“I can’t remember my childhood,” Aly, twenty-one tells me. “Memory is an interesting experience,” I say, reminding both of us that we have a narrative memory, or explicit memory, in which we can recall stories, and we have implicit memory, where we recall feelings and then construct a story. “Through psychotherapy,” I say to Aly, “memories return, because the way you treat this relationship, and the way you convey information, might give you insight into how your parents treated you and how you felt about them.” I say, explaining that one major value of psychotherapy is the opportunity to construct a narrative of childhood, that because of psychic pain, has been, up until now, too difficult to recall. The support of psychotherapy allows the memories to flow because the pain can be metabolized. The “material” of the session provides both therapist and patient the opportunity to look at the narrative in a way which allows for multiple meanings, one of which, might relate to opening memories from childhood. Ina, sixty, comes to mind. “I was mad at my husband for telling me how to drive, but I know where that comes from. I hated that my father always told me what to do. I just hated him for that because he never trusted my judgment.” Ina, without my prompting, spontaneously saw how her irritation with her husband was also a “memory” of her feelings towards her father, many decades ago. The past lives in the present, as Faulkner so famously says. History comes alive through daily conflicts, irritations, and sudden emotions. Psychotherapy leverages that truth towards a deeper understanding of the history of one’s childhood. In so doing, Ina, Aly, and so many patients grow to understand their distortions of their present, because of their past. This insight leads to a more empowered ego, with fewer feelings of blame and victimhood.