How do you protect yourself when writing about difficult times? How do you make sure you don’t relive painful experiences while writing them? How do you keep your heart open without getting sucked into negative energy or destructive old patterns? Which painful memories do you revisit, and to what extent? And how much should be included in your memoir? These questions came up for me recently while working on my memoir, The Raw Years: A Midlife Quest for Health & Happiness. Here are eight ways to make your way through painful memories while not losing yourself in the process:

1.  Recognize your opportunities. Celebrate the therapeutic value of memoir writing. Knowing that writing painful memories may help heal them might make it easier to move forward. Think of it as therapy. Or medicine. It’s good for you. Consider this writing an exquisite, creative opportunity to heal, learn, and grow.
   
2. Be gentle. Lay down your arsenal of judgments, blame, and shame. Soften your resistance. Be kind. Take a journey.
   
3. Step outside your box. You can’t write about your challenges from the same perspective from which you lived them. As Einstein said,“We can not solve our problems with the same level of thinking that created them.” You have to step outside your box to see the larger picture. It’s easier to have compassion and experience forgiveness from this wider perspective.
   
4. Give it space. If you’re not writing, maybe it’s because you’re not ready to write about your painful memories. Back off. Take a break. Work on something else. Read. Clean your house. When you’re ready, try again. But be careful! Many writers are procrastinators. If you are one of them, give yourself psychological space. This means you get your butt in the chair even though you don’t feel like it, but you work in small increments of time. I’ve heard that people should not write traumatic material for more than 20 to 30 minutes at a time. Set a timer. Do not exceed the time limit that feels right for you when writing about distressing emotions.
   
5. Check in with your body. When you sit down for your shortened writing session, tune in to how your body feels in the chair. Are your shoulders up around your ears? Are you clenching your jaw? Is your brow furrowed? Are you squinting? Do a quick scan of your body and relax the tension you’re holding. Take a few slow, deep breaths, and gently ease into your writing. You may feel like bolting, which might make you write fast. Slow down—and try to maintain the connection with your body that you established when you first sat down.
   
6. Welcome discomfort. My therapist once told me, “It’s not your job to be comfortable; it’s your job to live your life.” I’ve noticed these past couple years as I’ve dealt with grief, anger, and anxiety that when I’m in pain—whether it’s physical, emotional, or psychological—I react in one of two ways: I resist it or I try to escape it. The classic fight or flight. It may seem counterintuitive, but when you welcome your discomfort with a loving, open heart, the distress softens, and in some cases dissolves completely. I once had a lucid dream that demonstrated this. I dreamed a boa constrictor was coming at me from a crack in the wall. I was terrified until I realized I was dreaming, and said to myself, “Oh, this is a dream. This snake isn’t real; it’s a representation of my fear.” I then connected with my heart, looked the snake in the eyes, and said, “I love you” several times until the snake morphed into a beautiful queen, passing me her royal scepter.
   
7. Up your self-care. Make a “Joy & Well-Being List,” itemizing at least thirty things that make you feel good and bring you pleasure. Hang it somewhere you’ll see it, and make sure you do at least one thing on your list every day. Here are a few items on my list: read and write poetry, spend time in nature, meditate, visit a garden, take a walk, get my nails done, go thrift-store shopping, bring fresh flowers into the house, visit friends, laugh, practice yoga, create an art project, take a nap, soak in the tub, go to a museum, have sex. You get the idea.
   
8. Befriend uncertainty. Accept not-knowing. You can’t figure everything out. Asking why something is the way it is can be a trap. Explore and probe, but know when to let go. Be willing to not have all the answers. Sometimes the journey is in our questions. Remember the American proverb, “Let go or be dragged.” Know when it’s time to settle into the mystery.

How do you take care of yourself while writing painful memories? I’d love to hear your tricks of the trade, your secret coping mechanisms, or anything you’ve tried that’s worked for you.