Start with the kitchen you grew up in
If someone asked you to tell the story of your childhood, you might not know where to begin. It’s a big question, and big questions have a way of making the mind go quiet. So let’s try something smaller. Let’s start with a single room.
For a lot of us, the kitchen was the heart of the house. It was where the kettle was always on, and where the grown-ups talked when they thought you weren’t listening. Yours may have been warm and crowded, or it may have been a room you kept out of. Either way, it’s a lovely place to begin.
Stand in the doorway for a while
Find somewhere comfortable to sit, and let yourself picture the kitchen of the home you grew up in. You don’t have to get everything right. Just stand in the doorway for a moment and look around.
What’s under your feet? Perhaps it’s lino with a pattern you could still draw, or cold tiles that made you hop on winter mornings. Where does the light come in? Is there a window over the sink, and what can you see through it?
Now let yourself notice the smaller things. Maybe there’s a tin where the biscuits were kept, and you know exactly which shelf it lived on. Maybe there’s a chair that belonged to one person and nobody else. These details can seem very ordinary. Often, though, they’re the ones that bring everything else back with them.
Who’s there with you?
Once the room feels clear, let the people come in. Who’s standing at the stove? Who’s sitting at the table with a cup of tea going cold? You might hear a voice before you see a face. Some people find they remember the way someone hummed while they cooked, or the particular way their name was called in for tea.
Stay with one person for a little while. What are they wearing? What are their hands doing? If they turned and spoke to you now, what do you think they’d say?
This is often where the stories begin to arrive on their own. You might remember the night the power went out and everyone ate by candlelight, or the morning you broke the good teapot and hid the pieces. You might remember a conversation you only half understood at the time and understand very well now.
Follow the smell of something cooking
Smell is a wonderful guide back into memory. Ask yourself what was cooking. Was there a Sunday roast, or a pot of soup that seemed to last all week?
Food carries so much with it. It can tell us where a family came from and what money was like that year. It can tell us who did the cooking and who did the washing up. If one dish comes to mind, let yourself follow it. Who taught you to make it? Do you still make it now, and does it ever taste quite the same?
Say it out loud
When something comes back to you, try telling it aloud, even if there’s no one else in the room. Speaking a memory feels different from thinking it. You’ll find yourself adding little details you didn’t know you remembered, and you’ll hear the story settle into its own shape.
If you’d like, you can record yourself on your phone. There’s no need to make it polished. The way you naturally speak, with your pauses and the words you’ve always used, is part of what makes the story yours. One day, someone who loves you may be very glad to hear it just as you told it.
One room at a time
You don’t need to remember a whole life in one sitting. Next week you might wander out into the back garden, or into the front room that was only used for visitors. Each room has its own stories waiting quietly in it.
For today, the kitchen is enough. Make yourself a cup of tea, and see who’s there when you walk back in.
When you feel ready to tell your own stories, you’re very welcome to join our founding waitlist.
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