
15/08/2025
There are aches in your body that no scan can explain. Mornings when you wake already tired. A jaw that never unclenches, a stomach that turns against you, skin that changes overnight. You call them symptoms. Your body calls them memories.
Because the truth is, trauma does not stay in the past. It leaves fingerprints on your muscles, your hormones, your sleep, your appetite. It lives in the way you breathe without noticing, in the way you hold your shoulders, in the cravings you cannot reason with. Sometimes it hides quietly. Sometimes it surges back with a smell, a sound, a look that takes you somewhere you thought you’d left behind.
This is not weakness. It is the brilliance of a body that learned how to keep you alive. The problem is that it has never been told the danger is over. And until it hears that message, it will keep repeating the same patterns, not to harm you, but to protect you.
When the body has been through trauma, it doesn’t keep it as a neatly filed memory in the mind. It holds it in tissues, muscles, nerves, hormones, and even in the rhythm of your heartbeat. It is not a conscious choice. It is survival. The body remembers what the mind may try to forget, and that memory shows up in ways that feel physical, emotional, and sometimes hard to explain.
You might notice moments when you feel disconnected, as if life is happening behind a pane of glass. Dissociation becomes a shield, keeping you from feeling too much all at once. It allows you to keep functioning, but it also robs you of the ability to fully live in your body and your present moment.
Sometimes the memory comes back without warning. A sound, a smell, a certain light in the room and suddenly you are there again, in a moment you thought you’d left behind. Flashbacks grip the body just as much as the mind, and headaches or migraines can follow as the nervous system surges with old signals of danger.
The muscles don’t lie. They carry tension that never quite dissolves, shoulders that refuse to drop, a jaw that holds more force than you realise. The body stays ready for impact, even in stillness. This constant bracing can lead to chronic pain that drifts from one place to another, with no clear injury to explain it.
The gut is often the first place to feel it. Trauma disturbs the delicate conversation between the brain and the digestive system, slowing or speeding up the process, creating cramps, bloating, or unpredictable bowel movements. Even the ability to absorb nutrients can be affected, leaving the body undernourished no matter what you eat.
At night, when the world is quiet, the body may still be running from something that is no longer there. You wake in damp sheets, heart pounding, not because of the heat in the room, but because the nervous system has not stopped scanning for threats. Rest becomes a negotiation instead of a given.
Weight can rise or fall without clear reason. Hormones shift in response to the constant drip of cortisol and adrenaline, pulling appetite and metabolism into survival mode. For some, food becomes a comfort that softens the edges. For others, eating feels impossible when the stomach is tied in knots.
Cravings can appear as if from nowhere. The body reaches for sugar, fat, or salt in an instinctive search for quick relief. Nausea can do the opposite, making even the thought of food a challenge. The relationship with nourishment becomes another place where trauma speaks.
The immune system does not escape this story. Too much cortisol for too long can weaken its response, leaving you more open to infections, slower to heal, and sometimes even turning against your own tissues in autoimmune flare-ups.
And then there is the skin, the part of you the world sees first. It can mirror what is happening inside: dryness that no cream seems to fix, sudden eczema, unexplained rashes, acne that flares under stress, or hair that thins without warning. The skin tells the truth of what the deeper layers are holding.
These are not separate problems to be fixed one by one. They are threads in the same tapestry, woven from a time when you were not safe, a time your body has not yet been convinced is over. It remembers so that you can survive. The work now is to help it learn that it can finally rest.
This is where Bowen Therapy changes the conversation between you and your body. It is not about forcing muscles to release or overriding symptoms. It is about sending precise, gentle signals through the fascia and nervous system that tell the body it is safe to shift. In a session, the work is so light you might wonder how it could make a difference, yet the nervous system listens deeply. Patterns of tension begin to soften, circulation improves, and digestion, sleep, and mood can all start to rebalance without strain.
For trauma held in the body, this matters. The small, intentional moves give the brain and body space to reset, moving out of fight-or-flight and into repair. Each session builds on the last, layering safety into the tissues until the body no longer needs to hold the old protective patterns. It is not about erasing the past but teaching the body how to live in the present without bracing for the next impact.
When the body feels safe, symptoms stop being alarms. They become signals that can be responded to with balance instead of fear. Bowen Therapy is one of the most direct, non-invasive ways to help the body remember that it can finally rest.