Your Imperfection is Your Memoir Superpower

If you’ve ever stared at a blank page waiting for the “perfect” sentence to arrive, I have news that might feel both shocking and liberating: there is no perfect sentence. No perfect memoirist. No perfect draft.

And thank goodness for that.

When I wrote my memoir, Accidental First Lady, I spent far too much time worrying about how my story would be perceived, whether it would offend someone, and if I was “doing it right.” I thought great authors must glide through the writing process with confidence, clarity, and possibly a steaming cup of tea that never gets cold.

Spoiler alert: I was wrong. And so is the myth that you have to be perfect to write a powerful story.

The truth is far more generous: your imperfections are the very things readers will connect with.

Readers don’t want flawless. They want real. They want the version of you who doubted, learned, tried again, and kept going even when it wasn’t pretty.

Here’s why imperfection matters:

Imperfection lets the truth come through.
When you stop trying to sound like other authors, your true voice emerges—the one people recognize and trust.

Imperfection creates intimacy.
Your awkward moments, your contradictions, your half-formed thoughts? That’s where the emotional resonance lives.

Imperfection fuels momentum.
Trying to “get it right” from the start freezes your writing. Allowing yourself to write messy gets the story out, then editing shapes it.

Imperfection makes your memoir unique.
No one else has lived your exact journey. Your voice, perspective, and lived experiences are what set your story apart.

If you’re ready to breathe a little easier, loosen your shoulders, and write without the constant pressure to “be good,” I’ve created something for you.

It’s called 7 Steps for Embracing Imperfection, and it’s my free guide to help you write with more freedom, honesty, and confidence. You can download it right from the link in this post.

Your story doesn’t need perfection.
It needs you - imperfect, courageous, and gloriously human

Kerry Kriseman