The Hardest Scene to Write in What Remains After: Writing About Trauma, Truth, and Healing

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The hardest scene took the longest to write.

What is the hardest scene for an author to write? For me, it was not an action sequence or dramatic confrontation, but a scene involving childhood trauma, truth-telling, and survival. In this essay, I reflect on writing trauma responsibly, the relationship between storytelling and healing, and why some stories demand honesty from both the writer and the reader.

Some Scenes Refuse to Stay on the Page

As a reader, I used to assume that the hardest scenes for an author to write were the action scenes, fierce climactic confrontations, or moments of violence. Once I took up writing with the determination that it would be my calling and profession, I soon discovered that for me, the hardest scenes are not necessarily so because of what happens in them, but because of what they represent. Some scenes required me, as a writer, to sit with human suffering longer than I would have liked. There was one scene in my debut novel, What Remains After, that demanded more honesty from me than any other.

The Hardest Scene

In this scene, the main character, Beth, is physically and sexually tortured by her uncle. I won’t go into detail here. If you’re curious, you can read it for yourself in the book. Suffice it to say, it is a difficult but essential scene for understanding Beth’s story. While I struggled with this scene and debated whether it was too much for readers to bear, I couldn’t deny that it could not be omitted if I were to understand the depth of the trauma Beth faced and had to heal from. It summed up Beth’s childhood and exposed systemic failures that allowed it to happen in the first place. It was one of the main turning points in Beth’s youth and key to understanding her adulthood. Deciding to include the scene was not the only challenge. The real challenge was deciding how to include it truthfully and responsibly. That’s because writing about trauma carries obligations beyond storytelling.

Why This Scene Took Longer Than Others

This scene took a long time to write. I would write a bit, set it aside for a while, and then return to write more, for a few reasons, but the main one was that it sparked an internal emotional struggle in me. I rewrote paragraphs repeatedly because I couldn’t find the exact right word to describe what Beth was experiencing in that instant. I was afraid of getting it wrong and thus causing my readers unnecessary discomfort or even pain. I also didn’t want to exploit Beth’s suffering for dramatic effect.

My history as a survivor of childhood abuse shaped the process and made it all the more difficult. I remembered my own pain, and although it helped me empathize with my character, there is a difference between remembering your own pain and translating it into fiction. I had to remember that I was not Beth, and she was not me. It sometimes required me to sit with my emotions, especially those I would rather have left buried in the past. Annie Dillard, author of The Writing Life, has written, “When you write, you lay out a line of words. The line of words is a miner’s pick, a woodcarver’s gouge, a surgeon’s probe” (1989). I found that to be true in my case. It felt like performing surgery on a part of my soul and then translating that into Beth’s story.

Trauma Is Not a Plot Device

So, if writing such traumatic scenes causes such pain and suffering, why write them at all? I think the answer is this: Trauma is often used in fiction merely to generate sympathy, but in my writing, I wanted it to do something more meaningful. I wanted it to show that real trauma has consequences that echo across decades in people’s lives. Survivors are not defined solely by what happened to them. They are defined by how they survive and move on.

Beth’s trauma explains part of her story, and yes, the reader feels sympathy for her, but the story doesn’t end there. It goes on, and the event, while not defining her entire identity, certainly helps shape it. Ultimately, What Remains After concerns Beth’s endurance, faith, and healing. In this way, depicting the traumatic scene prevents it from becoming mere spectacle. There is a greater purpose behind it. The principle that harm must never become spectacle was at the forefront of my thinking and helped guide every draft of this book.

Literature’s Unique Responsibility

In literature, there is often a temptation to avoid truly difficult subjects. Writers don’t want to offend or trigger their readers, which is understandable. However, such silence can protect systems that don’t work rather than help victims. Unless systemic failure is exposed, it will not be addressed and corrected. In Beth’s case, it took a great deal to expose the failures that led to her continued abuse. Likewise, exploring difficult subjects like those in this novel can help readers understand experiences they have never lived. It can foster greater empathy, understanding, and a desire to see positive change. Healing often begins when suffering is acknowledged, and stories like What Remains After can serve as witnesses.

What happens when a community refuses to see abuses taking place under their noses? What happens when someone finally tells the truth? Stories that are courageous enough to explore these topics and themes help answer these questions.

Where Faith Appears in the Darkness

There is also a spiritual dimension to this, which What Remains After explores subtly through Beth’s faith and her search for answers to explain what is happening to her. This novel shows that faith is not the absence of suffering. In fact, faith often exists within suffering. Though Beth questions where God is in her suffering and the reason behind it all, that doesn’t mean she abandons her belief in God entirely, even into adulthood. That is true for many real-life survivors who question God and His purpose for their pain. I know I’ve frequently lamented throughout my life about what I’ve suffered and the difficult, lengthy recovery process I’m still in. But that doesn’t mean I have no faith. In fact, to lament is to show that faith still exists, though wounded.

God is present in the hidden places, including those marked by grief and pain. We see throughout the Bible that God not only allows lament but also encourages it. The Psalms are filled with examples of honest grief and questioning. Some examples are found in Psalm 34:18 and Psalm 13. Outside the Psalms, we find other examples of biblical lament, including Isaiah 43.

The hardest scene is not about broken faith or its absence. It’s not about the absence of God. It’s not even about evil itself. The hardest scene in What Remains After is about what survives the veil cast over Beth.

What Remains After We Tell the Truth

This brings us to the novel’s central question and theme: What remains after survival? The answer is: the truth. The truth about what really happened. The truth about the suffering and the survival. The truth about human and institutional failure. The truth that truth itself doesn’t erase pain, and that naming what happened is not the same as being consumed by it. Healing can only begin when one is honest with oneself about what happened, and then honest when telling others.

My healing process began when I told an adult what was happening to me, and they listened. They ensured that the person hurting me was no longer capable of doing so, and then helped me find both spiritual and psychological healing.

Not everyone who suffers trauma is as fortunate. But I encourage you to tell someone. That’s the beginning of healing. Find someone trustworthy and tell them your story. Keep talking about it. Don’t let the lies that traumatized you win. They can only beat you if you keep the truth a secret. That’s what I learned most from writing this scene in What Remains After. It was a painful process, but it reminded me of the power of facing and telling the truth, even when it’s difficult and unpleasant. That’s what kept me going to finish the novel and share Beth’s story, which is still in progress by the end of the book.

The Cost Was Worth Paying

Some stories, like What Remains After, demand courage from their characters and from the writers who create them. Beth had to find the courage to survive her uncle’s abuse and keep moving, keep living, and keep surviving. I had to find the courage to revisit painful memories to communicate the emotions and experiences I wanted to share with the reader. The scene was difficult not because of the content but because it required honesty. Yet it remained essential because looking away or avoiding it would have betrayed the story itself.

The hardest scene to write was not the one that revealed what had been done to Beth. It was the one that asked whether truth, once spoken aloud, could mark the beginning of healing rather than the end of hope.

Note: What Remains After is a literary psychological suspense novel set in rural Alberta that explores childhood trauma, faith, survival, truth-telling, and healing across two timelines. The novel is available now on Amazon in Canada and the United States.

Blessings,

Pauline J. Grabia

Stories of Consequence
Fiction that faces the dark, but ends in light.

FAQs:

Why is writing about trauma so difficult?

Writing about trauma requires honesty, empathy, and responsibility. Authors must balance truthfulness with sensitivity while avoiding turning suffering into spectacle.

Can fiction help people heal from trauma?

While fiction is not therapy, stories can help readers feel seen, understood, and less alone in their experiences.

What is trauma-informed fiction?

Trauma-informed fiction acknowledges the lasting effects of trauma while treating survivors with dignity and compassion rather than using suffering merely for entertainment.

How does faith interact with suffering?

Many people experience seasons of questioning, lament, and spiritual struggle after trauma. Faith does not eliminate suffering, but it can provide meaning, hope, and endurance within it.

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