We Heal Ourselves and Others by Fictionalizing Our Pain, Expressing It, and Overcoming It in Our Stories
Human beings have two core needs: to be seen and heard, which allows us to express our authentic selves
Courtesy of Commons Wikimedia Commons
As in real life, modern heroes are complex characters with flaws and problems to which all of us can relate. In stories, the heroes typically don’t go on a physical quest; their quest is more internal. The deeper we’re willing to go, and the more we’re ready to explore the darkness in our own story, the more we can empower our characters with authentic traits, truths, and struggles.
Let’s face it, we’ve all missed opportunities, taken the easy way out, or let our fear destroy our truth. I believe this is a core truth of the writer’s life — if we’re doing it right, we heal ourselves and others by fictionalizing our pain, expressing it, and overcoming it in our story.
The deeper we’re willing to go, and the more we’re ready to explore the darkness in our own story, the more we can empower our characters with authentic traits, truths, and struggles.
Are there any oedipal dynamics or other family dynamics at work here? Is it possible to relate a character’s adult behavior patterns to early experiences in the family as represented in the story?
To build compelling characters, we want to make them as real as possible, which means developing a backstory that lets us understand them on a deeper level. This brainstorming time allows us to create their unique personality by seeing how the people and events of their past helped to shape them — knowing who and what influenced a character gives us insight into what they might fear, desire, and need most of all.
Even in real life, we have a backstory. Our pasts are filled with experiences teaching us who to trust, what to believe in, and what to avoid. The more defining the experience or event, the deeper or more painful the lesson. Wounds navigate how we perceive our world, what we believe we want, and how we will (or won’t) interact with others. This is all part of the human experience, and to create realistic characters, we must try to mirror real life as much as possible as we plan and write.
The character’s core wound powers the story
While we might neglect to see our wounds as gems, our most potent wounds often have as many aspects and hidden depths as an exquisitely cut precious stone. They are sharp, with hard edges reflecting light and somewhat misrepresenting the wounds.
Character’s wounds are some of the most fruitful ground for generating a rich, fully realized protagonist. But before we can delve into this with our characters, we must understand it in ourselves. And because we have all experienced wounds in some way — and those places are intensely tender — it can be painful to look too closely.
Past hurtful experiences show up in the backstory that drives their motivation and tints their world. It must be profoundly raw to that character and intricately woven into their emotional DNA that warped how they see the world and themselves.
But, the impact of any given wound isn’t limited to that initial injury. A week ago, I threw my back out. It’s an annoyance, limping around, favoring the body parts that don’t hurt, throwing everything else out of whack as I contort my body to accommodate the damage.
Emotional wounds are like that, only worse in magnitude
I learned from personal experience that vicarious trauma and PTSD are real phenomena and can affect not just those in combat but also those waging war at home and in home life growing up.
For instance, raised by a narcissistic mother, I was left to grow up too fast and take care of myself far too much, way too early. As a result, I struggle with being a control and a neat freak. This need to be in control stems from the fear of being at the mercy of others, which stemmed from traumatic events of mental and physical abuse that left me feeling helpless and vulnerable. Additionally, because I grew up in the wake of constant broken promises, I’ve had to work hard to trust.
Emotional neglect, betrayal, rejection, and a lie, were all painful enough and became the lens through which I saw myself. I accepted that rejection and believed that lie, and I justified the betrayal, believing the flaw was within me.
Any abuse — emotional, physical, or sexual abuse is often the beginning point of a long, twisted, distorted journey from our true selves. And our worldview takes shape around that misguided information we’ve deduced because of it.
I draw from my childhood experiences to write stories that matter, tap into this darkness, and express it through my characters. I use that to hook my readers emotionally and establish a connection in those first few pages without blurting out every gory detail of my characters’ lives’ drama without being asked.
The secret, I think, is to show or hint at the character’s contortions and defense mechanisms that have sprung up around that deeper wound. As readers, we’re trained to look for clues and hints, so we’ll spot those coping mechanisms and be intrigued — we’ll want to know why.
Character’s arc
The character’s arc is critical for generating story tension. Character arc comes when a protagonist is placed in a problem strong enough to challenge and break the illusion. It is only through the story problem that the protagonist rises to grow into a hero, capable of realizing they were wrong.
As writers, drawing from our past experiences and implanting them in our characters is also a way to self-therapy. We create fictional stories where our protagonists have the guts to do the things we might not be ready for. To attempt the impossible. To be fearless in taking action to protect a loved one. To risk everything for honor, love, or redemption.
The most transformative moments will come from facing those wounds, freeing them from their weight, and beginning the healing process. And, of course, the stories we write aren’t about the wounds — but how we can overcome them. After all, we need stories to show us that being wounded doesn’t lessen our character’s — or our own — humanity in any way. On the contrary, it makes us deeply human. All we need is to have the courage to look.
Thank you sincerely for reading and sticking with me to the end.