Sharing Thoughts

As I read Mary Gordon's memoir Circling My Mother, I often found myself questioning her purpose for writing such a work... As Gordon clearly states in the preface her intentions for the book, it is difficult for one to infer the real meaning behind the words that follow. "Memoir suggests that the writer is the central character, and although, certainly, I am writing about my mother because she is my mother, I had hoped to step aside and give her center stage". And center stage is exactly what she gets. As I continued into the text of the following chapters, although I did find myself mildly entertained at the content being offered, the questions of "why" continued to linger in my thoughts. Why does one recount such stories, and at that, such stories of despair? These stories were not ones that made you smile or take breaks to look out the window and admire the outdoors, but ones that left you with feelings of sorrow and discontent. A similar question can be asked based on this analysis. Why do people feel a need to share their troubles with others? Thinking about this question makes me question if the answer is even one that is worthy of praise. Maybe we are pathetic. Our troubles should not be verbalized if they will only bring the opposite of happiness to others. But then I think of Virginia Woolf, who devoted her life to helping women find their place in society; to solving mysteries that the ignorance of men have kept secret for so long. And then I remember The Yellow Wallpaper. One woman who, without the resource of a pen and papers, could have driven herself into complete and utter instability, ultimately leading to life's inevitable. We share out thoughts, our concerns, our troubles, for the sake of giving purpose to our lives. To trap our emotions within ourselves is toxic. Without verbalizing, telling the world what we have learned, we will never learn ourselves.