Trauma and the body

So far, we’ve talked a little bit about the fear response system in the brain and the autonomic nervous system (ANS). From an evolutionary standpoint, this is one of the oldest structures in the brain. But what happens when we face moments of intense fear? How do these things translate into the thing we know as a “traumatic stress disorder”?

PTSD

Today, we consider trauma to be as much a bodily phenomenon as one in the mind. Scientists have found several key linkages between the body’s stress response system and the thing we now call “Post Traumatic Stress Disorder” (PTSD). While our understanding of trauma, and how to treat it, is ever-evolving, one of the most critical pieces of information has to do with the recognition of just how complex memory storage and memory retrieval really is in the brain.

Remember that bear? While I was using it as an example of the human fear response, we can probably agree that had the bear actually attacked, a survivor of such an attack might experience fairly profound post-traumatic stress. The sudden fear for one’s life can trigger the adrenaline/cortisol release discussed previously.

In an attempt to ready the body for physical confrontation, readily available fuel and oxygen are pumped to the muscles, while adrenaline gives us greater-than-usual strength and agility. But doing so necessarily does things like raise the body’s blood pressure, and it requires a bit of a cognitive trade-off. In order to prepare you for split-second decision making, the brain powers down several key sections of the brain that we otherwise rely on quite heavily in our day to day lives. For the technically minded, you might think of this as “booting into safe mode”.

While during the day our sensory input is processed by the brain first into short-term memory, and ultimately into long-term storage in the hippocampus, during traumatic events this encoding is disrupted. While the brain continues to keep something of a record for what happened, the necessary changes that happen during the “fight or flight” response turns off parts of our brain like the basal ganglia, which plays an essential role in regulating speech. In fact, one of the most common signs that someone has just experienced a traumatic event might be the inability to make words. But articulation isn’t the only thing that suffers.

Memory

While it may be tempting to think of memory as a recording, this is only accurate if we think of the most sophisticated of recording devices.

Unlike even the best video camera, the brain also records olfactory and tactile data (eg, smell, taste, and feel). To a certain extent, it even records where our bodies are in space, also called “proprioception”. This is one of the reasons that if you concentrate really hard on a happy memory of going to the beach, you might be able to not only feel the sand under your toes or smell the salt in the air, but actually feel your body rocked by the waves. Our memories are complex recordings made up of a tapestry of sensations.

Think for a minute about that beach. How does that memory surface for you? For many people, it’s like tugging on a string: the more you pull, the more comes out. For some memories, you can watch and re-experience them like hitting “play” on a movie. All it takes is a reminder of the original event. Memories stored in the hippocampus can be retrieved almost like searching a library index. One thing makes you think of another thing until you’ve arrived at that specific memory, which you can then retrieve at your leisure.

But traumatic memories aren’t stored the same way, and they’re not stored together. When our limbic systems are overwhelmed, memories can be stored in fragments. This is why many people find it nearly impossible to remember terrifying events in sequence, and why people may find themselves suddenly upset at a certain smell or an otherwise benign sight. These things tug at our traumatic memories in pieces, and they often come out disjointed.

Finally, the other region of the brain that’s affected is something called the prefrontal cortex (PFC), which is responsible for decision-making. The PFC is one of the last parts of the brain to develop, and is actually one of the arguments for higher ages of consent or licit substance use. In fact, for some people the PFC doesn’t completely grow until age 26. Traumatic events that happen prior to the full development of our brains can have more lasting impacts on our development and can make it harder to make decisions. The brain shuts off the PFC during the “fight or flight” reaction to reduce the time needed to make decisions. Instead of weighing the risks and choosing the next most appropriate steps, our brains often go on autopilot, working entirely off of instinct. These “power downs” of brain activity in certain regions are most notable, however, in memory.

Content warning

While this whole time we’ve been talking about trauma, I’ve tried to be as vague as possible. Unfortunately, it’s really difficult to talk about trauma without specifics, and in the following half of this article I’ll be referring to common feelings that people may experience during and after traumatic events. You may wish to skip this part, or read it with a partner or friend.

Many people who have experienced sexual violence report that in the presence of a certain cologne, they suddenly feel profoundly unsafe. Some people in this situation might feel the need to run, but may not know exactly why. This is made even more complicated by the fact that we can’t necessarily speak during these events. As during the original traumatic event, our basal ganglia may be offline, and our ability to put things into symbolic language can fail us.

Think back to the last scary movie you saw. What was that like in your body? You probably noticed a handful of changes: your heartbeat quickened, your blood pressure rose and for many people, your mouth may have gone dry. For some of us, our sense of time can become a little warped. Things can feel like they’re stretching on for hours, or they can feel like they’re happening at lightning speed.

What we do next depends on the situation: since you can’t fight someone on a movie screen, you may adopt a slight defensive posture where your shoulders rise towards your ears. You may suddenly feel the need to leave the theater, this is the flight response. But in cases of extreme terror, there’s a third: freeze.

When your body goes into “freeze” mode, you may experience the sudden sensation of being unable to move. This isn’t always paralysis: for some people, this feels like an out of body experience where they’re watching something happen to, or near their body, but unable to intervene. For others still, freeze may look like nodding in and out of consciousness. Your brain may decide that since it cannot protect the rest of the body from harm, it can do everything in its remaining power to reduce your susceptibility to pain and may not record any or all of the preceding events.

Whether your body goes into fight, flight or freeze mode, for many people the bodily effects of our fear response system don’t entirely wear off. Or, while they may wear off temporarily, they may reactivate suddenly with little or no provocation. Physiologically, this means that we’re experiencing a lot of the sensations listed above: our heart is pounding, we feel dizzy or restless. It is also possible to experience a temporary loss of speech, called aphasia. At times like these, our autonomic nervous systems may instruct our vital organs to mimic the exact steps they took during the initial traumatic event. For me, my hands shake.

Therapy

However, many people find that self-soothing strategies alone aren’t nearly as helpful as they wished, and there are more long term treatment options for mitigating the long-term effects of trauma. These long term strategies include things like Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT, not to be confused with CBT) or EMDR. They often aim to take the disjointed memories we talked about farther up the page and work them into a more cohesive narrative.

As we’re able to articulate and recall traumatic events more and more, they can be re-encoded in a more integrated fashion in our brains, ready to be taken out like any other memory. The side effect of this is that these phantom sensations, such as the feeling of panic around a certain smell or painful sensation of something that happened a long time ago, begin to diminish. When these triggers do pull up these memories, we can exercise more of our own agency over what we want to do about them.

Does this sound familiar?

You are not alone.

While it can be terrifying to experience the things described above, most people can find relief in proper therapy. A good therapist will help you feel safe, help you find ways to self-soothe after hard sessions (or unexpected bouts of anxiety) and if you wish, find a safe way to re-tell the experience. While there are many schools of thought on why trauma narratives are beneficial to survivors, it is also true that increasingly research is looking into the ways that we may be able to treat trauma without having to revisit memories that are otherwise too painful. The important part is that you don’t have to feel the way you do right now for the rest of your life. If you’re having trouble finding a therapist, I would encourage you to look on a referral source like Zencare, which vets therapists before listing them. I will also be posting community-generated lists later, with permission of the list owners.

© 2020, Jessica Kant, MSW, LICSW, MPH

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References

  1. Ogden, P., Minton, Kekuni, & Pain, Clare. (2006). Trauma and the body : A sensorimotor approach to psychotherapy (1st ed., The Norton series on interpersonal neurobiology). New York: W.W. Norton.

  2. Perry, B., & Szalavitz, Maia. (2017). The boy who was raised as a dog : And other stories from a child psychiatrist's notebook : What traumatized children can teach us about loss, love, and healing (Revised and updated edition..; Second trade paperback ed.). New York: Basic Books.

  3. Warner, E., Cook, A., Westcott, A., Koomar, J. (2014) SMART: Sensorimotor Arousal Regulation Treatment Manual (2nd Edition) Boston, MA: Trauma Center at JRI