One of the finest memoirs I have ever read. And already reputed to be the #1 bestseller of all memoirs ever.
I relished it for its candor, intimacy and plain-spokenness.
It is the kind of memoir my wife, Francie, would write if she brings the time to it.
In many ways, it reminds me of Francie.
Here are a few of the insights Michelle offered which I found moving.
Referring to her mother she writes “she loved us consistently but we were not over-managed. Her goal was to push us into the world. ‘I’m not raising babies, I’m raising adults.’ She and my dad offered guidelines rather than rules. It meant that as teenagers we would never have a curfew.”
Just like Francie with our children.
There is this luminous description of the challenges minority students face. “Minority and under-privileged students rise to the challenge all the time but it takes energy. It takes energy to be the only black person in a lecture hall or one of the few non-white people trying out for a play or joining an intramural team. It requires effort, an extra level of confidence, to speak in those settings and own your presence in the room.” This is why, Michelle writes, that she and other black young people relish the opportunity to be with other black people. They felt comfortable, safe.
I admire the openness with which Michelle reveals her relationship and marriage to Barack.
At one point she wrote in her journal “I am so angry at Barack. I don’t think we have anything in common.”
She writes that they had to pursue marriage counseling, and it helped! “Like any newish couple, we were learning how to fight. We didn’t fight often, and when we did, it was typically over petty things..but we did fight. And for better or worse, I tend to yell when I’m angry.”
I guess every couple has its "fights". It's our underlying love and respect which keep us together.
Like Francie, Michelle was very confident, conscious of the stereotyped role of being a “wife.” She writes, “wife” can feel like a loaded word. It carries a history. If you grew up in the 60s and the 70s, as I did, wives seemed to be a genus of white women who lived inside television sitcoms—cheery, coiffed, corseted. They stayed at home, fussed over the children, and had dinner ready on the stove.”
Michelle pushed back against that. She did so much good in so many career undertakings.
Michelle is honest in saying how as a Senator’s wife she began to feel sublimated “at the heart of my confusion (in Washington) was a kind of fear, because as much as I hadn’t chosen to be involved, I was getting sucked in. I had been Mrs. Obama for the last 12 years, but it was starting to mean something different. At least in some spheres, I was now Mrs. Obama in a way that could feel diminishing, a Mrs. defined by her Mr."
That sounds very familiar.
Michelle had a revealing and in many ways chilling experience during the campaign when she was asked to look at the talks she was giving without any sound, just the visual. What she saw was that she was “too serious, too severe.” She needed to lighten up. Examining how we look without the sound can be very instructive. I found that to be true as I looked at myself giving talks.
As First Lady, Michelle knew she would be measured by a different yardstick. She found herself as she had before “suddenly tripped by doubt. Confidence, I learned then, sometimes needs to be called from within. I have said the same words to myself many times now, through many climbs. Am I good enough? Yes I am.”
Toward the end of her memoir, Michelle writes in a way that articulates my own experience: “The important parts of my story lay less in the surface value of my accomplishments and more in what undergirded them—the many small ways I had been buttressed over the years, and the people who helped build my confidence over time. I remembered them all, every person who had ever waved me forward.”
For me, there have been so many. I recorded many of them in my paper, “If It Weren’t For Them,” and there are many more I have met since writing that paper. I have been lifted by the confidence of others, above all Francie.
Michelle goes on: “My early successes in life were, I knew, a product of the consistent love and high expectations with which I was surrounded as a child, both at home and at school. I had been lucky to have parents, teachers and mentors, who had fed me with a consistent simple message: you matter.”
Magic words--as my daughter punctuated them for me--"YOU MATTER".
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