Member-only story
What I Learnt Editing Personal Essays with My Daughter
There are parts of life you don’t need to edit out
Other people’s lives are spread out in black and white across my bed, ready for editing. Pen in hand, I select the closest story. My oldest daughter leans in to read over my shoulder. At 14, she’s developing into a mini version of me — same shoulders; same pear-shaped curves; her hair beginning to curl, like mine did at her age. So similar to me and also my opposite in personality. We share this, though: a love of stories.
In my job I often find myself editing other people’s lives. I see it as quite a privilege. People offer up their stories and trust me with their secrets. I read their stories in the rawest form: before they cut out the parts they’re too scared to share, before they edit themselves or trim away scenes. I get to see people in real moments.
I experience loss with them when their second child is stillborn. I hope with them as they watch their stomach grow again for the third time. I see through their eyes as they finally hold a tiny baby in their arms, pink and full of life.
I hesitate at the door with them when they’re afraid of the news on the other side. My heart beats with theirs as they wonder who they’ve lost this time.
