Memory and Identity in Broken: Writing as Preservation of Self

Introduction: The Thematic Claim of Memory and Identity

In Broken, Jenny Lawson weaves a deeply personal exploration of how memory loss and dementia threaten the very core of identity. The thematic claim is clear: memory is fragile and unreliable, but identity persists through storytelling, relationship, and the acceptance of brokenness. Lawson refuses to let forgetfulness erase who she is; instead, she writes to anchor her experiences, preserve her legacy, and find meaning in the cracks. This theme threads through the memoir’s humor, grief, and hope—showing that even when the mind slips, the self remains real and loved.

Memory Loss and the Fragile Self

Lawson introduces her own memory struggles in Chapter 3, “I Already Forgot I Wrote This”. She describes a “hole in my head where I fall through,” a place where entire vacations and arguments disappear. She forgets why she entered a room, loses track of years, and relies on photos to confirm she visited countries she cannot recall. These lapses create a fractured sense of self: she wonders if “another me” is forever living those forgotten moments.

Her relationship with Victor becomes a barometer of this memory loss. She forgets the details of fights while still feeling angry, leading to circular arguments. Victor patiently reminds her that they have already watched a documentary or visited a beach. Lawson jokes that the secret to a long marriage is “memory loss and well-meaning lies and beach margaritas,” but underlying the humor is a real anxiety: if she cannot remember her own life, who is she? The evidence shows her asking, “Is there a part of me left behind forever on deserted beaches?”

This chapter establishes that memory is not just a cognitive function but the foundation of identity. When Lawson says “without pictures and stories and constant remembrances sometimes things slip away. And I slip away with them,” she directly links memory to selfhood. Writing becomes her anchor—a way to pin down the “fog” and keep herself from disappearing.

The Family Pattern: Dementia and Lost Stories

Lawson moves from personal forgetfulness to the larger family legacy of dementia. In Chapter 17, “We Are Who We Are Until We Aren’t Anymore”, she traces mental illness and memory loss across four generations. Her great-great-grandmother Lillie died in a mental institution; her great-grandmother and grandmother both developed dementia. The chapter title itself captures the theme: identity is provisional until it is not.

Her grandmother, called Granny, now lives in a memory facility. She no longer recognizes Lawson but remains cheerful and witty. At bingo she suddenly cannot understand the letters; later she says, “I think I went away for a little while.” Lawson’s mother visits daily and tells Granny stories from the past, sometimes being mistaken for a childhood friend. The grief is palpable: “One day she won’t come back.”

Yet Lawson finds hope in Granny’s resilience. Even when Granny forgets her own name, she knows she loves peanut butter crackers. She jokes about labeling her underwear so nurses can identify her. This dark humor does not diminish the tragedy but reframes it: personhood can survive without explicit memory. Lawson writes down Granny’s stories, hoping it is enough. The act of recording becomes a defiant preservation of identity against the erasure of dementia.

Symbolism: Brokenness as the Container of Self

Two key symbols in Broken embody the memory-identity theme. First, the crack-and-light epigraph from Leonard Cohen sets the tone: cracks let light in. Lawson applies this to her own brain—the holes and gaps admit new pleasures, like re-reading Stephen King chapters with fresh joy. Brokenness is not purely loss; it can be a space for beauty.

Second, the broken dove in Chapter 25, “Sometimes There Is Beauty in Breaking,” physically illustrates the theme. Lawson accidently knocks over a stone dove that shatters. She crawls to collect pieces, finding one of her own feet bleeding from the shards. The dove, once part of a matched pair, is now irreparably damaged. But the narrative connects this to her own depression: “I am hollow. Scooped out. Empty. I am a shadow.” The dove’s brokenness mirrors her shaken identity.

The glass spheres of souls in Chapter 38 extend the metaphor: souls crack from sadness or chemical imbalance, and people search for shards—songs, love, art—to fill the holes. Lawson states that “brokenness and healing are ongoing, and that brokenness can be beautiful when seen in the right light.” This directly applies to memory: the cracks in her mind are not just deficits; they are spaces where light and new experiences enter.

Additionally, in Chapter 30, “Damaged Good(s)”, Lawson recalls teenage fads of damaging leather notebooks and denting gold beads to prove authenticity. She concludes: “something is only real if it’s damaged.” This principle extends to identity: the scars of memory loss, mental illness, and grief make her who she is. Damage is not the opposite of identity; it is its proof.

Complexity and Contradiction: The Paradox of Forgetfulness

Lawson does not simplify memory loss into pure tragedy. She also highlights its gifts. Forgetting arguments saves her marriage; re-reading the same mystery novel brings fresh suspense; notes left by a past self feel like conversation with a friend. She writes, “It’s not all bad. There are some perks to having a poor memory.”

This creates a paradox: memory loss threatens identity yet also enables new forms of connection. Her grandmother’s dementia, while heartbreaking, has returned her to a childlike joy—singing loudly at church, laughing at her own confusion. Lawson’s mother says, “It has been strange and wonderful to get a glimpse into the past at what my grandmother was like as a child.” The loss of identity is also a transformation of identity.

Lawson confronts her own fear in Chapter 25: “I don’t know if I will find the old me or a new one.” She cannot remember how to feel as she did before, but she trusts her past: “my past has never lied the way depression lies to me.” This tension—between the terror of losing oneself and the hope of becoming anew—is the heart of the theme. Identity is not a fixed monument but an ongoing process, held together by love, story, and the cracks that let light in.

Study Questions and Answers

1. How does Lawson’s description of her own memory loss in Chapter 3 connect to her fear of losing her identity?
   Lawson writes that “without pictures and stories … I slip away with them.” She experiences memory gaps as holes where parts of herself fall through. This direct link between remembering and existing shows that identity for her is contingent on recollecting her experiences.

2. What role does writing play in preserving identity for Lawson and her grandmother?
   Lawson writes to pin down her life before it dissolves. For her grandmother, Lawson records family stories because “that’s not the way it works” for grandma to keep them in her own head. Writing becomes an external memory that holds identity after the internal one fails.

3. How does the symbol of the cracked dove in Chapter 25 illustrate the theme of memory and identity?
   The dove shatters into pieces Lawson cannot reassemble, mirroring her own fractured sense of self during depression. Yet she picks up the broken pieces, just as she continues to piece together her identity through fragmented memories. The dove’s damage does not destroy its meaning—it remains a treasured object.

4. What contradiction does Lawson present about forgetting in her marriage to Victor?
   Forgetting fights prevents divorce; she calls memory loss “the secret to a long-lasting marriage.” But she also resents not being able to prove Victor wrong. The contradiction shows that forgetfulness can be both a survival mechanism and a source of frustration, complicating the idea that memory is essential for stable relationships.

5. How does Granny’s experience of dementia challenge the idea that memory is necessary for identity?
   Granny cannot remember her name or recognize her granddaughter, yet she retains her humor, sweetness, and love of peanut butter crackers. She still declares, “I may not know my own name but I know I love these peanut butter crackers.” This suggests that core personality and preferences can survive memory loss, redefining identity as something deeper than recollection.

Conclusion

In Broken, Jenny Lawson refuses to reduce memory loss to a simple tragedy. Instead, she presents it as a complex force that both threatens and reshapes identity. Through her own forgetfulness, her grandmother’s dementia, and the symbols of cracked doves and glass souls, she argues that who we are is not solely a product of what we remember. Writing, love, and the acceptance of brokenness create a self that endures even when the mind falters. The cracks let the light in—and that light is identity itself.