If the memory of trauma is encoded in the viscera, in heartbreaking and gut-wrenching emotions, in autoimmune disorders and skeletal/muscular problems… this demands a radical shift in our therapeutic assumptions.”
— Dr. Bessel van der Kolk
Long before I studied trauma theory or practiced therapeutic techniques, I lived trauma in silence. For years, I had no words for what I felt. But my body was never silent. It spoke through shallow breathing, tense shoulders, an aching back, and sleepless nights. At the time, I didn’t understand that these sensations were not random symptoms—they were chapters in a much older story, a diary my nervous system had been writing since childhood.
In the quiet of the night, I often sensed a part of me remaining awake, hyper-alert, scanning, unable to rest. I call this part “The Night Watcher”. It emerged during times when safety was not guaranteed, when vigilance meant survival. Even when my body longed for sleep, this loyal inner protector refused to let down its guard.
For years, I believed this meant I was broken. That belief followed me even as I trained as a therapist. My intellect understood healing, but my body had not yet caught up.
Many of my clients arrive at the same place I once stood: intelligent, reflective, and deeply frustrated. They have tried to “talk it through,” to “feel their feelings,” yet remain stuck. Some feel everything at once—flooded by waves of emotion and anger. Others feel nothing at all—numb, disconnected, or trapped in cycles of shame and grief.
Trauma research now confirms what lived experience has long shown: when the nervous system is dysregulated, direct focus on emotional processing can backfire. It can amplify overwhelm or reinforce protective patterns.
As the Sensorimotor Psychotherapy Institute notes:
“Direct attention to emotions in such instances may exacerbate dysregulation and/or reinforce maladaptive emotional patterns… Affect might be best regulated, rather, through an exclusive focus on bottom-up or sensorimotor processing interventions.”
This insight reshaped not only my practice but also my own healing.
One evening, I felt the familiar tension in my upper back (Thoracic spine). Normally, I would have pushed past it. But this time, something inside whispered, “Stay.” Instead of ignoring the discomfort, I placed my hand gently on my chest and slowed my breath. I asked my spine, “What are you holding?”
The response was not verbal. It came as warmth, pressure, a subtle shift. A fragment of memory surfaced—not fully formed, but enough. I followed the sensation as it moved through my ribcage and into the breath I had been holding.
Nothing dramatic happened. And yet, everything shifted. I wasn’t fixing or forcing. I was listening to my pain. I was allowing to signals.
This is the essence of somatic work: entering the body not to control or cathartically release, but to witness with curiosity. It is through micro-movements, gentle tracking, and subtle shifts that the nervous system begins to rewrite its story.
Many people with complex trauma attempt emotional healing too soon—not out of failure, but because the body was not ready yet. Forcing catharsis before the system is stable can retraumatize the very parts we are trying to free.
What I have learned, both personally and professionally, is this: the body is not your enemy. It is your protector.
Shallow breath, back pain, restless nights—these are not malfunctions to fix. They are messages. They are diary entries of the nervous system, waiting to be read with compassion.
Today, when tension rises in my chest or my back aches in the night, I respond differently. I do not panic or rush to silence it. I pause. I listen.
I ask, “What do you need me to know?”
The answers arrive not as words, but as tremors, warmth, small breaths, subtle releases. This is how healing unfolds—not in grand catharsis, but in micro-moments of safety, curiosity, and presence.
This is also the invitation I extend to my clients: to meet their bodies with patience, to follow sensations as they arise, and to trust that healing begins not with analysis but with presence.
If you’ve been in therapy that never reached your body, or if you’ve tried to “let it go” only to spiral back into old patterns—this is your moment. You don’t have to relive every memory to heal.
You only need to listen.
One breath.
One sensation.
One gentle gesture of self-support.
Your body is not the problem.
It is the portal.
It is your first language.
It is your oldest diary.
And it is ready to be read with compassion.
Note: Proper guidance is essential to safely navigate repressed trauma and intense emotional releases.
Gabor Maté – The Myth of Normal