Releasing Pain Through Writing
By Cheryl Rainfield
I’ve always infused my pain into my writing and art, bleeding out some of the emotion onto paper. Writing out pain can be a release and a way of being heard, as well as a way to reach others. Some of the most powerful novels I’ve read had pain and emotional truths in them that I recognized as being real—as well as joy and hope. I searched my whole life for books that would echo my own experiences and let me know I wasn’t alone. I wrote Scars (WestSide, 2010) in part because I couldn’t find enough of them.
I am the survivor of severe, ongoing physical, psychological, and sexual abuse. Novels were a big part of my survival in childhood—and a big part of my healing. I was always reading to know I wasn’t alone or crazy like my abusers said I was, as well as reading for escape from my own trauma. I found bits of my own experience in novels—being initially unloved like Anne in Anne of Green Gables and bullied like Linda in Blubber; I also recognized all too well the menace that can exist behind a facade of normalcy as in Down a Dark Hall. Books were a way to experience safety and love, and receive positive messages, when I couldn’t find those in my life. Even if a book doesn’t speak to our exact experiences, there are usually things we can relate to that help us feel less alone. Books help us heal, hope, and dream; they are powerful things. And writing—it is just as powerful.
I write because I need to. While I was being sexually and ritually abused, writing gave me a voice, allowed me to say the things I couldn’t say otherwise. It was my safe way to express myself. Writing allowed me to break through the silence my abusers demanded of me. It was my way of being heard, of trying to give to others—validation, support, a doorway into healing. And once Scars got published, it became a huge part of my own healing—giving me more confidence, joy and validation, as well as fulfilling a lifelong dream.
I’ve always had a strong desire to heal, and to encourage healing in others, perhaps because, along with my own childhood abuse, I witnessed other children being severely abused–even killed. I wanted to save them as well as myself. When you think you’re the only one who has gone through something horrible or who acts a certain way—and when you blame yourself for it—it makes the pain even worse. Part of healing is finding out that you’re not alone, that someone else understands. Writing (and art) became my way to connect—and, in a way, to save myself. I got out a lot of pain through my writing, instead of keeping it all locked inside. I wanted to be able to give that to others, as well as to receive it, and that’s what I’ve done with Scars.
Although I tried to get out some of my emotion writing novels and creating art, it wasn’t always enough. Sometimes the pain, the grief, the fear and self-blame felt unbearable, like I couldn’t get through another second—and in those times, I would cut. The arms on the Scars cover are my own.
I often felt that I had more pain than I could endure. I tried to put much of it into Scars, but I was careful to keep it controlled, to not put all the extremes of what I’d been through (and the effects) into my story, so that I wouldn’t overwhelm readers. Many of my early drafts probably had too much raw and unrelenting pain, because that’s what I knew. But I wanted my book to be a good read—emotionally connecting and compelling as only a story can be. And I wanted to make sure people could hear my story—that there was enough light and hope to get them through. If I put too much pain in, people would turn away. But if I put too little in, I wouldn’t be true to myself or my experiences. I wanted people to understand what it’s like to be sexually abused—the effects, the trauma of it—and what it’s like to use self-harm to cope.
It was a struggle for me to gain a balance between showing the pain and reality, and providing comfort and relief. For years I found it hard to put in happiness, comfort, warmth—mostly because I hadn’t experienced it. But I had read about it. I drew happiness and warmth from all the books I’d read with kind characters, or movies that I’d seen. Some came from my imagination, and the way I’ve always treated others. And then much, over time, came from a few kind, loving people I gained in my life. Through experiencing comfort and real kindness, I was able to give my character Kendra more of that.
After other writers read chapters of Scars and told me how powerful it was, they would invariably ask me if it was healing for me to write it. It felt as though they needed to hear that it was, so I’d agree with them. I could see from a distance that it was a therapeutic process, even if I didn’t feel any relief. What I did feel was energized to have writers I admired hear bits of my experience and emotional truth woven into the fiction—and to hear that the writing moved them.
It took ten years for Scars to be published. I cared so much about this novel, and so much of me was in it, that I did not give up, though sometimes I wanted to, especially in the last few years of so many near misses—editors and agents telling me they liked Scars, telling me I was a good writer, but not publishing it. It’s hard not to take repeated rejection personally, and to not feel some hopelessness when you get so close to your dream and it keeps not happening. It became hard to shut out the negative messages my abusers had taught me as the rejections and years piled up. But once I got the contract for Scars, I felt great relief and elation—I really was going to reach people! I had turned my pain into something positive. And I’d done what my abusers had told me I couldn’t. I had told my truths and been heard. And more than that—my novel was going to help others.
Now that Scars is on the shelves and has been nominated for some awards (including the Stonewall Award, YALSA Quick Picks, and the Rainbow List), it is a huge part of my healing. Self-harm is something a lot of people judge, as is being queer. To be able to help others understand why some of us cut, and that being queer can be a positive thing, is wonderful. I’ve had readers tell me that they could never understand self-harm before, but now, after Scars, they “get” it. And I’ve had many others who’ve used self-harm tell me that they recognize themselves in Scars, that it moved them deeply and felt real, and that they’ll give Scars to friends and family who don’t understand their self-harm. Those reader letters mean so much to me. I am reaching other survivors and people who’ve used self-harm to cope, letting them know they’re not alone. And I’m reaching people who didn’t know much about self-harm, who come away with a bit more compassion and insight.
Books make a healing difference in lives. I already knew that—but to have my own book do that for others is a gift. There are some satisfying things about exploring personal pain in writing. You can rewrite history, change events, bring about a happy outcome. It felt good giving my main character, Kendra, a chosen family, safety, and love—and some resolution to the abuse she’d been through. I gave her something she—and I—both needed, that I’d never had. It was also satisfying to put her abuser in jail—that hasn’t happened with my own abusers, so I wrote something I needed. It can be a kind of therapy, a working through things, to rewrite history. To give the “you” that’s a part of your character the things that you needed, and to give the abusers or bad guys the kinds of responses they should have had. To write a healing, satisfying twist to the ongoing story.
Cynthia Ozick says it well (though I wouldn’t use “out of revenge”—I would use “to heal”):
“One reason writers write is out of revenge. Life hurts; certain ideas and experiences hurt; one wants to clarify, to set out illuminations, to replay the old bad scenes and get the Treppenworte said— the words one didn’t have the strength or ripeness to say when those words were necessary for one’s dignity or survival.”
Writing can be a way of rewriting the bad things that happened to you, and turning them into something that not only brings you a sense of healing or justice, but also brings that for others.
It’s important to turn our emotional truths—our pain and our joy—into fiction. Readers recognize emotional truths, and these truths help bring greater understanding and compassion. Most powerful fiction has emotional truth in it, pieces of the author’s deepest experiences—the things that moved her, the pain and the joy. The things we care about the most. We all have our own truths, our own places of pain that we need to share—bits of experience and wisdom that will speak to others. Together, they create a kind of universal truth.
I hope that, whatever your truth is, you write it.
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So very brave and commendable of you, Cheryl. I’m proud of you. What you are offering to other vicitims is a huge gift. Thank you for choosing not to suffer in silence. Your heart to reach others and your desire to speak into their lives, to let them know healing is possible, comes through loud and clear.
Dear Cheryl,
Very powerful and moving! Sorry you had to experience all that you did. Thank you for writing this!
Dear Cheryl.
Thank you for writing this. It is very powerful and moving. Sorry you suffered so much.
Dear Cheryl,
A powerful article from a talented woman. You say that you write about the “happiness, comfort, and warmth” you never received. Well, Cheryl, here’s a hug for you, filled with all three. Quick, catch it!
Thank you so much, Claudia and Patricia (smiling at you both). I’m really glad you liked the article. And, things are much better in my life now. Being safe, not being abused, having people who love me, and having Scars published–those are all such wonderful things in my life! And my little dog and cat.
take good care,
Cheryl
Linda, thank you (hugging you). You are lovely!
Cheryl,
It’s been such a joy to “meet” you through Twitter, and, as I’ve told you, I very much appreciated SCARS. I didn’t know those were your arms on the cover, which adds a new, sad depth to my understanding of the story.
Like you, I turned to books for solace and escape as a young person. They truly kept me alive, and I believe that’s why I continue to read and write YA. I’m working on yet another revision of my novel but dream that some day it can help and offer hope to teen readers, just like SCARS.
What a gift to yourself and to your readers! Thank you for sharing your experiences here.
Hugs,
kellye
Cheryl, I admire your courage. I related to Kendra and know that there are many, many grown women and men who were victimized as children who would benefit from reading your book. Thank you for writing SCARS.
Cheryl: writing your novel was a brave and selfless act. As is sharing the reasons in this essay. Thank you, and I hope the healing benefits come back to you a thousandfold.
What a brave and powerful article, Cheryl. Sending you more warmth and love. And cheers! You are an amazing woman.
Love,
Jo
Hi Cheryl,
Congrats on your book doing so well. Perseverance is the magic ingredient. If you believe in something, never give up.
Cheryl, one of the things that impressed and astonished me so much about Scars was the warm generosity of your voice. I felt that if I had gone through what you did, my words would have been the verbal equivalent of a blazing machine gun. But you opened your arms wide, and, despite a difficult story, welcomed the reader with kindness. Amazing.
Kathleen
Dear Cheryl,
I look at your photo with such a lovely happy smile in your lovely vulnerable face, and I want to weep for the innocent child who had to suffer so much pain alone.
I’m glad you were able to rise above it. I’m impressed and glad that you are now helping others who may not yet have your strength and support.
Bravo for you!
Gisela
Thank your for sharing your experiences and insights, Cheryl, and for having the courage to persist despite ten years of rejection. For those of us who have grown up in abusive situations, or who’ve struggled with disabilities or differences, each rejection seems like an affirmation of worthlessness. You’re a hero for fighting through that and bringing your story to people in similar situations, or people who might know someone in a similar situation. Thanks also to WestSide Books for seeing the importance of your work. I’m adding your book to my list and can’t wait to read it.
There are scars like those on your poor arm, less visible, but also indelible, on many minds and souls, secret scars your book gives us permission to reveal in the hope of healing, once told. Thank you.
A child waiting in a car for her mom to return from the grocery store with her purches, accidently releases the brake and the car jerks forward and kills her mom.
A young child gets up at midnight sees her father, standing ,in the semi darkness at an open window. While she tries to find the courage to go to him, he steps out the window into the night.
Neither child ever speaks of what she has done or failed to do. But shen ever forgets or recovers from the guilt.