When someone tells you to "stop staring at your navel," they usually mean you’re being self-indulgent. They mean your internal world is a distraction from the "real" world. But in her book Body Work: The Radical Power of Personal Narrative, Melissa Febos flips that script entirely. She argues that the very act of looking inward—and specifically, writing about the body and its traumas—is a radical, subversive act of liberation.
Honestly, it’s about time someone said it.
For years, the literary world has sort of looked down on memoir, especially when it’s written by women or marginalized people. It’s been dismissed as "confessional" or "raw," words that often act as coded put-downs for "unartistic." Febos, a writer who has navigated everything from heroin addiction to sex work, knows these dismissals well. But in Body Work Melissa Febos makes the case that telling your story isn't just about you. It’s about dismantling the systems that rely on your silence.
The Myth of the Narcissistic Writer
People love to call memoirists narcissists. It’s a classic way to shut someone up. If you’re talking about your own pain, you must be obsessed with yourself, right?
Febos disagrees. She points out that narcissism is actually about creating a curated, pleasing image of yourself. Writing a memoir is the opposite. It’s a grueling, often ugly process of self-appraisal. It’s looking at the parts of yourself that you’d rather keep in the dark and dragging them into the light.
There is a huge difference between being self-obsessed and being self-aware.
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In the first essay of the book, "In Praise of Navel-Gazing," Febos references the work of social psychologist James Pennebaker. His research showed that writing about trauma actually improves physical health. It’s not just "venting." It’s somatic integration. When we put words to our experiences, we stop being haunted by them. We start to own them.
Why Body Work Melissa Febos Matters for Your Craft
If you’ve ever tried to write a sex scene and felt like a total fraud, you’re not alone. In the chapter "Mind Fuck," Febos talks about why writing about sex is so difficult. It isn’t because sex is inherently hard to describe; it’s because we’ve internalized so many scripts about what sex should look like.
- We write the tropes we’ve seen in movies.
- We use "bodice-ripper" language because it feels safe.
- We avoid the weird, awkward, or non-linear parts of desire.
Basically, our "internalized misogyny" and cultural conditioning get in the way of our actual bodies. Febos suggests that to write better sex, we have to unlearn the "male gaze." We have to stop performing and start observing. She even gives her students a "five-sentence sexual history" assignment to force them past the clichés. It’s about finding the "actual body" underneath the layers of shame and expectation.
Dealing with the "Big Shitty Party"
One of the biggest hurdles for any memoirist is the "other people" problem. How do you write the truth without destroying your relationships?
Febos calls this "A Big Shitty Party." It’s a messy, uncomfortable reality of the genre. You’re the one holding the pen, which means you have all the power. That’s a heavy responsibility.
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She doesn’t give a simple "yes" or "no" answer on whether you should include specific details. Instead, she offers parables from her own life. Sometimes she chose to show people her drafts; sometimes she didn’t. The goal isn’t to be cruel. It’s to be honest about your experience.
You can’t control how others will react. You can only control your intent. If your goal is revenge, the writing usually suffers. But if your goal is to understand the "alchemy of creative attention," then you’re doing the real work.
The Art of the Confessional
The final section of the book, "The Return," looks at the spiritual side of writing. Febos draws connections between medieval religious confessions and the modern memoir.
It’s not about groveling for forgiveness. It’s about a "change of heart."
When we write our stories, we are performing a ritual of return. We are returning to ourselves. We are taking the scattered, fragmented pieces of our history and making them into a whole. This isn't just "therapy"—though it can be therapeutic—it’s art. It’s taking a pain that felt meaningless and giving it value through craft.
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Actionable Insights for Your Own Narrative
If you're feeling stuck or like your story "doesn't matter," here is how to apply the principles of Body Work Melissa Febos to your own life:
- Identify the "Shame Points": What is the story you’re most afraid to tell? That’s usually where the best material lives. As Febos says, "Resistance... marks the beginning of the truly interesting part."
- Strip the Clichés: When writing about the body, avoid the language you’ve heard a thousand times. If it sounds like a Hallmark card or a "brave" social media post, dig deeper. What did the air actually feel like? What was the specific, weird sensation in your chest?
- Perform the Interrogation: Don't let a single comma or word choice go unquestioned. Revision isn't just fixing typos; it's "re-visioning." Seeing the story again with clearer eyes.
- Acknowledge the Fear: Writer's block is usually just fear in a trench coat. Fear of being judged, fear of being "unoriginal," fear of hurting someone. Acknowledge the fear, and then write anyway.
The world often benefits from our silence. It’s easier to control people who don’t know their own stories. By engaging in the "body work" of personal narrative, you aren't just writing a book. You're reclaiming your agency. You're making the room bigger for everyone else who has been told to keep quiet.
Stop worrying about being "too much." Start being honest. The "navel" is just the center; the story ripples out from there until it touches everything.
Next Steps for Your Writing Journey:
- Audit your "unrules": Write down three things you were told you "couldn't" write about. Spend 10 minutes writing about one of them today, specifically focusing on the physical sensations involved.
- Draft a "five-sentence history": Choose a theme—like your history with a certain hobby, a type of food, or a specific emotion—and try to summarize the "body" of that experience in exactly five sentences without using clichés.