You might think trauma is something that happens only in the mind—a memory, a nightmare, a fear you can't explain. But trauma is also something your body remembers. It lives in tight shoulders that won’t relax, in breath that never quite fills your lungs, in skin that flinches at the gentlest touch. Long after the mind tries to forget, the body keeps the score.
This isn’t just poetic metaphor—it’s biology, it’s neuroscience, it’s survival. And understanding how trauma embeds itself physically is the first step to releasing it. Healing doesn’t always begin with words. Sometimes, it begins with breath. With stillness. With touch.
When something frightening or overwhelming happens to us—especially if we’re powerless to stop it—our nervous system goes into survival mode. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. If that stress response never finds resolution, it gets stuck. Your body holds on to it.
Dr. Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, explains that trauma isn't just about what happened—it's about how your body responded when it did, and how it’s still responding. Studies have shown that people who experience trauma often exhibit changes in brain areas that regulate emotional control and bodily sensations, such as the amygdala, hippocampus, and prefrontal cortex. But more strikingly, trauma also shows up in the autonomic nervous system—the part responsible for heart rate, digestion, and breathing.
That’s why trauma survivors often have shallow breath, chronic tension, digestive issues, insomnia, or unexplained aches. These aren’t random. They’re the body’s way of saying, “I’m not safe yet.”
Trauma doesn’t always show up in dramatic flashbacks or visible panic attacks. Often, it whispers. It lingers in habits you don’t question and sensations you’ve normalized. Some signs that your body might still be holding trauma include:
Tense muscles that never fully relax, especially in the jaw, neck, shoulders, or hips.
Clenched teeth, often noticed only after pain sets in.
Startle responses to loud noises, even when logically you know there’s no threat.
Constant fatigue, despite resting.
A sense of being “on edge” or hyper-alert, even during calm moments.
Avoiding certain movements or places, even if you can’t explain why.
Digestive issues like nausea, constipation, or IBS.
These aren’t signs of weakness. They’re survival adaptations. Your body is doing what it was designed to do—keep you safe. But it might not know yet that the danger is over.
Talk therapy is powerful. But sometimes, words aren’t enough. Trauma, especially complex or early-life trauma, can bypass language and bury itself in the nervous system. That’s why somatic therapies—healing practices that involve the body—can be so transformative.
Massage isn’t just about relaxation. Therapeutic touch can help the body release stored tension, regulate the nervous system, and reconnect with a sense of physical safety. A skilled massage therapist trained in trauma-sensitive techniques knows how to work slowly, respectfully, and with care. This kind of touch reminds the body: you’re safe now.
Studies have shown that massage can significantly reduce cortisol (stress hormone) levels while boosting serotonin and dopamine—chemicals tied to well-being and trust. The results go beyond muscle relief; they ripple into emotional clarity and nervous system balance.
Developed by Dr. Peter Levine, somatic experiencing is a body-focused therapeutic approach that helps people process trauma through awareness of physical sensation rather than reliving the traumatic event. It teaches your body how to complete survival responses that were interrupted, allowing tension to finally discharge.
Trauma often shortens and restricts breathing. Learning to breathe deeply and consciously can shift you out of fight-or-flight and into a state of calm. Breathwork practices and trauma-informed yoga create gentle space for release. Yoga especially helps trauma survivors reclaim agency over their bodies in a non-verbal, safe, and empowering way.
In one study published in the Journal of Clinical Psychiatry, trauma survivors practicing trauma-informed yoga experienced a significant reduction in PTSD symptoms, even when traditional therapies had failed.
Maria, a 42-year-old mother of two, came to massage therapy complaining of constant shoulder pain. She had tried physical therapy, medications, and chiropractic care—but nothing brought lasting relief. It wasn’t until her massage therapist gently asked about stress that Maria began to share: she had gone through years of emotional abuse in a previous relationship.
As sessions continued, Maria noticed not only her pain lessening but also a release of emotion she hadn’t felt in years. Sometimes she cried without knowing why. Other times, she just felt lighter. Her therapist explained: her shoulders had been guarding her heart. And slowly, they were learning to let go.
You don’t need to have all the answers to begin healing. You just need to start by listening to your body. Here are some gentle ways to begin:
Set a timer for a few minutes each day. Sit quietly. Where do you feel tight? Where do you feel heavy? Don’t judge—just notice. Awareness is the first step.
Try this simple breath practice: inhale through your nose for 4 counts, hold for 4, exhale through your mouth for 6. Repeat for 2–5 minutes. This shifts your body out of survival mode.
Whether it’s massage, yoga, or therapy, look for practitioners who understand trauma and create a safe, respectful space. Your body deserves care that doesn’t just “fix” it—but honors it.
Trauma can freeze the body. Even light stretching, walking, or dancing can help restore flow and connection.
Your body needs more rest when it’s healing. That’s not laziness—it’s recovery. Permission to rest is permission to repair.
Trauma doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means your body did its job—brilliantly. But it’s also allowed to stop fighting now. It’s allowed to soften, to rest, to feel joy again.
Healing isn’t linear, and it doesn’t have to be loud or dramatic. It can be as subtle as a deeper breath. As quiet as a muscle finally letting go. As simple as knowing: the danger is over.
You are not alone. Your body is not your enemy. And the path back to yourself is still open—waiting, gently, for you to come home.