Scene by Scene

She’d tried to beat it. That voice in her head that told her what she needed to do. It got louder and more demanding the more she resisted it though. She emptied bottle after bottle, hoping for silence. It hadn’t worked. Then she moved on to the pills. Even through her numbness, she heard it speak to her.

It wouldn’t quit until she ended it all, she knew.

And she was so very tired.

Exhausted by the struggle she tried to keep at bay day after day. She felt the exhaustion at a bone deep level this night. She couldn’t take it any longer.

She stood on the edge of the bridge and waited to hear the voice one last time.

“C’mon, you’ve been talking to me all day, nows your chance.” She screamed to the wind. “Tell me to do it and I’ll do it!”

Instead, she heard the lapping of the water below her. Car horns from the city. She heard rustling from the trees. But the voice was silent.

She let the tears fall. What did this mean? Was it gone for good? She knew it wasn’t. Not really. She’d get down from her spot, perched above the world and it would speak to her again.

And this silence was so beautiful. So calm. She could actually hear herself think for once.

But she knew it was an illusion. Because the voice never stopped telling her what she knew to be true, deep down.

She didn’t belong here, in this world.

She took a deep breath in and rejoiced in the sharp air filling her lungs.

Then, she leaned over and let herself fall.

This was a piece I wrote after my friend committed suicide. I was trying (like everyone else) to make sense of what happened. I wrote different versions of this scene, weaving in various things I knew about her and her situation. Some versions, like this one, were completely made up of my own meaning-making. But in writing out these scenes, I found myself grieving her death on the page. Over and over again. Writing Fiction to Heal doesn’t have to look like a full manuscript. It doesn’t have to have chapters or sections. It can look like a single scene in which you explore something you have no answers to.

The most common response I get from potential clients or trauma survivors who want to write to heal is: “Writing about the actual event or experience is too painful. I can’t do it.”

And that makes sense. If I tried to write about my friend's suicide purely from reality, it would be a pretty bleak and ugly scene. It would also be incredibly difficult to do as it is so painful. It’s the same reason I’ve never written directly about my own sexual abuse. But when I allow my imagination to concoct scenes and reasons and meaning-making, I’m allowed the distance and perspective to see the events differently in a way that feels healing rather than re-traumatizing. This is precisely why writing fiction to heal can be beneficial to those who want to explore their trauma without reliving it.

A Mini Case Study

I have a client who I’ll call Patricia (not her real name) who wanted to write about her challenges conceiving and the dissolution of her marriage because of it. But in her fictional version, she wanted to give the character a happy ending she didn’t have. She has allowed me to share this scene and her comments about writing it.

As I pull out of the CVS parking lot, I promise myself I won’t do this to myself ever again. This was the last time. But even as I think it, I don’t really believe it. How could I when something as important as a child could be at stake?

When I get home, I pull the box of tests from the plastic bag, shoving it beneath yesterday’s takeout boxes. If Daniel comes home and sees it, he’ll know exactly what I’ve done.

I down two glasses of water and head to the bathroom. That evil place that holds so many of my disappointments. I turn the tap on low so it drips just the right amount. I have a hard time peeing these days. It’s like my body knows that what will come out isn’t what I want so now it just refuses to come out at all.

I pace around for a few minutes before I feel the urge to sit down and wait. And wait. And wait.

Finally! A trickle.

I manuever the first pee stick as a steady stream of piss comes out. I wonder if I should use the second one now or wait?

I wipe and place the stick on the counter facing down. I set the timer on my watch. Three miserable minutes.

Finding something to do with those three minutes has become a whole routine. I go out to the kitchen, start the tea kettle, position the tea bag in the mug just the right way. I check to see if Daisy’s dog bowl needs refilling. I call her over and scratch behind her long, droopy ears. She looks at me with sad eyes.

“I know, girl. This is the last time,” I tell her.

I don’t think she believes me either.

My watch beeps. It’s time.

My heart is beating furiously and my hands are clammy. I’ve done this too many times to get my hopes up. I know this, and yet I still subject myself to it just in case.

Daniel chides me every time I tell him I took another test. “I don’t know why you do this to yourself. It’s never what you want to see. So why keep doing it?”

I haven’t been able to fully explain it to him. He wants children because I want children. But he doesn’t realize that this is the only thing I’ve ever wanted in my life. And when you spend your entire life wanting one thing, it’s not that easy to give it up.

When I step inside the bathroom, it feels suffocating. Like the walls are closing in. I’m dizzy and terrified, but there’s also an electric charge that courses through my veins. It’s hope, I know it is. I try to dampen it before I pick up the stick but I can’t.

Maybe this time…

I turn it over with my eyes close and breathe in deeply. When I open my eyes and look at the indicator on the stick, I lean over the toilet and vomit.

I wipe my mouth with the sleeve of my shirt and look at the stick again.

Two pink lines.

My entire life’s dreams held together by two fucking pink lines.

When I asked Patricia how she felt about writing this scene she told me this, “Even though I know this will never be my reality and I’ve accepted that, I realized in writing this scene that I can allow my characters to have what I can’t and that feels… empowering. I can write about what it feels like to be pregnant even if I can’t get pregnant in real life. I can try to understand the emotions a new mom might feel, even if I’ll never be a mother in reality. There’s something bittersweet about it. It still hurts… but it feels better than living in my reality. I’ll never be a mother to a human child, but I can birth hundreds of children through writing if I want to. I think that’s why writing this scene felt so pivotal to me.”

Even though Patricia is working on a full-length novel, this scene she wrote is evidence that even a single scene can provide healing. We tend to think of things in grandiose terms.

“I have to write an entire novel to see it work.”

“I have to have all of my characters and plot and storylines figured out before I can write something that heals.”

“I don’t know what’s going to happen next therefore this isn’t going to work for me.”

But the truth is, we write just as we live life — scene by scene. When we look back over the trajectory of our lives, it’s not one big long chapter we see… rather we remember the chapters or scenes that are meaningful to us. We see a particular moment in time that has been imprinted on our brains. This is true of storytelling too! We don’t remember every detail or every scene of an entire book once we’ve finished reading it — but we do remember the important scenes. The memorable ones. The ones that shock us or make us stop and think. The heartbreaking and the happy.

So yes, friends, writing a single scene to heal is possible. In fact, I dare you to try it. Right now. Take a single moment from your life and rewrite it. Make new meaning from it. Give it an ending you didn’t have. Make it better than how it turned out in life. Make it worse than what happened and see what comes up.

Maybe, in the end, you’ll see how scene by scene how much healing you can achieve. It’s worth the try, I can promise you that.

Interested in working 1–1 in a collaborative coaching relationship? Check out what I offer and inquire before spots are booked up.