My first memory was when I was 1 – and I remember everything ever since

I can remember it all, even though it happened over 37 years ago (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

As I sat on the sled, I watched helplessly as the rope slipped from my mother’s gloved hands again and again.

It was December and a snowstorm made it impossible to drive to the shops. So Mom decided to drag me there – literally.

However, the snow was so thick that it soon became clear that it did not have the strength to pull me through. Then I started to feel scared.

As the biting cold swept through my body, I was sure I was about to freeze to death, which is strange considering I was only two at the time and had no idea what that actually meant.

Yes, I remember that day as clearly as if it happened yesterday. I remember the relief I felt when we finally reached the store, and also the shopkeeper trying to calm me down as I screamed in pain from the cold.

My first memory is chipping my teeth on furniture at the age of one (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

I can still remember it all, even though it happened over 37 years ago.

For me, remembering things from the age of one was always completely normal. It wasn’t until I had my son in 2021 that I found out that this is definitely not the case. And honestly, it has changed the way I parent.

I was always told that I had a good memory.

At school it made exams based on fact memorization less stressful and helped me make solid friendships because I remembered so much of it.

As I got older, those same friends started calling me a “human Google” because I could remember a person or place they had long forgotten. Even people I barely knew would comment on my ability to remember insignificant details about their lives.

I was always told I had a good memory (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

I’ll also never forget the look on coworkers’ faces when they realized that the childhood memories I was talking about, brought back by staying with my grandmother, date back to when I was a toddler.

But I never thought about it again until I had my son.

As I held him in my arms, I suddenly realized how much I could remember about his age. I asked my friends who were also parents if they had the same feelings and if they could do that too, but they couldn’t.

It is commonly believed (and true for many people) that short- and long-term memories begin between the ages of three and four, with the years before that being lost due to “childhood amnesia.” Yet I have never forgotten mine early memories.

My first memory is of breaking my teeth on furniture when I was one year old.

When I was five, I almost drowned in the local swimming pool (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

I crawled through the living room and wanted to crawl under a wooden chair, but the bar between the legs split my two front teeth in two. They fell on the carpet and I bawled my eyes out until my mother came to comfort me.

Then, at the age of two, there was that snowstorm and I also remember seeing my step-grandfather on his deathbed.

Between these two memories, it’s no wonder I developed a long-standing fear of death.

My brother was born when I was three and this was traumatic for me as I had never been away from my mother before. She was in the hospital for a week and I didn’t understand why we couldn’t bring her home.

While it can be an impressive party trick to recall information and the past in a pinch, it’s not always what it’s cracked up to be (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

When I was five, I almost drowned in the local swimming pool when my little brother jumped out of the way and threw his arms around my neck.

I still shudder at the thought of trying to keep his head above water, gasping for breath until the lifeguard pulled us both out. That still makes me not a fan of swimming.

But it’s not just the traumatic moments that come to the fore, it’s also the little things, like the uncomfortable, oppressive feeling of being awake all night with glue ear or the ashy bitterness of my father’s cigar that he also gave me on my age allowed ‘smoking’. five.

Don’t get me wrong though, I also remember happy moments, like dressing my brother in doll clothes when he was a baby and being lifted up by my parents to pet the horses that lived in the field behind my house. Those are memories that I am happy with.

I’ve needed therapy to combat lifelong depression, anxiety and OCD (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

While it can be an impressive party trick to recall information and the past in an instant, it’s not always all it’s cracked up to be.

One of the most annoying parts of being a “super rememberer” is never being able to forget disturbing things that have been said to me over the years.

I still remember the moment my teacher called me “dramatic” because I never wanted to go to school on my fourth day of school. Or how one of the leaders scolded me in the Brownie camp by saying I couldn’t even make a sandwich.

Most people are inevitably able to forget those moments and move on, but not me.

As an adult, I have needed therapy to combat lifelong depression, anxiety, and fear OCD – all of which are harder to process when you can remember as much as I do.

Ironically, having access to the relevant memories was helpful in discovering what triggered and caused my anxiety. While this didn’t make it any less overwhelming, my memories have helped me understand myself, and I appreciate that not everyone has the luxury of looking back on those formative years the way I can.

But now that my son is three, I see that my interactions with him have more consequences than those of others.

I know from experience that the idea that “kids will forget” is flawed, so I keep that in mind in the things I say and do with him. That’s why I’ve tried to fill his toddler years with fun, so that if he has a memory like mine, he’ll remember the good times instead of the bad.

I know from experience that the idea that “children will forget” is flawed (Photo: Jen Sizeland)

I know I can’t protect it from everything, but I can try to limit the bad things that get into it. That’s why I don’t do “adult things” around my son, like cursing, talking negatively about him, or showing him inappropriate movies.

There’s no doubt that my memory is my superpower: I think it has made me a better parent, employee, and friend. And while memories can be traumatic, they are also an endless source of joy.

My ability to vividly remember hilarious nights with friends, perfect outings, or silly games with my son is something I wouldn’t give up for anything, and it makes the bad nights worth it.

In a way, I hope my son has the same powers as me, because one day we will be able to talk about all the fun we had. After all, there is no greater gift you can give your child than happy memories.

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