{"id":6000,"date":"2026-08-13T15:49:29","date_gmt":"2026-08-13T15:49:29","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/2026\/08\/13\/whats-your-story\/"},"modified":"2026-08-13T15:50:13","modified_gmt":"2026-08-13T15:50:13","slug":"whats-your-story","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/2026\/08\/13\/whats-your-story\/","title":{"rendered":"What\u2019s your story?"},"content":{"rendered":"<p><\/p>\n<div>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I used to dislike reading nonfiction. It\u2019s not that I wasn\u2019t a curious person \u2014 rather, I learned early on that what I was searching for was always a good story. I wanted to dive into a fantasy, thriller or historical fiction novel and lose myself in narrative twists and turns for the better part of a day. I needed an arc, a driving factor to keep me so engaged I lost track of reality. The straightforward facts laid out in nonfiction, in contrast, held little appeal. In hindsight, perhaps I was reading the wrong books. There were only so many facts about insects I could handle in a day, and I spent enough time with textbooks \u2014 even in middle school \u2014 to be wary of returning home and curling up with a book that felt vaguely reminiscent of them. Still, regardless of the type of nonfiction book I attempted to read, I would feel the same way. I would stare at the words crawling across the crisp page, and they would remain exactly that \u2014 I never achieved the absolute mental engrossment I felt whenever I picked up a fiction book.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I believe it wasn\u2019t until later in middle school, when I read \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/book\/show\/7445.The_Glass_Castle\">The Glass Castle<\/a>\u201d by Jeannette Walls for my English class, that I changed my mind. It was my first time reading a memoir, and I was \u2014 for lack of a better word \u2014 transfixed. The book chronicled Jeannette\u2019s nomadic life growing up, traveling from city to city and avoiding financial responsibilities. It highlighted her complex and often strained relationship with her parents and documented the tragic case of a child forced to grow up too early. What I loved most about the memoir was its nuance. Each fact was laid out clearly on the page, untouched by intense emotion or opinion depicting the situation in a certain light. Jeannette\u2019s family, despite being deeply dysfunctional and at times destructive, held an enduring love for one another. It was possible to be both brilliant and broken. You could love someone and hate someone simultaneously. I felt reflected through Jeanette\u2019s description of the Vivaldi record spinning against the needle, playing music in her empty apartment. I saw jagged parts of myself puzzled into her hyper-independence and her drive to succeed as a form of self-preservation.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Immediately after finishing the book, I actually didn\u2019t like it very much. I felt sad, abruptly burdened by the kind of story I had spent all of my life thus far avoiding. I read books as an escape, hoping to tantalize my mind with false realities and glimmering conflicts that were not my own. What I had not anticipated with the memoir was the exhaustion and melancholy I carried for weeks after (and frankly still have not quite shaken), and I blamed Jeannette. Now I know that, if anything, she was more of a catalyst. How can I blame someone for unlocking feelings that had roots inside me all along, as native to me as the blood rushing through my veins?<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">That book stayed with me for years. Long after I had slipped the modest tome through the return slot at my library and watched it drop onto the pile below, I was running through the story over and over in my mind. More than the fiction books I had previously read, many of which had plotlines that blended into one another, \u201cThe Glass Castle\u201d imprinted itself into my brain. I was quieter afterward, more reflective, because of the thin line between love and hate the book highlighted in painful detail. It took me a while to disentangle my thoughts.<\/p>\n<aside class=\"scaip scaip-1    \">\n\t\t<\/aside>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">When I was in high school, \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/en\/book\/show\/59366244-i-m-glad-my-mom-died\">I\u2019m Glad My Mom Died<\/a>\u201d by Jennette McCurdy was facing some controversy for its attention-grabbing title. The statement expressed a disregard for societal norms surrounding the sanctity of family and the dead, and as a result, the book sparked some<a href=\"https:\/\/www.readingmotherhood.com\/post\/the-justified-irreverence-of-jennette-mccurdy-s-i-m-glad-my-mom-died\"> consternation<\/a> among those who thought it too flippant. Personally, I appreciated the straightforward nature of the title. If Jennette was truly grateful that her mother passed away, then who am I to tell her she can\u2019t be honest about how she feels? Would it be better to encourage a lie in the literary genre that is designed to be the most truthful? Even if her mother was a perfect saint (which, for the record,<a href=\"https:\/\/www.sparknotes.com\/lit\/im-glad-my-mom-died\/summary-and-analysis\/\"> she was not<\/a>), Jennette has the right to feel absolutely anything. In any case, the title succeeded in drawing me in, and I read my second-ever memoir.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In a particularly striking scene, Jennette announces to her mother that she has reached an unrealistically light body weight, hoping to prompt a reaction. I remembered this scene for its insight into Jennette\u2019s mental state at that time, indicating how continued abuse can fundamentally alter your very process of thinking. I am lucky to have a wonderful and supportive mother, one who would never impose unrealistic weight expectations upon me. Yet that does not mean we have not had our fair share of disagreements, and that also does not mean my relationships with other family members have been as fortunate. My relationship with my father has always been tense, and our fights have always centered on the words that he speaks \u2014 and the hurtful effects they have, even when the offhand comments are meant to be a joke. When Jennette was pleading to her mother in the hospital, my heart broke for her \u2014 or perhaps with her, since she has also come to recognize the dysfunction of her childhood.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I knew very well how the insecurities planted in youth can spread in the ugliest ways. There are times even now when I catch myself falling into self-critical patterns of thinking, hesitant to try a new activity for fear of failing. I know it\u2019s unrealistic to blame my lack of confidence now on the less glamorous parts of my childhood and adolescence, but I do. The pressures I self-imposed in my youth, in combination with the unachievable approval I so desperately sought, have snowballed into a looming force. Having structured my whole identity around being \u201csuccessful\u201d as my only way to make a new life for myself, I now attach unrealistic expectations to every academic venture I undertake. I actively dread the day I inevitably fail, because I don\u2019t know what I\u2019ll do. My fingers haven\u2019t touched piano keys in years, because the memory of every incorrect note \u2014 and the criticism that accompanied them \u2014 is still burned into my mind.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">To hear Jennette talk so openly about the childhood experiences that have left a shadow on her life decades down the line \u2014 well, that was a needed revelation. It was an important reminder that every person shares similar experiences with the most unexpected of people, including Jennette herself, a<a href=\"https:\/\/www.imdb.com\/name\/nm1390614\/bio\/\"> successful<\/a> director and child actor. Humanity is a bridge across the many miles and social tiers separating us. I didn\u2019t need to relate to every detail in her book to derive meaning from the lessons Jennette had to swallow during the tumultuous first 30 years of her life. And even though both Jeannette Walls and Jennette McCurdy are hundreds of miles away and will never know who I am, for a brief moment, their words made me feel seen.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">***<\/p>\n<aside class=\"scaip scaip-2    \">\n\t\t<\/aside>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I recently began reading another memoir that I found tucked in the back of the used bookstore I pass by on my way home from work every day. Chosen as one of the<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/\"> New York Times<\/a> 10<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nytimes.com\/2018\/11\/29\/books\/review\/best-books.html\"> best books<\/a> of 2018, and voted by<a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/\"> Goodreads<\/a> readers as their<a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/choiceawards\/best-memoir-autobiography-books-2018\"> favorite memoir and autobiography<\/a> in the same year, \u201c<a href=\"https:\/\/www.goodreads.com\/book\/show\/35133922-educated\">Educated<\/a>\u201d by Tara Westover was all but guaranteed to be a good book. It\u2019s been on my to-be-read list since the day it was published. Despite being only 84 pages in, I can already tell that this memoir will have an impact on me as profound as the first two, even though the content \u2014 as well as the main message \u2014 may be quite different.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Unlike the first two memoirs, which fell into my hands by way of school or online discourse, I sought out Tara\u2019s book somewhat deliberately. I had temporarily moved to Philadelphia, far from my small hometown of Albion, Mich., for a summer internship, and I was feeling adrift amid the towering concrete buildings and endless stream of people. Instinctively, I knew that the bookstore shelves dedicated to nonfiction were where I needed to go \u2014 I needed something real, a human voice telling their story as proof of life out there in the industrial chaos.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Tara\u2019s book has yet to disappoint. Unlike the first two memoirs, which were striking because of how much I could relate, this book provided an authentic new perspective. \u201cEducated\u201d primarily follows Tara\u2019s journey from the isolated mountains she grew up in and her eventual receiving of higher education despite her family\u2019s lack of support. As I mentioned earlier, I have a complicated relationship with education and academic pressure. Whereas many of my classmates in college genuinely enjoy what they are learning, I have never considered myself someone who particularly liked school, even as I continue to strive for excellence in my classes. Hearing Tara detail how challenging it was to even get the most basic level of education was a harsh reminder that I am unbelievably lucky to have access to the countless resources at the University of Michigan.\u00a0<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">This doesn\u2019t mean that I was wrong to feel the way I did, but it helped put my circumstances into perspective. Tara worked summers at her father\u2019s junkyard, risking her life in unsafe work conditions, to scrape up the few thousand dollars needed to pay for college. She self-studied for the ACT exam \u2014 having never attended school \u2014 and scored high enough to get accepted. While I work two jobs to pay for my living expenses, I\u2019m lucky enough to be here on a scholarship and not have to worry about tuition. My family understands the value of education and supports the fact that I\u2019m here. My frustration with school is valid, especially considering that it has been the main stressor in my life, but it was important to hear the lengths someone would go to for a privilege I took for granted.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I love memoirs partially because of my natural curiosity toward strangers\u2019 lives and partially because the authors\u2019 vulnerability made all of my quirks and experiences seem normal. Each book was equivalent to a deep dive into the depths of someone\u2019s psyche, and as a psychology major, I\u2019ve always loved to learn how people worked. At the same time, separate from an intellectual interest in how humans function, I love the memoirs due to the reminder that all of us are human. They help me realize that all of my experiences are not unique, in the best way possible. All of my struggles have been faced before and overcome. All of my emotions have previously been felt. Even the most seemingly perfect person is conscious like you or I, and there is a definite comfort in knowing that.<\/p>\n<aside class=\"scaip scaip-3    \">\n\t\t<\/aside>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">There\u2019s a certain emotional rawness that is unique to memoirs as a genre. To write a 300-page book solely on your life and your reflections on your life necessitates courage, and it happened to be the type of courage I was searching for. Since entering college, I\u2019ve felt trapped in a constant rotation of surface-level conversations. I\u2019ve told people my major and hometown more times that I can possibly track, and I\u2019ve run out of adjectives to describe how my day is going so far. I have made more friends than I\u2019ve ever had in my life, and yet I have never been more lonely.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">What I really craved \u2014 and what would\u2019ve helped me the most during freshman year, when my mental health was at an all-time low \u2014 was a raw, genuine conversation. I wanted people to tell me how they really felt, stripped of social conventions and the politeness baked into the structure of our society. Memoirs tapped into that feeling and provided a temporary reprieve. I witnessed the authors open up about the struggles they faced and the depression and trauma that resulted, rather than pretending that everything was fine. It was the honesty I required to realize I wasn\u2019t the only person dealing with difficult emotions, even though I already knew that was true in theory.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">In truth, humans are naturally wired to want to form connections with other people. In a<a href=\"https:\/\/pmc.ncbi.nlm.nih.gov\/articles\/PMC9007502\/#abstract1\"> study<\/a> on rhesus macaques, a species of monkey with similar brain structures to humans, researchers found a relationship between the number of social connections and the size of a part of the brain linked to social decision-making and empathy. These findings imply social networks may be one of the biggest drivers of variation in brain structure for primates, including humans. Social connections are so crucial that they are even passed down from mother to child, in a process<a href=\"https:\/\/www.nature.com\/articles\/ncomms12084\"> documented<\/a> by researchers from the University of Pennsylvania. Described as \u201csocial inheritance,\u201d the researchers found the social networks of a female hyena closely predicted the social networks of her offspring. Social networks become a category of non-genetic inheritance, and they have implications for the survival of the hyenas. For humans, a lack of social connection is also shown to be dangerous, as the negative health impact of prolonged isolation has been shown to be<a href=\"https:\/\/extension.unh.edu\/blog\/2022\/05\/prolonged-social-isolation-loneliness-are-equivalent-smoking-15-cigarettes-day\"> similar<\/a> to smoking 15 cigarettes a day.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">Vulnerability is key to forming this social connection. Humans want to feel loved and accepted for who they are, and self-disclosure<a href=\"https:\/\/dergipark.org.tr\/en\/pub\/ktppdergisi\/article\/1004729\"> allows<\/a> this goal to be achieved, which in turn facilitates intimacy. Memoirs, by revealing private and often difficult details of the authors\u2019 lives, become a form of self-disclosure. Readers<a href=\"https:\/\/english.org\/wordy-by-nature\/the-importance-of-memoirs\/\"> feel validated<\/a> in their struggles and relate to \u2014 or at least sympathize with \u2014 the author, thereby achieving the social connection we are all hardwired to seek.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">But is this connection by proxy enough? I purchase these memoirs for a sense of human connection, but all I have within my hands is an inanimate object mechanically processed from the remnants of a tree and inked with plain letters.<a href=\"https:\/\/www.sciencedirect.com\/science\/article\/pii\/S0747563221004258?casa_token=SqXO-tvkNyQAAAAA:LLIkILuQy6V_CZ56_brcf73SdRZTVrS4MTI_mVTWcZDFYFOSHBRHVjQaF2cZE9SMCwvldl4\"> Studies<\/a> have shown that online connection is a poor surrogate for physical interactions, even though they do have some efficacy in protecting us against psychological distress. The same principle likely applies to memoirs. There\u2019s no substitute that fully encapsulates the nuances and immersion of a face-to-face interaction. These memoirs, as poignant as they are, can only ever be one-sided.<\/p>\n<aside class=\"scaip scaip-4    \">\n\t\t<\/aside>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">And are these memoirs truly as authentic as I believe? I admire them for their raw honesty, but every single book has undergone significant polishing and editing before I ever lay eyes on them. There is no way to tell how many of the words came directly from the authors\u2019 fingertips. And as much as I will defend the book industry, I am realistic enough to admit that the publishers are looking to <a href=\"https:\/\/pathlesspath.com\/history-publishing\/\">profit<\/a>. Their interests lie in ensuring copies of the book are distributed as far and wide as possible, gracing coffee tables and bookstores like the one I visited on my way home from work. In a way, they are designed to elicit the emotional responses I experienced after reading. Perhaps my pseudo-connection was yet another product spit out from the twisted machinery of capitalism and mass marketing.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I am aware of all of these caveats. Yet, even if all of the above is true \u2014 the insufficiency of connection that isn\u2019t in-person, the profit-driven manipulations influencing my desires \u2014 I still derive value from the memoirs, and I think that is enough. Their vulnerability \u2014 even if manufactured \u2014 has made me feel less alone and given me the support to live more authentically now. I was right when I described Jeannette\u2019s book as a catalyst. It was never about the memoirs, as vital as they are for the authors, who likely discovered more about themselves through the act of creation. It was always about the reader\u2019s response: every tear shed on the cream pages, every incredulous laugh escaping from someone\u2019s lips and every uncomfortable truth voiced as a result of the frankness of the author. If those results stem from an imperfect catalyst, then so be it.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\">I wanted to hear people\u2019s stories, and I did. Only, the admissions from those strangers had a greater impression on me than I ever could\u2019ve anticipated. I carry the weight of \u201cThe Glass Castle\u201d and \u201cI\u2019m Glad My Mom Died\u201d wherever I go, but the disillusionment initiated by these books \u2014 as unwelcome as it may have been initially \u2014 has helped me come to terms with my own complex family dynamics. I have yet to finish \u201cEducated\u201d (as of writing this sentence, I am now 174 pages in), but I know I will take Tara\u2019s unique perspective on education to each lecture and assignment from now on. I have been forever changed by books from a genre I used to hate. I know I will continue to read these stories from strangers, and maybe, someday, I will share my own with the world.<\/p>\n<p class=\"wp-block-paragraph\"><em>Statement Correspondent Michelle Liao can be reached at mrliao@umich.edu.<\/em><\/p>\n<aside>\n\t\t<\/aside>\n<p><h3 class=\"jp-relatedposts-headline\"><em>Related articles<\/em><\/h3>\n<\/p><\/div>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>I used to dislike reading nonfiction. It\u2019s not that I wasn\u2019t a curious person \u2014 rather, I learned early on that what I was searching for was always a good story. I wanted to dive into a fantasy, thriller or historical fiction novel and lose myself in narrative twists and turns for the better part [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":6001,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[18],"tags":[449,1049],"class_list":["post-6000","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","category-news","tag-story","tag-whats"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6000","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=6000"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6000\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":6002,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6000\/revisions\/6002"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/6001"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=6000"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=6000"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/tmbglobal.news\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=6000"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}