Writing is a Tool for Integration; The Trauma-Sensitive Editor is an Integration Facilitator

A Post for Both Writers and Editors

What does integration mean, and how does it apply to the writing life?

In an article in Psychology Today entitled, “Roadmap After Trauma: Six Stages to Trauma Integration,” Dr. Odelya Gertel Kraybill, PhD, mentions first responders. An editor should not be a first responder to someone who’s experienced trauma. Find out what interventions the prospective client has sought, and make referrals, when appropriate, to therapists or other trained professionals. One writing coach I know makes therapy a prerequisite when it’s evident that this kind of support would be beneficial. It’s a judgment call, to be sure, but responsibility for the well-being of a trauma sufferer can’t fall on an editor or writing coach. That being said, expressive integration is a process we can facilitate. 

I’ve taught post-trauma writing workshop, writing to heal, healing through writing, and veteran’s writing circle, and I’ve practiced being prepared for what arises. I’ve had group participants recount violent trauma, sexual abuse, and suicidal ideation in the workshop setting. In these moments, many sensations are activated within me. I want to rescue this dear one from whatever ails them, but knowing I cannot, I offer validation and comfort, and relish in the group quietly holding space for the writer who’s had the courage to be vulnerable in this setting. I’ve made it a priority to set parameters at the opening of workshops for a safe container that we all take part in cultivating. What I’ve witnessed is heroism.

When someone is struggling in front of you, what kind of person do you wish to be? 

During a “Writing to Heal” six-week workshop where participants had bonded, when a reader began to cry, her neighbor placed a hand on her shoulder. Then her other neighbor placed a comforting hand. Tissues were offered. People arose from their seats, to go place a hand on this reader’s back. I suddenly realized the importance of consent (and that I personally might’ve been overwhelmed with seven hands touching me.) I asked the reader whether this kind of support was comforting, or she’d like space. She said she welcomed the group’s embrace, and the patting and comforting lasted a few more moments. However, the modeling of obtaining consent was an important lesson for all present.

I believe we all take turns. We take turns helping and needing help. Someone struggling in our midst calls up our capacity for compassion. I think moments like these are successful and transformative—when the storyteller gets catharsis and witnesses get to respond by demonstrating the best of their humanity. 

Integration Models for Writers to Use and Editors to Consider

Here I will expand on what I shared in “Anatomy of a Trauma Story.” A memoir or essay may follow the integration model shown below.

​Routine life is going along, which we call the status quo. Let’s deconstruct the Routine element. The memoir genre is characterized by stories that establish a baseline for the narrator’s life, through backstory. What was the status quo prior to the traumatic event? The environment in which Events took place greatly influences outcomes (both in story and in life). So, while writing the backstory, for the manuscript to cohere, it’s important to select details that are relevant to the outcome. It’s hard to use fiction terms like “plot” and “characters” when discussing autobiography. However, since we’re talking about authorship and not just journaling and the intent is to connect with a commercial audience, craft terms are useful. I wrote about the challenges of calling yourself the MC here.

The traumatic Event occurs. A cataclysmic event shatters hearts and bodies into pieces. Writing helps us process what happened and restore congruence (i.e., integrity) to our psyches.

I was taught by life coach Jonathon Moon to watch for fragmentation in my speech. He said it’s a sign of Monkey Mind, and monkey mind tends to plague trauma survivors. His handout explains the symptoms of monkey mind. Scroll down to the Monkey Mind Symptoms Checklist. I received this in 2008 and have referred to it ever since. It’s so useful!

Withdrawal may manifest any number of ways, but the word Withdrawal makes sense; we are drawn into the labyrinth of our thoughts and feelings, often privately suffering. There comes a time when we “come out” with our trauma story. Awareness is both individual and social. Making family or peers aware of the trauma that has taken place invites others to a reckoning—a reckoning with the role that the collective played in harming someone.

Memoir and personal essay are understood to be one of the Actions a writer took in response to what happened in their life. Both the act of writing and the actions of the main character constitute this element in the cycle. The cycle is a model for story and for life, just like the Hero’s Journey.

There is a pressure on the writer to perform integration for an audience.

Do we as readers expect to be satisfied by resolution in the piece? Do we accept that we may be disturbed by the piece, and not vicariously experience integration? Is leaving readers troubled Right Action? Can you think of a piece that left you sorrowful, worried, or guilt-ridden? Ultimately, there is no return to the status quo, but we must return to the demands of daily living. Back to Routine. Presumably, routine life has been altered, yet continues. And that is what we end up calling Resilience. 

Is integration simply reflecting on what happened?

You may recognize “integration” as a buzzword from the psychedelic space. Now, psychedelic therapy is rising in the public domain and getting destigmatized. In my search for a succinct definition of integration, I found a useful paper on psychedelic integration in Frontiers in Psychology that attempts to synthesize one definition from 24 distinct yet similar definitions found in a survey of current literature on the subject. The paper also outlines, in brief, 10 approaches to integration. To me, writing is a pillar of integration in an obvious way, but please have a look at these biospychosocialspiritual integration methods and tell me if you agree they parallel the structures and functions of writing about difficult experiences. Trauma has the power to knock us off our axes, in much the same way a psychedelic experience could—an experience can be defamiliarizing, scary, triggering; can alter our life trajectory; can stretch our psyches to new dimensions by shifting our perception of reality; and can leave a lasting trace on our lifeline, for generations.

Indirect Writing as an Integration Tool

Given the potency of experiences that rock our worlds, I suggest gentler ways in to story. The prompts below provide ideas for indirect or background writing, that could generate useful material for memoir:  

Write about adjacent memories from the same time period

Record thoughts occurring in the present moment

Fictionalize characters 

Rehearse what you’ll say to someone

Draft letters 

Write your worst thoughts that you’ll never speak 

Write your highest hopes and dreams 

Write the “What if…” (alternate realities, imagined different outcomes)

Defamiliarization

Write your own story in the third-person, for distance 

Write your own story in the second person

Write archetypes (villain, victim, stereotypes, and how a character defies the stereotype)

Write out your values 

Write apologies 

Write a request for an apology 

Write eulogies 

Write poetry or song lyrics 

Write from the POV of your younger or older self 

Write advice to others

Write about your coping strategies 

Write truthfully about beliefs that haven’t served you well

Write about people who’ve supported you 

Write your list of big questions 

Write your secrets 

List your needs and desires 

Write other lists 

Write fragments 

Write about any props, talismans, or objects

Write tragicomic jokes 

Six-word memoirs 

Scribbling / metacognitive drawing / neuroart

All these forms can help with integration of trauma; these are all indirect. I didn’t include writing the firsthand account of traumatic events. That is more direct, and should be done with support scaffolding in place, by writers when they feel equipped with tools for regulating their nervous systems and when self-care is part of the plan. I occasionally teach a Healing Through Writing course, but while I’m not teaching, I try to stay abreast of course offerings in this realm, so don’t hesitate to ask me if I know of any current offerings.  

How do we know when we’ve achieved integration?

Writing is a discharge of built up energy. We can go on thinking ad infinitum, but writing reins in focus. I believe we know when we’ve unlocked a new level of integration from a feeling. Jeremy McAllister, a licensed professional counselor in Oregon, did a good job characterizing the integrated self:

“Integration is often felt as an awakening, a softening toward what was once perceived as an enemy, a protective hesitance becoming a grateful encompassing. It is felt most profoundly in the surprising arrival of ownership and empathy for Self. The epiphany, or “aha” moment: a recognition that “I am not this intense emotion, nor the judgment of it.” It’s the point at which we realize this “part in exile” has been trying to get our attention, to elicit from us a response it never got from our caregivers. This gives us a chance to feel what it felt, to finally see it, to stop containing it as something evil and instead embrace it and feel with it.”

Advice to Editors on Developing Competency as an Integration Facilitator

As a survivor, I can attest that every situation that affirms my safety in the world and with people is life-affirming, whereas breaches of trust can be devastating. Please see My Why for launching this Substack. I want to protect writers by being the best coach I can be and by urging my colleagues to combat the damage done by incompetence, callousness, theft, or ghosting that is rare but possible in our field.

1.     Do your own deep writing to articulate your philosophy of writing facilitation. Know your why, your strengths, and your limitations as an editor.

2.     Make your own resources list. Books, professional orgs, and professionals who helped you get to your current position and state of mind; gather these all in one place. It is useful to recognize all the outside resources you benefitted from, and useful to authors with whom you share them.

3.     Keep promises! From day one, be reliable, dependable, and clear about scheduling. Put your office hours in writing, and say whether and when clients can text message you.

4.     Offer active listening, empathy, witnessing.

5.     Get a baseline. Upon intake, ask where a client is in their process, who else has been instrumental in their route toward publication, what obstacles their writing might need to get around, and in general how the writer is feeling. Listen for signs of Monkey Mind!

6.     Ask if the individual has known triggers to be aware of.

7.     Ask who the writer’s helpers are in their lives. Who is in their corner? Who do they have for emotional and psychological support? Are these the same people who’ll support them through and after publication? This is so you can be sure your client isn’t working in a vacuum and that the responsibility for their well-being while writing a book or a provocative essay is shared. You can remind them they have a support network. And if it seems like they don’t, you can connect them with support.

8.     Say, “This is outside my domain,” when a topic or situation is beyond your focus or competency.

9.     Ask what the writer has not written about, that they would like to. This is good to keep in mind as you’re editing. Perhaps the material that they’ve polished, and that is front-facing, is the warm-up (or throat-clearing, as I like to call it). You’ll know what they have in their vault of ideas, and may be inclined to draw it out of them.

10.  Offer a contract. Sections will outline the nature of the collaboration; guidelines for manuscript preparation; a description of the project scope and your policies on scope creep; fee schedule; confidentiality agreement; waiver of rights to profits/credit on the cover; and an exit clause for both of you. I add an expiry date, since sometimes authors take time to deliberate, and three months later, my workload or rates might differ from the time of drafting of the agreement. These are called literary collaboration agreements, work-for-hire-agreements, or retainer/remainder agreements. **I’m going to redact and post several of my contracts soon for paid subscribers.  

11.  Research their topic. You’ll grow from immersing yourself in the topics that your authors are writing about. I love when I’m sent on the path of diversifying my knowledge base through researching everything from genetics to machine parts to archaic languages to color theory... I do this for both fiction and nonfiction. There came a point in my career where I decided my mind must be enriched by what I’m spending time on.

12.  Avoid ableist, racist, or biased language, and accept corrections and critique as growth opportunities.

13.  Strictly keep client conversations and intellectual property confidential.

I only scratch the surface on the topic of integration here. The purpose of sharing recommendations to editors in the presence of writers is so that writers can have benchmarks for their expectations of an editor, and we all share a mutual understanding.

Please add to the conversation by commenting below.