will be posting some more photos, some from my adolescence and young adulthood—and some from my theater years, as well.
Peace,
Melinda
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Categories: Memories,Childhood,Healing the Past,Self,Writing the Memoir
Tags: writing the memoir childhood memories healing the past photographs from the past
The cliche goes that the child is the parent of the adult. Based on your photos, you were quite a character when you were young, full of mischief and wit. You should perhaps be proud that these are qualities that have withstood the test of time, in spite of all the tests that time threw at you.
I look forward to your further sojourns down memory lane.
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Yes, I was definitely full of mischief--a characteristic that does continue to this day. It was a lot of fun to go through these photos.
Thanks for stopping by, GC!
Melinda
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Melinda, you already looked headstrong in your wee baby picture!
I'm impressed by your recall. As I've mentioned, I have almost no memories of my childhood years. So, while I have photos, there's not a lot I remember and I wish I did.
The other thing about your photos is that you seem to be one of those people with a face that's recognisable from childhood all the way through to adult years.
Such a beautiful child! What strikes me is how, despite the horrors you were enduring at such a tender age, you did still find ways to enjoy yourself and have fun.
To me, this represents the human desire to grow and gravitate to those things that are good for us and healing.
The flipside I see here is... how the desire to be the center of attention is a way to get people to only look where you wanted them to look. Not at the other places, filled with hurt.
And to that, I can entirely relate.
I really love that last shot of you in the gypsy costume!
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Hey Svasti--
LOL--yes! Always headstrong (and that is a classic understatement).
You know, I was talking to my mother this weekend about how adaptable kids are--and this is true--even when children are abused, they adapt to their situation (and this is why people cannot often tell when children are abused because unless you look closely, they *seem* so normal). Anyway, my mother told me this story of a little girl who was kidnapped by some sicko and when he was finished with her, he threw her down an outhouse in one of the national parks. Anyway, no one came by for two days--and this little girl was down there the entire time--and when someone finally came by, he couldn't believe it and called down to the little girl, "What are you doing down there?" And she replied, "I live here." That is how quickly she adapted to her new environment.
Les also had the same remark as you--that I look pretty much the same as I did when I was a year old!
Melinda
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One of my favorite quotes: "We do not wish to live in the past, nor do we wish to shut the door on it."
The first time I read that I thought, "Um, seriously? Who actually ends up capable of doing THAT?"
But we do, don't we.
I know looking my past square in the face has changed my life for the better.
And, what a cutie pie! Oh my goodness, what a cute little curly haired babe you were! Yes, the one photo has your eyes looking aware beyond your years. And I also love the one of you in your first snow! Wow!
Also, that moment of 'I exist'. So important and amazing. Is that our first recognition of our will to live? I don't know, but I love it that you recounted your moment.
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Very insightful, Mongolian girl--what you said here, "Is that our first recognition of our will to live?"
I think that is true--because that was the first time I felt in fear of losing my life--although it was not a rational fear because my mother and sister weren't that far away. But it really is a strong memory.
I think in order to grow, we have to face our past and come to terms with whatever demons that dwell there--and we all have demons from our past--no matter what.
Thanks for stopping by!
Melinda
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Melinda,
The pictures are precious. They bring tears to my eyes - especially that one in the Iowa Winter. That's a great name for a memoir, I tell ya. You were a beautiful child. When I think of all you've been through, I hug my children a little tighter, pray and try a little harder. Your writing has great purpose. I look forward to more pictures of then and now.
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Jen,
Thank you so much. It is my wish for all children that they had a mother as wonderful, caring, and nurturing as you. Always hold them tight (as I know you will).
Melinda
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That's fascinating to me that you have memories of when you were so young. I can't remember much of anything before I was 4 years old. I've tried, not through any professional, i.e. hypnosis, means but just on my own and zip. It's as though my life began with Kindergarden. My parents were divorced when I was four and I have maybe one or two things I remember about that time. He was an alcholic but there was no abuse or anything like that, at least not that I can remember. I do know from my mom that they fought a lot so maybe I'm just repressing those images. Hell, who knows? Anyway, sorry for the book in your comments section. It's just so interesting to me.
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Hi Lil,
You know--I think my memories were from a really early age--much younger than most people--and I don't know why that is. Probably just the way I'm wired. I have a really amazing memory--I mean, I can remember complete conversations from years ago and when I was in the New Shakespeare Company, I actually had the entire play of Hamlet memorized!
In some ways, I feel you are blessed to not have the memories I do. Believe me--there's a lot of my childhood I would love to forget
Thanks for stopping by!
Melinda
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The past is such a conundrum. I remember so little of my childhood mainly because it was such a happy one. Almost idyllic. It seems unhappiness remains in the mental part of one's being, and happiness becomes part of your physical self, your everyday existence. You don't try to suppress joy, so it doesn't fester inside you, you just let it go and it keeps coming back again. I'm sure this is probably closer to the experience of life you're starting to have now.
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Defintely! My life today is mostly joyous--I have truly found happiness in the second half of my life.
Also, just a thought--I think perhaps you should change your screen name to Something Profound because that would be more apropos!
Thanks for stopping by, my friend--
Melinda
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I have issues with childhood photos. I remember when I was 18, we were in the process of moving. I was about to start my first year of college and my relationship with my mother was at the absolute worst state that I can remember. We fought constantly, usually ending with me just screaming to god to kill me and end it all. Under the constant verbal and emotional attacks, I had collapsed into myself with eating disorders and suicidal depression. While I was packing, I found my childhood photo albums and when I saw the pictures, I felt very strongly like they were fraudulent. All those posed smiles masking what was really going on. I actually was so angry that I tossed the photo albums into the garbage pile. My mother found it later and it led to another screaming fight. She actually cried she was so hurt. After fighting with my mom, I usually ended up a ripped up, gasping, painful mess, but not this time. For some reason, I was not in the tiniest bit remorseful over tossing out the albums. To this day, I still don't feel remorse. I guess I was striking back at her for all the horror she had put me through. She was always accusing me of being manipulative and selfish and for the first time, I actually decided to something awful in retaliation. I did it on purpose to hurt her. Years later, I still remember that day with not even the tiniest sense of remorse. I still have no photos of my childhood at all. In fact, I rarely take photos of friends and family. I think that feeling of photos = fakery has never really left me.
I know this is a fairly horrible story, but I honestly don't regret it because that was the first time I felt like I had won. It was empowering to hit back.
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ST, I actually relate to your story so much because I am certain that I might have reacted in just the same manner as you did--by throwing out the albums. This was precisely why I never wanted to look through them--because for the most part, the photos are staged and posed.
However,
You know, ST, I had many issues with my mom while I was growing up (and I still battle with some of these issues to some extent). I was so angry with her for her failure to see what was going on in our house. It wasn't until I was in my 30's, in recovery, that we finally started to really communicate. We both needed to talk and we both needed to listen. I sincerely hope that you and your mom can find ways to communicate. I hope at some point your mom would be open to really listening to you.
Thanks for stopping by!
Melinda
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dear Mam
it was great visiting again your wonderful blog. It was a nice post. You are looking very cute in all those pictures.
god bless
harneet
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Hi Harneet,
Nice to see you again (long time, no see!). Thank you for the compliments and for stopping by!
Melinda
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A wonderful idea, this, to share your special photos in a chronological order to further flesh out the story that we find so fascinating. These early ones really do reinforce you Egyptian background, those earliest roots and travel abroad. The shared passport photo is really something. I agree about your expression; in comparison to your sister's delight you stare down the camera, the photographer, the rules. I'm finding another part of this personally intriguing. It appears you and your sis are approx. an age difference similar to my sis and me (I'm 22 months older). In nearly all our childhood photos I was either all missy-sunshine or practically nonexistent for the camera and she was the brooding stank-eyed diva. Guess what line of work she is in? uh huh...she's a clinical psychologist.
Oh me oh my!
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Hi Lydia,
My sister is about 3.3 years older than I am. We were never really close and I think our age difference was a big reason why. She was used to being the star of the family until I came along and didn't much like sharing with a pesky little sister. I did adore her, though--I completely idolized her throughout my childhood and wanted to be like her.
How interesting that your sister became a clinical psychologist! Hmnnnnnnnnn!
Melinda
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Melinda -- I loved looking at these pictures. What big eyes you have! And I can see the future you there, too. It's strange, however, to look at these pictures knowing what was going on behind closed doors.
I think it's amazing that you can remember that feeling of being a separate person. I have some memories from early on, but I don't remember anything quite like that. It's a pretty sophisticated thought for a little one.
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Hi Jennifer,
Yes--I think it is quite remarkable that I can remember such long ago memories--but you know, I have always had an amazing memory; I remember entire conversations, what people were wearing, and tiny little details. It constantly surprises Les how much I remember.
I did have some big eyes! I was struck by that when looking at these photos too. I remember an aunt telling me they were like marbles when I was young.
Thanks for stopping by! I have some blog-catch-up to do myself!
Melinda
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