Breaking the Glass: Reimagining Exclusion and Finding Connection Through Memory

In the essay “Against Catharsis: Writing is Not Therapy,” T Kira Madden invites us to engage with our pasts, not just as passive observers, but as active participants in our own memories. She writes, “Art is a superpower,” allowing a deep, unspoken connection between creator and audience, inviting a dialogue that transcends time and circumstance. This struck me because it calls on us to remember and reflect on our moments, not as isolated events but as opportunities for shared understanding.

I find myself drawn to this invitation, especially as I recall a memory from my childhood, a moment where I was on the outside looking in, excluded and distanced from the children around me. It was a small but haunting moment of feeling alone even in the presence of others, one that shaped how I view connections today.

It was a sunny afternoon, and my family had gathered with friends at a park for lunch. The other kids and my sisters, all around my age, were playing together, running around, climbing trees, and laughing. I remember watching them from the picnic table, a sandwich in my lap that I barely touched. Their laughter echoed as they bonded effortlessly, and I felt more alone than I had ever felt before. They were family friends, kids I’d known for years, but it seemed like they had built a world I couldn’t break into. Every time I tried to join in, I was dismissed or left standing there, unsure of where I fit. There was an invisible barrier between us, one that felt as solid as anything I had ever encountered. It was an emotional barrier; the way I looked at them, and they at me, made me feel like an outsider no matter how hard I tried to fit in.

I don’t remember the exact words or actions that made me feel excluded, but the feeling of being on the outside was unmistakable. The games they played seemed so natural for them, like they shared a language I couldn’t speak. I watched them, laughing and running, while I remained at the table, feeling distant, like I was in a completely different place. I was too shy to initiate anything, too self-conscious to ask to join. I felt small and like an outsider in a group I should have belonged to, and the gap between us grew with each passing moment.

An image of me, my little sister, and two of my family friends circa 2014

The glass wall I perceived wasn’t something I could touch or break, it was something I felt. It was an emotional barrier that made me unsure of my place and, in a way, unsure of my worth. Watching them, I realized I wasn’t just physically distant, but emotionally so as well. They seemed to need no invitation; they were comfortable in each other’s company, while I was left standing apart, awkward and hesitant.

Reflecting on this memory, I see how Madden’s concept of “art as a superpower” connects to these moments of emotional distance. Remembering this moment is not just about revisiting feelings of exclusion, but finding new understanding, an opportunity for growth and connection. I’ve come to realize that the “glass” I perceived wasn’t as solid as I thought. It was a wall I built in my own mind, constructed from insecurities, fears of rejection, and lack of self-confidence. This memory is no longer just mine. Madden challenges us to turn our personal experiences into shared ones. Now, this moment of exclusion feels like a story that could belong to anyone. We all have memories of being on the outside, watching others form connections that seem out of reach. Through Madden’s lens, I also see how that moment has shaped me into someone who understands the value of connection. The barrier that once felt impenetrable is something I can now reflect on and reshape.

In Reading Autobiography Now, Smith and Watson discuss the idea of memory as interpretation, noting that memory is not just a static recollection of events but an active, evolving process shaped by both time and our present understanding. The book states that “psychic life. . .is imbricated in the constant self-other interactions oof social worlds” (Smith and Watson 53). This relationality, central to their view of life writing, depicts that memories are not isolated, but are instead informed and reshaped by our interactions with others, and by how we tell our stories in relation to the larger world. Madden’s essay mirrors this idea, inviting us to see our memories and experiences not just as isolated moments, but as part of a larger conversation that allows for reflection, connection, and transformation.

Madden’s invitation is to engage with our pasts actively, recognizing how these experiences have shaped us and how we can transform them into shared ones. As I reflect on that childhood moment, I realize that while I felt excluded then, I have since learned how to connect more fully with others. The glass wasn’t a permanent divide, but a fleeting perception, one that could be reimagined and broken down. “Art is a superpower” because it allows us to reframe our pasts, seeing those moments not just as painful or isolating, but as opportunities for empathy, understanding, and shared experience. That feeling of being on the outside looking in may have once been part of me, but it no longer defines me. Through reflection and connection, I’ve learned that the barriers we perceive are often self-made, and they can be dismantled piece by piece through shared dialogue. In remembering these moments of exclusion, we’re not just reliving them, we’re reimagining them, turning isolation into a shared experience that allows us to grow, connect, and heal.

Links:

https://lithub.com/against-catharsis-writing-is-not-therapy/