Memoirist Explores How Sharing Shame Creates Connection and Reduces Self-Judgment
Jowita Bydlowska, author of Unshaming: A Memoir of Relapse, and What Comes After and Drunk Mom: A Memoir, believes that memoirs serve a profound purpose beyond mere confession. They allow readers to find their own stories within others' experiences, granting permission to judge themselves less harshly. Bydlowska argues that while shame can be studied abstractly, true understanding requires stepping inside it and speaking from that vulnerable place.
From Fiction to Raw Truth
A decade after publishing her first memoir, Bydlowska wrote a second about relapse—an experience that brought even more shame than her initial struggle as a young mother battling alcoholism in Toronto. Her first book, Drunk Mom, began as a fictional concept featuring an "ordinary villain" mother character. Only after achieving sobriety did she reveal to her agent that the manuscript was entirely true, hoping to transform it into a memoir that might make others in similar situations feel less isolated.
"I thought turning it into a memoir might make others like me feel less lonely," Bydlowska explains. Beyond connecting with fellow addicts and helping loved ones understand her behavior, she saw the book as a foot in the door for her writing career and an apology to her son.
The Backlash and Breakthrough
When Drunk Mom was published, reactions were polarized. Some found her revelations shocking and upsetting, while others praised her unflinching honesty about addiction and motherhood. Bydlowska attributes her candor partly to her obsessive nature about naming things accurately and partly to her early sobriety in Alcoholics Anonymous, which emphasizes realistic self-assessment without self-pity.
However, the attention left her feeling overexposed and burdened by the "poster girl for sobriety" label. She grew frustrated with how memoirs by women were often dismissed as "confessional" and narcissistic, while men exploring similar personal territory were celebrated as philosophers. One mentor criticized her for not addressing "real issues" and indulging in "drunk-Toronto-girl" navel-gazing.
The Relapse and Changing Landscape of Shame
Most significantly, Bydlowska experienced frequent relapses, bringing overwhelming shame that made her want to hide—the opposite impulse of a memoirist. She felt cheated learning that Christiane F., whose addiction memoir Zoo Station had initially inspired her, also relapsed after publication. Bydlowska vowed never to write another memoir, focusing instead on novels.
Meanwhile, cultural attitudes toward shame began shifting dramatically. By the early 2020s, people were openly sharing difficult experiences on social media, therapy language became commonplace in captions, influencers documented rehab in real time, and celebrities openly discussed sobriety attempts. Confession was rebranded as vulnerability and courage, with ugliness once kept quiet now being celebrated.
Returning to Memoir with Unshaming
Despite this cultural shift and hearing Drunk Mom described as groundbreaking, Bydlowska's return to memoir wasn't motivated by vindication. With Unshaming, she initially attempted investigative nonfiction about shame, interviewing others to widen the perspective beyond herself. She wanted distance and expertise, to be an observer rather than a specimen.
But she discovered that shame resists outsourcing—it demands a body, and she had only her own to offer. Having relapsed, she was living inside what she describes as "an architecture of shame," making her the expert. Unlike her first book, she wrote Unshaming with a broader audience in mind from the beginning.
"I know very few people can relate to something like a relapse, but most of us know what it's like to hide parts of ourselves for fear of judgment," Bydlowska notes. "We all look for our own stories in others' to give us permission to judge ourselves less."
The Memoir as Contract
Bydlowska views memoir as a contract where the writer discloses, the reader interprets, and somewhere in that exchange, what is forgivable gets determined. But she seeks not absolution but recognition—that moment when readers see themselves in a story that isn't theirs and feel barriers dissolve.
"We see ourselves in stories even when they're not strictly related to us, and through this seeing we're no longer standing on opposite sides, judging," she writes. "We are implicated together."
While reading about others' darkest moments can be voyeuristic, these stories can also elicit acknowledgment of shared humanity. Bydlowska acknowledges that some readers might be merely entertained by misery—"Every writer bleeds when they type, some more than others. The memoirists tend to bleed the most"—but her hope is for deeper connection.
Ultimately, she believes that sharing shame makes it smaller and more manageable. With Unshaming, she invites readers not to gape but to witness. If memoir is indeed a contract, then perhaps what readers purchase isn't scandal or redemption, but proximity—to another person's imperfection, and by extension, to their own.
