How to Translate Trauma into Fiction Without Re-Traumatizing Yourself”

- May 23, 2025

Writing about trauma is like walking a tightrope — every step feels like it could either set you free or pull you under. Words carry weight. Sometimes they feel too heavy to hold. But writing has also helped me find myself, reclaim the truth, and create something meaningful from the mess.

In this post, I want to talk about how to write about trauma in ways that protect your peace, without ignoring your truth. I’ll share what’s worked for me — including a few stumbles — and some resources that helped me learn to tell hard stories without losing myself in them.

Start with Intention

The first thing I ask myself before writing something heavy is: Why now?
Am I trying to process pain, or am I hoping to connect with others who’ve been there too? Either answer is valid — but being honest with myself about the why helps me set boundaries before I start.

Jane Friedman once said, we are not our traumas. That stuck with me. Writing about them doesn’t mean reliving them. We’re allowed to write gently, in pieces, over time.

I didn’t do that with my post From Triggered to Transcendent. I dove in headfirst. At the time, I felt proud of being so raw and honest. But a week later, after it started getting attention, I re-read it — and it hit me hard. I felt triggered by my own words. It shocked me because I had been so confident when I wrote it. But looking back, I can see now that I rushed it. I didn’t give myself space to breathe or time to reflect before posting.

There was a lot of shame in that moment — not for telling the truth, but for not protecting myself while doing it. So I sat down and asked myself a few questions, and these became part of my process:

Purpose: Am I seeking healing, connection, or just clarity?
Readiness: Have I processed enough to go here creatively?
Boundaries: What am I okay sharing? What still needs to stay sacred?

Even when editing, I had to remind myself: this story has a life outside of me now. And that means I need to handle it — and myself — with care. If it feels too heavy, I pause. If it feels possible, I keep going. Because the truth is, it only seems impossible until it’s done.

Create Distance When You Need To

Sometimes the story is too close. That’s when I put some space between me and the page.

Writing in third person helps. So does changing names, places, or even turning moments into metaphors. Maybe the trauma becomes a storm. A locked door. A broken violin.

These changes don’t make the story less true — they make it safer to tell. This article by WOW ! woman helped me see that clearly. It reminded me that even fiction rooted in truth is still fiction — and we get to choose how close we stand to the flame.

Let Fiction Be a Buffer

Short stories became a safe space for me. One that helped me write from trauma without reliving it.

My short story Cheers to My Favorite Nightmare was written in third person. That shift gave me room to breathe. And even the Ink-Stained Thoughts section of my site is part of that — it’s where I process things through reflection, without always needing to go deep into the details.

I don’t write about trauma all the time. But when I do, I give myself permission to step back. To explore, not explode. To name the pain, not drown in it.

Protect Your Nervous System

Writing is emotional labor — especially when trauma is involved. I’ve learned I need to protect my nervous system like I protect my peace.

Here’s what’s helped:

Set limits — 30 minutes max when writing something heavy
Ground yourself afterward — hold a warm mug, journal, stretch, or watch something light
Talk to someone — a therapist, friend, or even your future self in a voice note
Prep your body, not just your brain — Clarion West has a great post about this

Trust and Control Are Everything

Safety matters — but so do trust and control.

When we write through trauma, we’re slowly rebuilding trust in ourselves: in our voice, our timing, our choices.

And control? It doesn’t mean suppressing or perfecting. It means knowing you have the power to shape your experience into something that makes sense. Writing gives you that power. It’s how I take all the noise in my head and start untangling it — one word at a time.

Your First Draft Doesn’t Have to Be Beautiful

Here’s the gentle truth: your first draft might feel like a mess. That’s okay. Let it be. You’re not writing for perfection — you’re writing to understand.

The healing part often comes later — in the revision. When you come back to the page with some distance, you can shape your story into something rooted in strength.
This post from SFWA helped me understand how editing can be just as healing as writing — maybe even more.

🎥 Watch:

Juliet Diaz – “How to Reclaim Your Voice Through Writing”
Watch on YouTube

If you’re looking for more, I’ve pulled together some resources that go deeper into trauma-informed writing:

How To Write About Trauma Without Retraumatizing Yourself: practical and compassionate tips.
On Trauma-Informed Writing: a guide for writing ethically and safely.
You Are Not Your Traumas. But Here's How to Write About Them: reflections on writing as a healing practice.

You can also watch this video by Mary Adkins on YouTube, where she talks through how to write from trauma in a way that respects your limits and helps you feel seen.

Writing from trauma is brave. So is choosing not to write about something until you’re ready. Either choice is valid. For me, writing has become a kind of reclamation — a way to tell the truth, even if it’s slanted, even if it’s soft. I hope this helps you take your first step, or your next one, with care and courage.

You’re not alone in this.

Further info:

writingelite.wordpress.com - I post here, writing on family topics

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