In Defense of Confessional Writing

If it's poorly written, call it poorly written. If it's "too personal/emotional," I think you've forgotten what art is.

Confessional writing is often looked down upon as unserious. Writers like Sylvia Path are seen as, in modern terms, “trauma dumping.” I have seen my fair share of bad confessional writing—internet influencers who pour mental breakdowns into bad Instagram-style poetry. But the act of confessing in and of itself doesn't make writing less literary.

My writing is often emotional and, while no one's called it “confessional” they've tiptoed around it with more neutral terms like “raw” and “personal.” Before every piece I consider if I'm sharing too much. Freya India and others have recommended a “digital hijab” where people protect their privacy and modesty more online. While putting trauma on the page is rewarded by a mountain of views and comments complementing one's bravery, it's rarely seen as high art. Whereas being a “private person” is hailed as a positive trait for a public figure.

It brings us back to the question everyone must answer for themselves: what is art for? What is writing for? The answer, for me, is that art is about reflecting the human condition. I can recall many times when I've been in the depths of depression and reading a moving piece of art has lessened that pain momentarily. That's what I chase, reminding the reader of beauty and of what it's like to be seen. To do that, I believe I have to allow myself to be seen. I don't have to thoughtlessly “trauma dump,” but I can't withhold the difficult parts of myself.

I also write to contend with my own version of events, to say what happened without anyone else's interference. Writing is an act of preserving the truth.

Of course, it’s legitimate to write down the truth in a journal and never publish it, and one can value their privacy above the fame and criticism one risks with publishing their work. But someone has to exchange their privacy for visibility if we want people to understand they aren't alone. And if we want art that digs into what it means to be human, that latches on to the core pillars of all lives, it means exposing the things we are often too afraid to say, that might feel like a violation.

Confessional writing is necessary, but it isn't an excuse for poor craftsmanship. One shouldn't charge people for their work if it's thoughtless, has illegible grammar, and doesn't provide insight, value, or understanding. Something can be confessional and not sloppily written for shock value. The difference between a journal entry and prose is that prose is intentionally structured and has considered the reader. I oppose that the difference must entail stripping away emotion. It can, if that's what the prose calls for, but requiring it would limit the depth of the art.

When asked whether there’s anything that shouldn’t be joked about, Jimmy Carr said, “The question is, is it funny?” and if it’s not, he added, it just means I need to spend more time crafting it. I feel the same about writing. It’s permissible to write about all of it as long as it’s interesting and anything can be interesting if written about skillfully enough.

This is what we, as writers, are called to do. We have a moral obligation to explain what it’s like to be the type of person that we are, and all that means. I think of Stoic Marcus Aurelius, whose Meditations were really notes to himself, yet, so many have found value in it centuries later. Though Aurelius’ work is not typically referred to as confessional, a term that often carries a subtle air of sexism, of the implication that women can’t write about anything other than their emotions.

Indeed, I have written work without emotions or confessing anything to the reader. It often feels soulless. It feels like commentary rather than art because it’s not attached to anything that concretely matters. Work can be emotional without being confessional, simply describing public events in detail, and that writing is warranted at times. But the author, in those cases, can also be seen as offloading the emotion onto the reader instead of being in it with them, making them feel more alone.

One of the best parts of literature is it can walk with the reader through time. The work doesn’t change, but the reader does, and the author meets them through every iteration, patient and wise.

I use writing to clarify and crystalize my experience, and when I get too caught up in cutting out anything “confessional” I make it coherent and digestible. I make it pretty. I lose the severity and reality of what I meant to portray. I end up slotting myself into a hero’s arc where I overcome in the end, but none of us are in our final form. In pursuing society’s idea of high art, I risk obfuscating the truth.

Some argue that confessional art already does obfuscate the truth, using its profundity, emotionality, and shock value to evade criticism about the ideas discussed. It’s possible to use victimhood and vulnerability to garner sympathy and evade criticism, but I wouldn’t worry about a lack of criticism on any publicly available writing for the internet. I would add that most emotionally competent adults are capable of being kind and disagreeing, saying something like, “I appreciate your perspective! I think a bit differently about this issue and want to note…” Confessional writing isn’t untouchable, anyone who publishes their writing knows that, and bears some responsibility for their own emotional preparedness for the reactions they inevitably receive.

In a world polarized with mountains of commentators telling me what to think, I frequently have to return to my own confessions, my voice frozen in time, patient and wise, reminding me of my internal reality. Everyone needs friends that won’t lie to them when it matters. Sometimes those friends are your past self, or dead writers both tortured and sane.

A piece of writing can be a compact mirror a reader carries with them everywhere or a funhouse mirror, whose distortions make you laugh. One is sharp and true, full of self reflection in an egoic way, while the other is still full of self, but distorted, bringing different parts to attention in a comedic way. Laughing is the closest we get to egolessness. Both are interesting and confessional writing can be done well in either form.

In the end, I think people crave honesty. “Honesty is sanity,” as a character in the most recent season of The Bear said. Honesty can be dry and ordinary or personal and raw and while people deem the latter unpolished it’s worth considering whether they're referring to the craft or the contents. Both are subjective, but it’s easy to tell when someone’s been careless with form, whereas with content I wonder if people are actually uncomfortable with the uncertainty that lies in the person staring back at them.