There is a kind of theft that happens in childhood that has no obvious crime scene, no witnesses, no clear perpetrator. It is not just about what was done to us but what was taken—our spontaneity, our freedom, our ability to love without fear, to feel safe in the world, to play without hesitation, to be comfortable in the unknown.
For many of us, the loss is undeniable, but the healing seems just out of reach. We go to therapy, we analyze our past, we understand our trauma intellectually—yet something still feels off. The body remains tense. The nervous system stays on high alert. The past lingers, not as a story in the mind, but as tension in the shoulders, tightness in the chest, a gut that never quite relaxes.
That’s because not all trauma can be healed through thought alone. Some wounds are not just psychological; they are stored in the body itself, imprinted in our cells, woven into our muscles, our breath, our very way of being in the world.
Sophie was the life of the party as a child—dancing in the kitchen, making up stories, laughing until she couldn’t breathe. But by the time she reached adulthood, spontaneity felt impossible. Every decision required calculation, every move was measured. The ease she once felt in her body had been replaced with a constant, unconscious bracing—her shoulders tight, her breath shallow, as if she were waiting for an impact she couldn’t see coming.
Her body had learned that unpredictability meant danger. It didn’t matter that she was now safe; her nervous system still held the memories of a childhood where chaos lurked behind closed doors. It wasn’t until we worked together somatically—through movement, breath, and nervous system regulation—that she began to trust the present moment again. She learned how to move without fear, to reclaim the joy of simply being.
Freedom is not just the ability to choose our path—it is the ability to move through life without being weighed down by the past. Yet for those carrying somatic trauma, freedom feels impossible.
When I met Lisa, she had spent decades feeling trapped in her own skin. The choices were always there, but she could never take them. She would say, “I know I can leave this job. I know I can walk away from this toxic relationship. But I feel frozen.”
And that’s exactly what trauma does. It puts us in freeze mode. We are not lazy, unmotivated, or lacking willpower—we are biologically stuck. Our nervous system locks us into old patterns of self-protection, even when the cage door is wide open.
It wasn’t until Lisa started working with body-based healing—massage, movement, and deep nervous system regulation—that she felt something shift. One day, she sent me a text: “I just made a decision without overthinking it. I feel free.” And that is the moment trauma stops winning.
Love should feel like home, like warmth, like rest. But for those whose earliest experiences of attachment were painful or unpredictable, love feels like a battlefield.
James came to me exhausted. “I want to love my wife fully, but my body won’t let me,” he admitted. Every time she reached for him, he recoiled. Not because he didn’t love her, but because his body still remembered the betrayal of his childhood. Love had been given and taken away too many times. Affection felt like a trap.
No amount of talking about his past helped. His mind knew he was safe now, but his body did not. So we worked differently—we used breathwork to teach his nervous system that safety was possible. We practiced somatic exercises to release stored fear. Over time, his body caught up with his mind, and one day, he held his wife without flinching.
Healing doesn’t happen in the mind alone. It happens when the body finally believes the truth: You are safe now.
Play is movement without fear, joy without hesitation. But for those who spent childhood walking on eggshells, play was a luxury they could not afford.
Clare was a high-powered executive who had accomplished everything—except peace. She never let herself rest. Every spare moment was filled with productivity. When I asked her about play, she scoffed. “I don’t have time for that.”
But what she really meant was: I don’t know how.
Trauma hardwires us to survive, not to play. The nervous system stays alert, convinced that stillness is dangerous. For Clare, the work was to teach her body that it was allowed to rest, to laugh, to be silly. It started with simple things—dancing in her kitchen, painting with her children, rolling around on the floor with her dog. Little by little, her body began to trust that it was okay to be light.
The gifts that trauma steals from us do not disappear forever. They wait, buried beneath the layers of protection we built to survive. Spontaneity, freedom, love, safety, play, and ease—they are all still inside us, waiting to be reclaimed.
But here’s the truth: you cannot think your way out of trauma. Healing must happen at the level where the trauma still lives—in the nervous system, in the breath, in the way we inhabit our bodies.
If this resonates with you, if you feel like you’ve done all the mental work but something still feels stuck—I want you to know there is another way. I have spent years helping women just like you navigate the deep, hidden layers of trauma stored in the body. As a coach, a nurse, and a woman who has walked this path myself, I offer more than just tools—I offer deep, compassionate understanding and a way forward that goes beyond just talking about it.
If you are ready to move from survival to true, embodied freedom, let’s talk. You don’t have to stay stuck. You don’t have to carry this alone. Book a session with me today, and let’s reclaim the gifts that were stolen from you.
Your body is ready to heal. Are you ready to listen?
