Writing about devastating topics feels vital when searching for some light

Difficult but essential conversations

Oct 31, 2024

This post was originally published with the header ‘Domestic violence, breaking taboos, and writing things no one wants to write’. I changed it on realising that the title needs to better reflect the purpose of the article. A good example of learning as I go.

This isn’t the post I was planning to write today (October’s Author Notes will be with you next week). But here we go.

Trigger Warning: this post talks about domestic violence. You’ll find resources and support numbers at the end of the post.

A few years ago, I watched a woman sprint down our street half-dressed after an altercation with her abusive boyfriend, her two toddlers running behind her in their pyjamas. The police prosecuted her partner for abuse (one of them told me they feared it was only a matter of time before it escalated further), and I was called to appear as a witness. The idea of facing him, and the possible retribution for speaking out, was nerve-wracking for me, so I can’t imagine how stressful it would have been for his girlfriend. She didn’t turn up to court. The policewoman sitting next to me had a lever-arch folder on her lap, packed full of statements and the work she’d put in to get a conviction, but she wasn’t surprised at the no-show. She said it happens all the time. However, without the key witness, the case was dismissed.

This time last week, Nikkita Azzopardi was emailing back and forth with my husband Matt, helping him with some financial planning work. He was expecting to hear from her on Monday, but didn’t - then in the late afternoon he got a message from someone else to say they’d sort our documents because Nikkita had been murdered at the weekend. You’ll find her story everywhere in the news. Her boyfriend has been charged.

With every fibre of my being, I hate writing about this. But I also hate ignoring this, and carrying on with my week like nothing is wrong. These situations are happening all around us. These are not the only times I have come into contact with domestic abuse or coercive control: they are the horrific, visible tip of a devastating iceberg. And yet not all stories are mine alone to tell. I imagine it’s the same for many of us – perhaps most of us. Nevertheless, the silences we come up against as individuals do not have to dampen our collective agency, because we too can ‘flood the zone’ with our rage and our determination. While we can’t make miracles happen overnight, we can together take a million small steps towards stopping this, and help more survivors find the space and support to share their stories.

When I shared a post on a personal page about my family’s brief connection with Nikkita, my cousin posted an image with a list of support numbers. Another friend messaged me privately and told me about the support group Broken Crayons. In my inbox I found a trailer for an inspiring new film about survivors of abuse called Left Write Hook, which reminded me of the powerful work of Jess Hill. Then I came across Saoirse Ronan’s truth bomb on The Graham Norton Show. The conversation is everywhere, and it’s galvanising, although we really need more men to speak up. Among the women I know, there’s an urgency to keep talking and talking and sharing and sharing.

Alongside many authors across different genres, I have chosen to write novels that play a small part in this work. I write about dark topics around trauma and abuse so that we can explore uneasy things within the safety of fiction, and so that someone who sees themselves in my characters might feel less alone or be encouraged to seek help. Sometimes I get messages from people who have lived the trauma in my stories and feel seen. I absolutely believe that we can write about these topics in a way that restores and upholds the dignity of victims of abuse rather than degrading or exploiting them. Our authorial voice and the point of view we write from are essential choices in this work, as is everything we choose to describe on the page, and all that we decide to leave out. Writers who explore these topics well and with compassion (think of the international impact of Liane Moriarty’s Big Little Lies, for example) help to ensure that the conversation continues.

I get very unsettled by books where I find the violence exploitative and described for shock value more than anything else. I once witnessed renowned radio host Michael Cathcart push back hard at author Paolo Bacigalupi during a Perth Festival event for what he felt was gratuitous violence against women in Bacigalupi’s books. It remains the most uncomfortable interview I have ever watched as an audience member, but I was grateful to Cathcart. Some books that depict violence against women are just horrible to read, and any author who seeks to contribute to our culture through their work must be able to answer tough questions about what they have chosen to write and why. Novelists should not get a free pass just because they write fiction.

Nowadays it’s commonplace to use trigger warnings when we discuss topics such as domestic violence, as this serves to protect the mental health of those who are dealing with ongoing trauma. However, those of us who have found positions and lifestyles of relative safety can still carry on the conversation and open up spaces of understanding and support so that abuse survivors have as many places as possible to go. Survivors desperately need empathy and a warm embrace if they are ever ready to share their stories, rather than having to hide themselves within a culture that looks the other way when things get too dark and uncomfortable. We’ll continue to know so little of other people’s deepest traumas and truths unless, as a society, we get much, much better at listening. And this is ongoing work that needs to happen on both a collective and personal level.

In the last days of her life, 35-year-old Nikkita Azzopardi spent some of her precious time helping our family. We won’t forget that. My heart goes out to everyone who knew and loved her.