Finding Words after Trauma
The German philosopher Theodor Adorno famously said (in translation), “Writing poetry after Auschwitz is barbaric.” After the unprecedented horror and trauma of the events of the Holocaust, he was reminding us how making sense of things in lyric form seems grossly inadequate, even disrespectful to the senselessness of the violence the victims suffered. While this is an important question to raise about the nature and morality of art in general, it is also relevant to the small struggles we have to write in our daily lives. After small, personal tragedies and traumas occur, we are often left wordless, struggling to make sense of what has occurred. Sometimes we feel that it is disrespectful to turn the events of our or others’ lives into pretty poetry, and we are left only with silence.
The problem with this silence, well-meaning as it might be, is that it is not ultimately the best way to honor life and to go on living, in my opinion. Language and storytelling is the way that we understand events and learn from them; putting those events on paper is a way of taming them, putting them in our power, instead of letting ourselves be in their power. It can sometimes seem barbaric to try to capture grief and trauma, or even to write about other things when grief is still looming in our minds. But we must. It is our duty as writers.
After the jump: finding the words once again
Personally, as my family struggles with some deeply worrying events lately, I find myself shying away from the notebook and pen. For me, emotion manifests itself as a desire not to think. If I can just keep myself from thinking, by concentrating on my work or watching mindless television shows, then I’ll somehow avoid the pain that’s waiting to blindside me just around the corner. If I can just put it off a little longer — then maybe it won’t get me. I think this may ring true for many readers. But the question still remains: how do we write about trauma or grief? How do we find words again?
It may be a question of faith, though not in higher powers. I’m talking about faith in ourselves, and in the idea that the world is a place that does have an internal sense of order and energy. We have to trust that the world is not based on a cruel mechanized determinism on one end or a random meaningless chaos on the other. We have to trust the original hypothesis we put out there as writers: that words have meaning, that they can heal and illuminate, and that stories can make us feel human again. We have to believe that adding our stories to the ocean of words out there will enrich the great bubbling stew. So in time, when we’re ready, we sit and look out a window again, and feel the old excitement returning. We trust, and reach out to ourselves on the page.
Blair, my thoughts and prayers are with you — whatever it is.
As to writing about trauma, I found that writing in my journal was the most helpful to me. I was able to journal when I couldn’t write anything else. No matter if I wrote about trivia — cafeteria food, cold coffee, the sunny weather — it helped unstop the words (and the emotions). Everything else — poetry, fiction — had to wait until I had a certain amount of distance and have gained some perspective.
I second what Margaret says. To force any words too soon won’t help at all. And frankly, you ARE doing something when you space out watching TV or whatever–you are letting time pass. Deep, deep inside you are absorbing whatever is happening. You’re not conscious of it, but it’s going on.
When I sobered up at age 34, I had to deal with the incest & beatings that were a huge part of my ‘childhood.’ Some days, I sat on my back porch & just watched bugs buzz for hours. No great thoughts, no insights, only a reciprocating buzz going on in my head.
Later, I’d report this to my therapist & she’d say, “Mary, that’s GREAT!” I was puzzled. It didn’t seem all that ‘great.’
However, she was thrilled when I’d simply sit & be. No manic charging around, no insistence on ‘producing something.’ Instead, relaxing & letting whatever bubbled up
come on up.
From other low points in my life, I’ve found that time passing really IS the key to feeling better from any traumatic event. More experiences stand between you & the trauma, & while you never forget, the impact softens & you do feel like yourself again.
Also, healing from sadness is never a linear experience. You may go two steps forward, fall back three, go forward again…that sort of thing. But never panic when you fall back a bit. The life force does carry you forward and you WILL be happy again–with time.
All of these wise(?) words, however, are probably premature. From what you’ve written, it sounds like you are still moving into and through the painful, ‘worrying’ news with your family. This part is unavoidable & you freely admit you know that. It is VERY normal to try to hide from sadness as long as you can.
Miss Margaret is correct, I believe, when she says you really can’t make much sense of all the feelings ’til later, when
you have some distance. Don’t be afraid you might forget something because you aren’t writing it down–you won’t. You, especially, have a practiced eye & trained memory.
You eventually will write about these events perfectly & help others make sense of their lives by doing so. Right now, your job is simply to get through these hard times as best you can. Comfort your family when you genuinely have comfort to give (you may not, at least, not always), & be genuine with all. Be genuine, especially, with a person facing death.
And if your entire family is hopelessly blue, go rent “Blazing Saddles” and make everyone watch it. It is both #1 & #7 on the official ‘therapists guide for movies to take your mind off
troubles and/or depression.”
Everyone needs a break. And it IS a very funny movie.
Much love, MaryB (HI,Margaret!!)
Hi, Mary {waves}.
I second the “Blazing Saddles.” Also “Robin Hood: Men in Tights.”
I’m also very fond of “Monte Python and the Holy Grail.”
Hi,
I understand. That feeling down in your fingers, the itching to write, but then sucking it inside by some mindless task till the desire goes away. Because it seems so much better to hush your way through life or maybe if you write it on paper it could suddenly make it true and you don’t want that. stop. Don’t write.
Even writing that small blog helped me. You should try writing small things even if they don’t make sense. try even just writing words so it helps get your mind working
I hope you feel better
Obviously it’s a personal choice. If one gets catharsis from writing about your life to make sense of it and it’s why you do it then one should write through grief or trauma. Of course.
For myself I have still not written about my own personal trauma, despite being a professional writer for 20 years before and 10 years after the events. I’m just not ready. Not in a horrible, ooky, “can’t think about it” kind of way, because at this stage I can think about it, the loss of a loved one to insanity, freely and honestly. It doesn’t make me feel great, but I can face it and imagine ways I could fictionalise it and potentially make something truly moving and transformative. It’s bound to be powerful because my feelings about it are powerful. But I’m not ready to commit something so personal to the page. Not yet.
I suppose the jury is still out on whether I ever will.
I cannot help but look at this post in the context of your earlier one about the writing class you are teaching. Conflicts, problems, provide a dynamic that makes for compelling writing. “Trauma” is a rather broad term, and while I would not suggest that we welcome it in our lives, I respectfully acknowledge an English teacher I had in high school (himself an accomplished novelist) who lived in Times Square in the pre-Giuliani period. He respected the sometimes marginal and desperate people he encountered in Times Square for their conviction that “a life lived without turbulence” is not at all the highest form of existence, and I wonder if his success as a writer today has something to do with his understanding of this creed. At the same time, so much suffering is pointless and needless and does not improve our lives or character in any way.