When Your Characters Break Free: Character Defamiliarization Techniques for Writing Trauma Fiction Safely

Writing trauma fiction requires both courage and craft—especially when your protagonist is essentially yourself at fourteen. Many writers struggle to balance authentic storytelling with emotional self-preservation, but character defamiliarization techniques can create the psychological distance you need while maintaining narrative truth.

When you’re staring at the blank page, knowing you must write the scene that still makes your stomach clench, you’re not just facing a creative challenge—you’re wrestling with the ghosts of your own experience. The task is to transform pain into art without being consumed by it. The good news? There’s a way through that honors both your story and your wellbeing.

Character Defamiliarization: Turning Your Fictional Self into a Stranger

Defamiliarization often happens naturally during revision. I’ve written many pieces—both short stories and novels—rooted in my own life. One of them, now on submission, follows a 13-year-old boy named Joshua who suffers a family death and the turmoil that follows. His story parallels my own in many ways.

But somewhere around the seventh draft, I noticed a shift: the Joshua on the page no longer felt like me. He had become his own fully formed entity—still sharing my past, but now a separate presence, almost like a tulpa with a mind of his own.

You don’t have to wait for this shift to happen organically. You can create intentional distance from the start:

• Change the point of view or tense—write in third person instead of first, or past tense instead of present.

• Give the character a different name and appearance—alter physical details to separate them from your own identity.

• Invent new life details—change location, family structure, or relationships.

Even if you eventually shift back to first person or keep elements of your own identity in the final draft, these early choices create emotional breathing room, making it easier to write the most difficult scenes.

This is an essential therapeutic writing coaching approach: building protective distance between yourself and your autobiographical material.

The Emotional Minefield of Writing Trauma Fiction

Even with distance, early drafts can stir up deep emotions. When I first wrote certain pivotal scenes, I unearthed feelings I had intentionally buried for years.

As a writing coach, I see this often. Writers approach their most personal material with courage, knowing it’s also dangerous territory. I’m not a therapist, but I understand the paradox: the most compelling parts of a story often emerge from moments we didn’t expect to revisit.

In my own work, confronting these memories has been liberating. Processing them on the page allowed me to feel unburdened. Still, I recognize that this isn’t the only—or necessarily the healthiest—path for everyone. The old saying holds true: the only way out is through.

Understanding therapeutic writing fiction principles can help you make not only emotional decisions, but also technical craft choices that keep you safe.

Protective Boundaries: Genre Guidelines for Difficult Material

If you’re writing for YA or middle grade audiences, genre conventions become even more important. Because these books feature young protagonists and target younger readers, publishers and readers expect a level of restraint in handling graphic material.

You can always draft scenes in their rawest form and tone them down later. In adult fiction—literary or commercial—those restrictions are looser, but you may still choose to limit explicit detail for emotional or artistic reasons.

One writer I worked with put it this way:

“I have the first self-harm scene up next, and whilst the trigger isn’t intense, it’s going to be difficult to write. Because my character is literally myself at 14, my brain slips back into life at that age and it stirs up a lot of memories and feelings I’ve not allowed myself to feel. I’m also struggling with how graphic to make the scene. My poetry tends to be quite graphic, but this might be a YA novel, so I’m trying to find that balance.”

This is where craft choices—point of view, tense, names, and physical descriptions—double as emotional armor. They help you approach the material with a layer of safety.

Essential Self-Care for Therapeutic Writing Fiction

If you’re writing trauma-heavy scenes, pace yourself. Pair difficult writing sessions with activities that bring you comfort or joy. During a hard period in graduate school, I relied on lighthearted breaks—like flipping through a coffee table book of cat photography or watching puppy videos.

The goal is to balance the darkness of your work with something beautiful and innocent. It’s not just self-care—it’s maintenance for your creative and emotional wellbeing.

If you’re tackling an especially hard scene, give yourself permission to step away afterward. Watch something uplifting. Spend time with friends or pets. Reconnect with the present moment before you return to the page.

Your Story Deserves Both Truth and Tenderness

Writing trauma fiction safely requires both artistic skill and emotional intelligence. Character defamiliarization techniques give you tools to protect yourself while keeping your story authentic.

At Hewes House, our writing therapy coaching approach honors both your creative vision and your personal wellbeing. We know the most powerful stories often come from the hardest places—and we believe you don’t have to navigate that territory alone.

If you’re ready to explore your story with the support you deserve, our therapeutic writing fiction expertise can help you find the right balance between authenticity and safety. Character development trauma work can serve both your art and your healing.