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Last Updated on December 14, 2025 by Randy Withers
When people think about trauma, they tend to picture emotional scars: intrusive memories, anxiety, fear, or mood changes that linger long after a painful experience has passed. What’s often overlooked is how powerfully trauma can live in the body. Long after an event is “over,” the nervous system may continue to react as if danger is still present, shaping physical sensations, energy levels, and bodily comfort in ways that feel confusing or disconnected from the past.
Many people experiencing the physical symptoms of trauma don’t immediately link those symptoms to stress or adversity. Instead, they assume something is medically wrong, feel frustrated when tests come back normal, or blame themselves for not being able to “relax.” They may think they’re weak, out of shape, overly sensitive, or simply “bad at handling stress.” Muscle pain, digestive issues, exhaustion, or poor sleep can feel random—especially when the original experience happened years ago or doesn’t register as traumatic in the way people expect trauma to look.
This disconnect can be deeply unsettling. When symptoms don’t have a clear explanation, people often push harder, minimize their discomfort, or grow increasingly anxious about their health. Over time, the question shifts from “Why do I feel like this?” to “What’s wrong with me?”—a shift that can quietly erode self-trust and make healing feel even further out of reach.
Understanding how trauma affects the body isn’t about labeling yourself or forcing meaning onto your experiences. It’s about recognizing that the body often carries stress forward even when the mind has tried to move on. The nervous system doesn’t operate on timelines or logic; it operates on safety. When safety hasn’t been fully restored, the body may continue responding as if it’s still needed.
This article explores seven common ways trauma and chronic stress can show up physically. These patterns are not diagnoses, and none of them mean trauma is the only explanation for what you’re experiencing. But for many people, seeing these symptoms described in a grounded, compassionate way provides something they’ve been missing: language, context, and relief. Sometimes, simply understanding that your body’s responses make sense is the first step toward change.
When The Past Speaks: Physical Symptoms of Trauma
Trauma activates the nervous system’s fear response, preparing the body to react quickly in the face of threat. This response is automatic and adaptive. It sharpens focus, tightens muscles, alters breathing, and mobilizes energy so you can protect yourself. In the moment, it’s exactly what the body is supposed to do.
Under ordinary circumstances, once the threat passes, the nervous system gradually returns to balance. Muscles loosen. Breathing slows. Digestion resumes. Sleep deepens. But when stress is overwhelming, repeated, or unresolved, that return to baseline doesn’t fully happen. Instead, parts of the survival response remain switched on, even when the danger is no longer present.
What makes this difficult to recognize is that these responses don’t always feel dramatic. Rather than panic or fear, they often show up as physical patterns: chronic tension, digestive discomfort, fatigue, poor sleep, or a general sense that the body never quite settles. People may feel “off” without knowing why, or sense that their body is working against them.
This is where trauma becomes confusing. When symptoms aren’t obviously emotional, people rarely think to connect them to past stress or adversity. Instead, they assume something is wrong with their body, their habits, or their mindset. They try to push through, minimize discomfort, or fix the problem mechanically—often without relief.
From a trauma-informed perspective, these physical symptoms aren’t signs of dysfunction. They are signs of adaptation. The body learned to stay alert because, at one point, it needed to. Understanding this doesn’t mean reliving the past or labeling every symptom as trauma-related. It simply offers a different lens—one that explains why the body might still be acting as if safety is uncertain, even when life appears stable on the surface.
1. Chronic Muscle Tension and Body Pain
One of the most common physical symptoms of trauma is ongoing muscle tension. When the body perceives danger, muscles automatically tighten to prepare for action. This response is fast, unconscious, and protective. If the nervous system remains activated long after the threat has passed, those muscles may never fully relax, even during rest or sleep.
Over time, this constant contraction can lead to muscular injury and inflammation, particularly in areas like the neck, shoulders, jaw, hips, and lower back. Many people describe feeling braced or guarded without realizing it—shoulders lifted, jaw clenched, fists tightened, or a constant sense of stiffness. Temporary relief from stretching, massage, or medication is common, but the tension often returns because the underlying nervous system activation hasn’t changed.
What often goes unnoticed is how quietly this tension becomes a way of living. People may wake up sore despite minimal physical activity or feel exhausted by ordinary movement. They may assume they have poor posture, are out of shape, or simply have a “tight body.” Some push themselves harder with exercise, while others grow discouraged when physical treatments don’t provide lasting relief.
From a trauma-informed perspective, this tension isn’t random or stubborn—it’s protective. At one point, staying physically ready reduced risk. The body learned that letting its guard down wasn’t safe. Even when circumstances change, the nervous system doesn’t update automatically. Understanding this can shift the narrative from “My body is failing me” to “My body is doing what it learned to do to keep me safe.”
2. Digestive Issues and Gut Sensitivity
The digestive system is deeply connected to the nervous system, which is why digestive problems are among the most common physical symptoms of trauma. During stress, the body diverts energy away from digestion so it can respond to danger. In short bursts, this is adaptive. But when stress or trauma keeps the nervous system activated, digestion can remain disrupted long after the threat has passed.
People may experience bloating, nausea, abdominal pain, constipation, diarrhea, or alternating bowel patterns that flare during periods of emotional stress. Research has shown that 25% of patients experienced IBS in the context of post-traumatic stress, highlighting how tightly gut function and nervous system regulation are intertwined.
What makes these symptoms especially frustrating is that medical testing often comes back normal. People may be told everything looks fine, leaving them confused or doubting their own experience. They may try restrictive diets, supplements, or elimination plans without lasting relief, wondering why their body seems so reactive.
From a trauma-informed lens, the gut isn’t malfunctioning—it’s responding to ongoing signals of threat. Stress hormones and nervous system activation can alter gut motility, sensitivity, and comfort. Over time, people may begin to anticipate digestive problems, which increases stress and further aggravates symptoms. This creates a feedback loop where fear of symptoms becomes part of the problem.
Recognizing the role of the nervous system doesn’t mean ignoring medical care. It means understanding that for many people, digestive healing requires more than treating the gut alone. Addressing stress, safety, and regulation can be just as important as what—or how—you eat.
3. Persistent Fatigue That Rest Doesn’t Fix
Trauma is physically demanding. When the nervous system remains activated, the body expends energy even during moments that are supposed to be restorative. Over time, this can lead to a deep, persistent fatigue that doesn’t improve with sleep, time off, or “taking it easy.”
Many people describe this exhaustion as different from ordinary tiredness. It’s not just feeling worn out after a long day—it’s a heavy, full-body fatigue that makes basic tasks feel effortful. Concentration drops. Motivation fades. Even activities that once felt enjoyable can feel draining rather than replenishing.
This kind of fatigue often stems from living constantly on the lookout for potential threat. Even when life appears calm on the surface, the nervous system may still be scanning—monitoring tone of voice, anticipating problems, staying alert to subtle changes in the environment. That vigilance consumes energy quietly but relentlessly.
Because this fatigue doesn’t always respond to rest, people often misinterpret it. They may assume they’re lazy, depressed, unmotivated, or lacking discipline. Some push themselves harder, believing they need to “power through,” while others withdraw and feel ashamed for needing more downtime than those around them. From a trauma-informed perspective, this exhaustion isn’t a personal failing—it’s the cost of a nervous system that hasn’t been given consistent signals that it’s safe to stand down.
4. Sensory Sensitivity and Hyperarousal
Another common physical symptom of trauma is increased sensitivity to sensory input. Sounds may feel louder, lights brighter, and environments more overwhelming. Crowded spaces, background noise, or unexpected touch can trigger irritation, anxiety, or a strong urge to escape.
This sensitivity reflects a nervous system tuned toward detection rather than comfort. When trauma has taught the body that danger can appear suddenly, the brain prioritizes scanning the environment over filtering out irrelevant information. As a result, stimuli that others barely notice can feel intrusive or exhausting.
People often label themselves as “too sensitive” or believe something is wrong with them because they struggle in environments others tolerate easily. They may avoid social situations, public spaces, or busy settings, not because they dislike people, but because their nervous system becomes overwhelmed quickly. Over time, this can shrink their world and reinforce isolation.
From a trauma-informed viewpoint, sensory sensitivity isn’t weakness—it’s protection. The nervous system learned that heightened awareness reduced risk. Understanding this can help shift self-judgment into self-compassion. Rather than forcing exposure or pushing through discomfort, learning how to regulate and pace stimulation can help the nervous system gradually relearn what safety feels like.
5. Shallow or Restricted Breathing
Trauma can subtly but profoundly affect how a person breathes. Many people who have experienced trauma breathe shallowly, hold their breath without realizing it, or feel unable to take a full, deep inhale. This pattern often develops automatically during moments of fear or threat, when the body prepares for quick action rather than relaxation.
Over time, shallow breathing can become habitual. People may notice frequent sighing, tightness in the chest, or a feeling that they “can’t quite get enough air,” even when medical tests show their lungs are healthy. Because breathing is largely unconscious, this pattern often goes unnoticed—yet it plays a powerful role in keeping the nervous system activated.
When breathing remains restricted, the body continues to receive signals of urgency. This can increase anxiety, muscle tension, lightheadedness, and feelings of unease. Many people misinterpret these sensations as panic, poor fitness, or a physical health problem, without realizing that their breathing pattern is reinforcing stress.
From a trauma-informed perspective, shallow breathing isn’t a flaw—it’s a survival strategy that never got updated. Learning to notice and gently restore fuller breathing can help the nervous system receive signals of safety, making calm states more accessible over time.
6. Disrupted Sleep Patterns
Sleep disturbances are one of the most common and frustrating physical symptoms of trauma. While nightmares are often associated with trauma, many people experience sleep issues without any clear dream content. Difficulty falling asleep, waking up frequently throughout the night, or waking feeling unrefreshed are all common patterns.
For a nervous system shaped by trauma, nighttime can feel surprisingly unsafe. When external distractions fade, the body may remain alert, scanning for threat even in familiar surroundings. This hypervigilance prevents the deep stages of sleep that allow the body to restore itself physically and emotionally.
Over time, poor sleep compounds other symptoms. Pain feels worse. Fatigue increases. Emotional regulation becomes harder. People may blame themselves for poor sleep hygiene or rely heavily on substances, screens, or medications to force rest—often without addressing the underlying nervous system activation.
Understanding sleep disruption through a trauma lens helps shift the focus from “Why can’t I sleep?” to “What does my body need in order to feel safe enough to rest?” That shift alone can reduce frustration and open the door to more compassionate, effective support.
7. Disconnection or Numbness in the Body
Some people respond to trauma not with heightened sensation, but with the opposite: numbness, emotional flatness, or a sense of being disconnected from their body. This may feel like being “checked out,” detached from physical sensations, or distant from pleasure, pain, or emotional intensity.
This pattern is often misunderstood. People may worry they’re broken, apathetic, or incapable of feeling deeply. Others may fear something is “wrong” because they don’t react the way they think they should. In reality, this disconnection is often a protective response.
When overwhelm becomes too intense, the nervous system may reduce sensation as a way to cope. This dampening helps limit distress when fight-or-flight feels ineffective or unsafe. While this response can be lifesaving in the moment, it can later interfere with feeling present, engaged, or connected to oneself and others.
From a trauma-informed perspective, numbness isn’t absence—it’s protection. Healing doesn’t require forcing sensation to return. It involves gently rebuilding safety so the nervous system no longer needs to shut down in order to cope.
How Bodies Can Heal From Trauma: A Brief Introduction to Somatic Therapy
After recognizing how trauma can show up physically, a natural question often follows: If my body learned these patterns to survive, can it also learn something different? For many people, the answer is yes — but not through force, insight alone, or “pushing through” discomfort.
Because trauma is stored not only as memory but as ongoing patterns of tension, breathing, vigilance, and shutdown, healing often requires approaches that address the nervous system directly. This is where somatic therapy comes in. Rather than focusing solely on talking through what happened, somatic approaches pay close attention to how the body is responding in the present moment.
Somatic therapy is grounded in the idea that the nervous system can remain stuck in survival states long after danger has passed. When that happens, the body continues to operate from fight-or-flight and the autonomic nervous system remains imbalanced, making rest, digestion, sleep, and emotional regulation harder to access. Somatic work aims to help restore flexibility and balance within these systems.
Importantly, this type of therapy does not require reliving trauma or recounting details before a person feels ready. Instead, it emphasizes safety, pacing, and awareness. Clients are guided to notice sensations, movements, and subtle shifts in their body, learning to recognize what regulation feels like rather than being told to “calm down” or “relax.”
For many people, somatic therapy provides something they’ve been missing: a way to work with the body rather than against it. It reframes physical symptoms not as problems to eliminate, but as signals to understand — signals that can soften as the nervous system learns that safety is possible again.
What Is Somatic Therapy?
Somatic therapy is a trauma-informed approach that starts with a simple but often overlooked idea: experiences don’t only live in our thoughts—they live in our bodies. While traditional talk therapy focuses primarily on understanding what happened and how it affected you emotionally, somatic therapy pays close attention to how those experiences continue to show up physically in the present moment.
Rather than asking clients to relive traumatic events or analyze them in detail, somatic therapy emphasizes awareness of bodily sensations such as tension, breath, posture, movement, and internal states like heaviness, numbness, or agitation. These sensations offer real-time information about how the nervous system is functioning. For many people, this is the first time they learn to listen to their body without judgment or fear.
A central premise of somatic work is that trauma symptoms often persist not because a person hasn’t “processed” an event enough, but because the nervous system never fully returned to a state of safety. Somatic therapy focuses on helping the body complete stress responses that were interrupted or prolonged, allowing regulation to gradually replace chronic survival mode.
Sessions tend to move slowly and intentionally. Clients are encouraged to stay within tolerable levels of sensation rather than pushing through discomfort. This pacing helps prevent overwhelm and builds trust in the body’s ability to settle. Over time, many people report feeling more grounded, present, and capable of responding rather than reacting.
Somatic therapy isn’t about forcing release or “fixing” the body. It’s about developing a cooperative relationship with bodily signals so the nervous system no longer has to stay on high alert to be heard.
Common Somatic Approaches
Somatic therapy is not a single technique or method, but a broad category of approaches that share a focus on nervous system regulation and bodily awareness. Many therapists integrate somatic elements into their existing work, while others specialize in explicitly body-based models.
Some clinicians incorporate somatic strategies alongside cognitive behavioral and exposure therapies. In these cases, body awareness supports cognitive work by helping clients notice how thoughts, memories, and emotions are experienced physically. A therapist might pause a conversation to help a client track changes in breathing, muscle tension, or internal sensations before continuing.
Other practitioners focus primarily on approaches such as Somatic Experiencing or sensorimotor psychotherapy. These models emphasize bottom-up regulation—working with sensation and movement first, rather than starting with narrative or analysis. The goal is to help the nervous system regain flexibility and capacity rather than remaining stuck in hyperarousal or shutdown.
Across somatic approaches, common techniques may include grounding exercises, breath work, gentle movement, posture awareness, body scanning, and practices like pendulation from relaxation to tension. Pendulation allows the nervous system to experience contrast, gradually learning that it can move between states of activation and calm rather than remaining locked in one mode.
Importantly, somatic work is collaborative. Clients are encouraged to notice what feels helpful and what doesn’t, reinforcing agency and choice rather than compliance. This sense of control is especially important for people whose trauma involved helplessness or loss of autonomy.
Limitations of Somatic Therapies
While somatic therapy can be helpful for many people, it’s important to approach it with realistic expectations. Somatic work is not a quick fix, and it isn’t designed to bypass emotional pain or erase traumatic experiences. Progress often happens gradually and in small increments, which can feel frustrating for people who are eager for relief.
Some individuals may initially find body-focused work uncomfortable or confusing, especially if they feel disconnected from their physical sensations or become overwhelmed easily. For this reason, somatic approaches often need to be introduced slowly and carefully, with close attention to pacing and consent. Not every technique is appropriate for every person at every stage of healing.
It’s also worth noting that somatic therapy works best for many people when it is integrated with traditional talk therapy rather than used in isolation. While body-based approaches can support nervous system regulation, insight, meaning-making, and relational work often remain important parts of the healing process. Somatic therapy complements these elements; it does not replace them.
Understanding these limitations helps keep somatic therapy grounded in what it actually offers. It is a supportive framework for building regulation and awareness—not a cure-all or a shortcut.
Final Thoughts
Trauma doesn’t live only in memory. It lives in posture, breathing, sleep, digestion, and the subtle ways the body stays alert long after danger has passed. For many people, the most confusing part of trauma is not what they remember, but what their body continues to do without explanation.
If you recognize yourself in some of the physical symptoms of trauma described in this article, it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It means your nervous system learned how to survive under difficult conditions. Those adaptations were intelligent and protective at the time—even if they now feel limiting or exhausting.
Healing begins not by forcing the body to change, but by understanding it. When symptoms are viewed through a trauma-informed lens, self-blame often gives way to curiosity, and frustration softens into compassion. From there, meaningful change becomes possible.
Whether through somatic therapy, traditional talk therapy, or a combination of approaches, support can help the nervous system learn that safety is no longer something it has to earn or defend. Over time, the body can begin to settle—not because it’s being controlled, but because it finally feels heard.
