Having the capacity to remember an event, a person, a fact can be either a gift or a curse, and the same applies to forgetting them.
Memory is one of our cognitive functions; a good capacity to recall information contributes to increasing one’s IQ. A working memory helps us function, learn, and get deeper on subjects; it assists us to navigate our social environment, and thanks to it we can recall anniversaries, birthdays, faces. It’s truly an amazing and neat process, and it seems that having a perfect memory is a must-have to thriving and succeeding in this world.
There was a time, not too far long in history (I am referring to the “age” before cellphones), when people used to memorize phone numbers, full names, street addresses, or the rules of language for writing with proper grammar. With the recent mobile technologies that allow us to have all sorts of information [literally] in our hands, our memory of daily matters is fading away. This “data” is now stored more in our devices than in our heads, which means we are not exercising that “memory muscle”, as much. Our grammar is auto-corrected, our own phone number and those of our friends with their last names and birthdays are one click away stored in an electronic directory, calculations are done by the calculator we carry in our pockets at all time, and alarms constantly remind us of meetings and appointments. I once blamed my cellphone for my missing of a conference call.
Maybe that is why nowadays there are so many methodologies on how to improve and strengthen our memory, from apps and books to mnemonic training activities or mindfulness practices, there are plenty of strategies for everyone to try. The capacity to remember is crucial to our survival (especially if we are in the woods or in a foreign country without a cellphone), and must be preserved as the gift that it is, otherwise we are doomed.
The gift of memory is on full display in people who are diagnosed with HSAM. There are about 100 people identified in the world who can recall every second of their lives; the condition is known as Highly Superior Autobiographical Memory. The benefits and joy they have by recalling historic events of specific dates, words said and by whom, what they ate etc., weighs as much as the exhaustion that comes with recalling sad or difficult events and the emotions of things they cannot let go (e.g. loss, grief). Their marvelous biographical memory misses the switch that protects them from coping with traumatic experiences, and this can feel like a curse.
We are emotional beings, which makes our sensory, short and long term memory processes a little bit more complex than that of a linear operation of storing and retrieving data, because an emotional component is usually attached to each experience. When we face traumatic situations our brain shuts down some systems to keep us safe; after the event recedes, all systems are back online, but in some instances the parasympathetic system stays active, keeping us in constant alert, increasing our stress hormones and impairing our memory. In my case, that impairment saved me, and even helped me move forward from a stressful time in my early twenties where my self-esteem was at its lowest, and I had lost the will to live. Today I have trouble recalling events of that time of my life, but the few I can retrieve still sting to my core. I would not have been able to move on if I had been able to clearly see and recall every one of those painful moments, in detail.
We are also social beings and many of the things we remember or not are related to our social interactions and the experiences we had: the relation with the people who raised us, our friends, the first time we fell in love, the people who has helped us along the way etc.
On another extreme of the memory spectrum there is a condition called Traumatic dissociative amnesia which is “characterized by retrospectively reported memory gaps” as a result of people experiencing an overwhelmingly emotional-traumatic event like war or disasters. Although a small percentage of people are diagnosed with this disorder, specifically the “dissociative fugue” type, it is a struggle for these persons because it is difficult to access basic and vital information related to their identity, such as their own name. These memory limitations become barriers for them to function in the world.
Memory is our access to the past, to our own story, it helps us learn from our mistakes, and grow. A memory can be easily triggered by a photograph, a song, a scent, a word, a sound, and depending on its emotional link it can take us to a good place, or reignite a nightmare.
Memory can either light us up or take us into the darkness.
I recently started paying attention to the feelings attached to my memories, and how my body reacts to them. There are a few instances in my life where I have had a recurrent sensation that I describe as “my heart sinking”. For me is a distraught and involuntary response that emerges when I feel I have been blindsided, betrayed or taken advantage of. It has happened both in my personal and professional life, and although I refer to the heart (where I think I feel it), it really impacts my voice as I am not able to speak, and then my reaction is to withdraw. This reaction then ignites an implosion of negative feelings that afterward end up affecting my entire body.
Our mind and body are undoubtedly entwined, so learning to assign a name to a feeling is a good skill because it acts as a brakes to our emotional responses (i.e. we are less reactive); moreover, noticing our physical responses to our emotions, whether a racing heart, tightness in the throat, or sweaty hands, it is a real-time access to our bodies’ data. In the case of our memories, it can be old data that have gone unnoticed and is now resurfacing in the present so we can acknowledge it, uncovering wounds that need to be “heard” to understand what they need from us to heal.
For me, it may be the fact that I cannot communicate and articulate my thoughts and feelings, and what I need in those situations where my “heart sinks” is to find a safe place within myself (avoiding physical withdrawal), so I can witness the difficult emotions I am experiencing (putting a break on my usual reaction), and to give myself permission to find my voice.
What memory of a friend of yours feels precious to you? Which one is painful to remember? What feeling do you notice in your body when you bring up those memories? What memories can’t you retrieve and do you know why?
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