Our bodies remember what our minds try to silence

A stiff neck, a clamped jaw, a hollow ache in the chest that has no obvious cause. Most of us have learned to explain these away as bad posture or getting older. Sometimes that’s accurate. Sometimes the body is holding something the mind hasn’t found words for yet.

People who come to therapy often say something like: “It wasn’t that bad. I don’t remember much, really. But I feel anxious all the time.” Or “Nothing happened. I just can’t sleep. Or relax. Or breathe properly unless I’m alone.”

When overwhelming or traumatic things happen, especially in childhood, the brain is efficient at moving experience out of conscious reach. It’s a survival strategy. The thinking parts of the brain go offline and the system shifts into a mode focused on getting through rather than processing. That might mean dissociating, numbing, or becoming very good at performing normality. The body, though, stays switched on, carrying the responses that never had a chance to complete.

Dissociation and the body’s memory

You might have heard of dissociation, spacing out, feeling unreal, forgetting chunks of time, or even just living with a strange sense of not quite being in your life. For many people who’ve experienced developmental or complex trauma, dissociation becomes the brain’s go to strategy. It allows us to carry on functioning, studying, working, caring for others, even when we’re not really here.

But while the mind floats away, the body holds the line. And that’s where symptoms often show up: chronic fatigue, pain, IBS, panic attacks, POTS, skin flares, tight muscles, migraines… not because you’re “too sensitive,” but because the body is trying to complete responses that never had a chance to finish. It’s trying to make sense of what your mind had to leave behind.

Janina Fisher, whose work on trauma and the fragmented self has been widely influential, and Judith Herman, whose foundational writing on complex trauma continues to shape the field, both emphasise that healing starts not with excavating buried memories but with building enough safety and connection that the body can gradually begin to release what it’s been holding.

Gentle repair

In therapy, we don’t go digging for buried memories. That’s not the goal. What we do is notice. We slow down. We get curious. Sometimes, someone might say “I don’t know why, but when I talk about that time, I get pins and needles in my hands.” That’s not weird, that’s information.

Over time, this attention can soften the split between mind and body. It can help you feel less like a floating head and more like a whole person again. It’s not always quick, and it’s rarely tidy. But it is possible.

So if you find yourself saying I don’t remember much, but I know something isn’t right, that’s worth taking seriously. You don’t have to prove your pain or produce a clear narrative for it to be valid. Your body may be the most honest account you have.

Working With the Body in Therapy

My approach to trauma work is relational and psychodynamic, and it takes the body seriously alongside the mind. We don’t go looking for buried memories or push toward material before you’re ready. We slow down, pay attention to what’s present, and get curious about what the body might be communicating that hasn’t yet made it into words.

If what’s described here feels relevant to your experience and you’re wondering whether therapy might help, I’d be glad to have an initial conversation. Get in touch at samanthamerry.co.uk/contacts.

Working With the Body in Therapy

Resources worth exploring:

Trauma and Recovery by Judith Herman, the foundational clinical text on complex trauma, written with both rigour and humanity, and still essential reading for anyone trying to understand how trauma reshapes a life
Transforming the Living Legacy of Trauma by Janina Fisher, a workbook-style text that is accessible to general readers as well as clinicians, grounded in her work on trauma and the fragmented self
The Deepest Well by Nadine Burke Harris, a paediatrician writing accessibly about how childhood adversity affects long-term physical health
In My Own Moccasins by Helen Knott, a First Nations author’s memoir of intergenerational trauma and the long process of reconnecting with self and body, written with fierce honesty
Mind (mind.org.uk), for UK-based information on trauma, dissociation, and how to access support

Samantha Merry is a BACP Senior Accredited Psychotherapist in private practice in Bromley, South East London, and a doctoral researcher at the University of Chester.