A Six-Word Memoir® is the story of your life—some part of it or all of it—told in exactly six words.

In classrooms and boardrooms, churches and synagogues, veteran's groups and across the dinner table, Six-Word Memoirs have become a powerful tool to catalyze conversation, spark imagination or simply break the ice.

Here on Six Words, we offer a simple platform to share the short, sharp story of your life, as well as provide daily prompts to share your six-word takes on the topics of our times.

More than half a million short stories have been shared here. Read more about six.

So give six a try—and make your words count.


Six Word Memoirs
Social Buttons Facebook Twitter Tumblr Pinterest YouTube


Crying is a perfectly acceptable response.

by lillybrook on October 23, 2013   |  FacebooktwitterTumblr

Typical morning. This one. I turned on the lights and uttered "Good morning!" to my youngest, who stayed stock still in bed as I picked an outfit from her closet. After I wrestled clothes on to this lovely four year old, picked her boneless frame off the floor (where it slid like spaghetti when I told her I had to make her bed) and carried her into the bathroom where she refused to brush her own teeth (again), I ran upstairs to wake my 14 year old son who shuts off his alarm every day and goes back to bed. He was, as predicted, wrapped in covers and groaned when I turned on the light. I ran back downstairs to see the toddler with dragon breath still standing, holding a brush with toothpaste on the bristles nowhere near her teeth yet, and, over my shoulder, quickly reminded her that “it’s nearly time to eat.” In the kitchen, I was snapped at by my teenage girl who took a harmless question about Halloween as an accusation, watched her shoulders slump as her tone clipped a dark “I’m going to school,” as she closed the door. The teenage boy slumped downstairs with greasy hair long enough for me to turn him around with the question, “When is the last time you showered?” When he appeared, wet-haired on a frozen October day, the four year old was at the table eating breakfast. He heads out the door for the train, and now I only have to drive said 4-year old to preschool… where she didn't have slippers. So, I drove home (again) myself to get slippers and drove back with slippers only to be told in an injured voice that I brought the wrong ones. But I was out of time. I got in my car and let the tears spill.

Parenting is the hardest job in the world. As a single parent, I feel like the piece that I miss most -- that I believe might make it easier -- is that there isn’t anyone to share the tough stuff with. There isn’t anyone who says, “I saw you handle it all and you were amazing.” There isn’t anyone who takes part of the load, not even part of the time.

That’s when the tears become the companion. And I let it all go.


Six Word Memoirs Logo
Powered by Smith Magazine