Trauma can be portrayed in a realistic and responsible manner. But often in entertainment, it is used as a shortcut for storytelling.
While watching the final season of Game of Thrones, I did a spit take. It wasn’t at the whiplash-inducing writing of the season, but more so at one specific conversation between Sansa Stark and the Hound.
“Without Littlefinger, and Ramsay and the rest, I would have stayed a Little Bird all my life.”
To be clear, Sansa is referencing rape, being sold, betrayal, and horrific physical and emotional abuse, including multiple threats to her life.
Trauma is often used as a shortcut in pop culture; much has already been discussed about using trauma as motivation (see refrigerator woman tropes or any of my favorite video games ever), or to inject a scene with drama (see any rape scene ever). It will even be used to frame an entire character’s life (Frozen, Batman) or to explain away their quirks. Recently, much has been written about Sansa’s lines addressing trauma as a growth catalyst.
The reality is that while these traumatic moments are exciting to watch, it doesn’t make for an interesting life. For the most part, it will cause the average person’s life to halt to a standstill. You can say that there is no right or wrong way for a survivor to act and identify with their trauma, but there is a responsible and realistic portrayal of trauma and survival.
In Sansa’s case, the show has the notion all of her traumatic experiences were learning experiences for her. Sansa’s seen as a “good student”, first with Cersei and then with Littlefinger. Both on the show, and in articles recapping or analyzing events, we see her “learning” from these horrid people. She’s abused over and over until all of a sudden she’s a strong woman — it’s the trauma-equivalent of throwing a kid into the deep end to teach them to swim. What does the trauma matter, as long as they learned how to survive in the end?
Now, we could write novels about trauma scenarios in Game of Thrones — but it isn’t the only show that’s misused trauma for story or character development.
Perhaps the most irresponsible recent example is 13 Reasons Why, a show that ignored recommendations and guidelines on suicide representation and saw a surge in teen suicides after its release. In the series, the heroine is able to firmly place the blame of her suicide on others and outside factors (various traumas). By doing this, 13 Reasons Why fails at discussing suicide and trauma connected to it in two major ways. There is no one cause of suicide (yes, this goes for accusing the show as being a catalyst as well). Furthermore, survivor’s guilt is easily increased when the message “suicide is preventable” is pushed so hard and suicide is in the spotlight. The reality is not so simple.
Another example is This is Us, which takes us on a multiple-timeline adventure to explain why a set of triplets are still so miserable despite their loving parents doing their best. Suffering from the same traumatic incident, they each react in very different ways. For Kate and Randall, they always had struggles with eating and anxiety respectively, and Kevin eventually picks up an addiction. The trauma is a convenient accelerator for the drama in the future, and not much more as the characters never seem to change from their pre-trauma selves.
Now, a great example of responsibly portraying trauma is one of my favorite shows, Jane the Virgin.
The protagonist, Jane, was raised in a secure household, with love and support. She’s given strength through her religious community, in her talents as a writer, plus other skills that she cultured and grew her whole life. We see her capable of growing as an adult before any trauma afflicts her.
Jane The Virgin – “Chapter Fifty”. Photo: Michael Desmond/The CW
When trauma does hit, (medical malpractice, an unexpected pregnancy, kidnapping, murder, amnesia, the works!) she routinely returns to her resources and strengths to grow through it. She talks to and trusts her family, she prays, she writes, and she is open to learning new coping skills as she needs them. Most of all, she takes the time to process each and every trauma, and then she celebrates her success.
Trauma will never be a good thing. But don’t get me wrong, we don’t have to waste the bad things that happen to us either. In the case of Sansa on Game of Thrones, she seems to think trauma was necessary for her development. For Jane, she both recognizes the evil of trauma while determined to end up better off for it.
She was a victim of medical malpractice, but now has a son. She is a widow, but now has a new family to love. She was lied to by her mother, but now has a father. These blessings weren’t caused by the trauma, but by the choices she made in their aftermath. The best argument you could make in favor of trauma is that it gave her the opportunity to make those decisions and flex her strengths.
Notice the difference between these shows is how much of the story and time spent telling it is devoted to the trauma and how the victim overcomes it. So often, trauma is not the story but the shortcut, quickly taking a character from point A to B in an instant.
The reality I have seen? I sometimes assist people in seeking out residential treatment, wherein children and adults have to leave school or work and their homes for treatment. The reasonable person can agree that this time-out at crucial career-building points in life are a huge disadvantage. And if they don’t go? They are stuck, emotionally and sometimes physiologically.
It can be downright redundant and dull at moments when working through trauma, considering several treatments call for repetitive exposure and re-framing, basically retelling the story over and over in an non-stimulating environment. Even the most well-meaning shows can’t do this, because it is literally making the sensational boring.
The hope, of course, is after all this treatment and all the setbacks, these people do end up stronger than most for all they have worked hard to achieve. That is often the biggest difference between real life and stories.
We love watching and reading about genes for resilience, or destiny, or some other external force that transforms our victims into heroes on screen or on the pages. But the reality is it’s a boring combination of having both a supportive community and months to years of hard work.
If showrunners are not up to the task of taking on trauma properly, then they could at least avoid writing their characters into making excuses for them.