Childhood trauma can affect intimacy as an adult in many ways. There are common behaviours and thought patterns that repeatedly present themselves — not only in my own personal experience, but also in the clients I see with unresolved trauma.
The Connections Between Childhood Experiences and Adult Relationship Patterns
Anyone who has problems maintaining relationships, or who finds themselves in toxic relationship patterns, generally has some ideas about what experiences have led to those patterns. However, I really did not realise just how much of my own upbringing was responsible for the person I became — how I connected to people and how I responded to things in relationships. We know that it is the first seven years of our lives that most significantly influence who we become as adults. But for me, it was not until I reached my forties that I truly started to grasp just how much influence my childhood had, and that realisation came through my work.
I was looking at training to become a breathwork facilitator, and there was a course that really interested me because I wanted something I could use with my trauma clients to help them release some of their trauma. Part of the requirement of this course was that you had to do the work on yourself — things like inner child work, shadow work, and looking back over your life to see where these patterns first developed. From there, I read several books and began watching practitioners online such as Gabor Maté, Peter Levine, and Bessel van der Kolk, which helped me deepen my understanding of these patterns.
Specific Childhood Experiences That Were Most Influential in Shaping My Relationship Behaviours
I had many insights during this period of training, and they came about through a series of exercises and self-reflection carried out between sessions. One of the most significant shifts was in changing my thought patterns and beginning to understand why I am the person I am — and knowing that it was not something I had done wrong. For example, I knew that my marriage had been abusive, but I had never really placed a label on the way I was brought up. It was only through this process, looking back even as far as my birth and conception, that I began to realise how far back these influences reached.
I started to understand that any child who has experienced trauma — and that does not have to mean being physically abused every day; it can be emotional trauma, neglect, lack of affection, or not being told they are loved — will often show their connection to someone by releasing their frustration and anger towards that person. So, we come into adult relationships and it can sometimes seem as though we dislike the person we are with, because we are letting out all of these negative emotions. But what appears to the other person as disconnection is, to someone who has been traumatised as a child, actually a sign of deep trust.
Another significant realisation was around the subject of parentification — when a child is forced to take on adult responsibilities and behaviours before they are ready, often because a parent relies on them for emotional or practical support. It can also occur through emotional neglect, where a child essentially has to be their own parent and take responsibility for their own emotional welfare. There is a widely held view that a parentified daughter will believe it is her role to fix everything and everyone, and I have certainly fallen into those people-pleasing behaviours — always putting others’ needs before my own.
The parentified daughter will also keep her depression a secret and fantasise about finding that one person — that one significant relationship — where she will finally be seen for who she is, rather than for what she can do for others. I was depressed for much of my teenage years, though I was not diagnosed until I was nineteen, when I had my first nervous breakdown. For many years before that diagnosis, I kept that depression secret, because I felt the only person I could rely on was myself. It rings true that all I wanted was to find that one person and build a family together. That has not happened, as is often the case when these unresolved issues are present.
There is also the pattern of desperately wanting to be loved by anyone who shows an interest in you and your emotions — and that is how we fall into toxic relationships. When our energy is low, we attract people at the same energetic level: people who are also damaged, people who are vulnerable, or alternatively people who sense that vulnerability in us and exploit it because of their own childhood experiences. We do not notice the red flags, or if we do, we ignore them, because part of us is still that child on the inside — still trying to survive within a life full of dysfunctional patterns.
How Early Survival Mechanisms Show Up Differently in Romantic Relationships Versus Other Types of Relationships
In romantic relationships, there is often a different level of intimacy, which means there is a higher potential to get hurt and, to a certain extent, a greater level of dependency — though truly co-dependent relationships are not healthy.
In the most significant relationship I had (before writing this book), there was a certain amount of trauma bonding at play. We both came from backgrounds where there had been childhood trauma, but perhaps we were at different stages in terms of how much we had acknowledged that. This person would very much fit the description of a parentified son.
A parentified son often has not had a parent who was attuned to their emotions in those early years. This person grew into an adult who genuinely found it very difficult to know what he was feeling or why. I am a very emotional and open person, but when I shared my emotions with him, he found it extremely difficult to handle. He would often become defensive and essentially withdraw from the relationship, because he simply did not know what to do with that level of emotion or how to respond to it.
He had a deep need to connect and to be vulnerable, but when someone has been in survival mode for so long and has not experienced emotional attunement as a child, what often happens is that they self-sabotage. They will find someone who loves them and gives them the attention they crave, and then they will push that person away, isolating themselves, because inside is still that little boy who is just trying to survive and look after himself — because if he does not, no one else will.
I have read that the deeper a man has been hurt by his mother, the more he will try to undermine the femininity of the women he dates. That is certainly something I have experienced in a romantic relationship, and it is very difficult to overcome. There were clear avoidant attachment patterns in this relationship. He became very easily overwhelmed by emotional intimacy, and my sometimes sarcastic nature caused difficulties because he would take things very personally and was highly sensitive to criticism — even when none was intended.
The difficult reality is that until someone does the inner work and develops enough self-worth to stop self-sabotaging, you cannot fix them. Until that person is able to acknowledge that there is an issue and commit to working on themselves, that cycle will continue.
How Childhood Trauma Responses — Fight, Flight, Freeze, or Fawn — Play Out in Adult Romantic Dynamics
When we have been placed into a stress response — the fight, flight, freeze, or fawn response — we can fall into a pattern of unconsciously recreating traumatic events again and again with the people we enter relationships with.
When a child grows up with high anxiety, particularly in circumstances such as abuse where they are constantly pushed beyond their threshold of tolerance, they begin to live in that stress response. They are either overactivated, or they withdraw and become avoidant or numb. The nervous system is constantly being overactivated, which causes side effects such as emotional detachment, dissociation, and freeze responses. The body becomes accustomed to elevated levels of cortisol and adrenaline, and in a sense becomes addicted to that state.
Even when we enter adulthood and consciously decide that we will not repeat those experiences, the patterns remain buried in the subconscious. Our subconscious tends to attract what is familiar — what it recognises as “safe” — and so we find ourselves drawn to people and situations that replicate what we have already been through, simply because that is what feels normal to us. This is also why energetic and spiritual work is important: when we are operating at a low vibration, that is what we attract. We have to start doing the work on ourselves — recognising how our past has shaped our present, identifying our triggers, and understanding how those triggers connect to earlier experiences. In that way, we can begin to recognise trauma cycles and assess whether a relationship represents a trauma bond or a genuinely committed, healthy connection.
When we look at other adults, we often see only the surface — self-harming behaviours, or maladaptive patterns of coping — without understanding that for that person, those behaviours were how they adapted in order to survive. If someone appears addicted to those self-soothing behaviours, it is likely because in their early years they did not receive the emotional attunement and soothing they needed, and so they are still stuck in that trauma response. We might look at such a person and think they are too clingy or needy, when in fact that is simply how they cope and get through each day.
Whenever we enter a new relationship carrying unresolved hurt from the past, we must be aware that we may project those past hurts onto the new person. This is when relationships can rapidly deteriorate. If one partner becomes disengaged, brings resentment into the relationship, or imports past conflicts into the present, that is when dysfunction begins. Relationships break down, people get hurt, and toxic cycles repeat.
So many of these dysfunctional cycles are rooted in childhood — often stemming from an absence of a healthy figure who bonds with us and provides emotional support alongside the material. Those patterns from childhood will always find a way into new relationships. This is when we begin to see the personality archetypes that Stephen Karpman described in his Drama Triangle: the Victim, the Persecutor, and the Rescuer. Each of these archetypes can have a toxic impact on relationships and create patterns that run throughout our lives — unless we begin to address them and trace back to where they originated.
How People Can Break Free From These Archetypal Roles, Particularly When Both Partners Carry Childhood Wounds
First and foremost, both partners need to be willing to do the work on themselves individually. Until that happens, nothing is really going to change. With regard to the personality archetypes in Karpman’s Triangle, it is important to recognise that these are not only activated by the other person — they are also applicable to the relationship we have with ourselves.
It can be difficult, because sometimes we do not recognise that we are inside the triangle until we are already deeply embedded in it. The process of breaking free begins with honest self-questioning: Do I have a critical, judgmental inner voice that puts me down? Do I feel unable to manage on my own and always in need of support? Do I believe I am the way I am because of someone else’s choices, or because of what has happened to me? These are the questions we need to ask before we can begin to change how we show up for someone else.
We need to make conscious commitments — to take responsibility for who we are and how we manage what has happened to us. This does not mean blaming ourselves for being abused; it means taking ownership of how we handle those experiences in the present. Both parties in a relationship must commit to acknowledging their individual roles, reflecting on the events of their own lives, and taking responsibility for how those events have shaped them and their relationship.
We need to look back honestly: Were our parents emotionally unavailable? Did we experience healthy bonding? Were there dysfunctional past relationships that have shaped our current thinking? Are we falling into self-victimisation or self-sabotage? Were we forced as children to take on adult responsibilities due to neglectful caregivers? Are we now playing the Rescuer role, feeling resentful of responsibilities we feel we had no choice but to take on, or feeling guilty when we do not put others first? Do we become disproportionately angry over seemingly small things? Do we habitually look for someone else to blame? These patterns may indicate we are operating from within the Persecutor archetype — which no one wants to admit, but which many of us inhabit at least in part. Often, the Persecutor role develops when long-suppressed resentment finally surfaces, having been built up over years of people-pleasing without a healthy outlet for anger. In extreme cases, this can develop into behaviours that constitute narcissistic abuse.
Once we begin to recognise these feelings, we can also become aware of the physical sensations that accompany them — sensations that serve as warning signs, signalling when emotions are beginning to escalate. If we can learn to read what the body is telling us, we can train ourselves to pause, sit with the discomfort, and choose a different course of action. This is where practices such as mindfulness become genuinely valuable — anything that brings us into a state of conscious presence, where we are taking responsibility for our dynamics and looking honestly at the parts of ourselves we tend to hide, including our shadow self. The personas we present, which often create confusion and trigger insecurities in relationships, begin to lose their hold.
When we can access presence — through mindfulness, conscious breathing, gratitude, active listening, and genuine accountability — we become more authentic and more accepting of ourselves and others. Our connections with others deepen as a result.
Specific Physical Patterns That Arise When Old Childhood Wounds Are Being Triggered in Relationships
There is a reason people use the phrase “sick to my stomach.” When we fall into a highly anxious state, a churning sensation in the stomach is very common. I remember feeling that way when I was planning my wedding — we were overwhelmed by people trying to control the arrangements, and I was preparing to tell someone they would not be invited. This was someone with whom I had always had a difficult relationship, and I literally felt nauseated. That kind of gut-level response is one of the most common somatic signals people describe.
But these signals can also be more subtle. You might meet someone for the first time and, as they are speaking about what is happening in their life, simply feel your energy drop. Even this can be a quiet warning signal — perhaps an invitation to step back and avoid becoming entangled in that person’s story in a way that will pull you down. That is a moment for a conscious commitment: to take a step back, rather than being drawn in.
Another common signal, particularly for people-pleasers, is a heavy feeling in the chest. This often arises when we prioritise someone else’s needs over our own. When that heaviness appears, it is an opportunity to pause and ask: Do I need to help this person? Am I obligated to? What will I have to sacrifice? Am I actually strengthening them by helping, or weakening them? We can support someone while still treating them as a resourceful person — someone capable of taking responsibility for themselves. The heaviness in the chest is the body’s way of saying: listen to me, and listening might mean saying, “I understand what you’re going through, and I know you have the strength to find your way through this. I am here to support you, but I trust that you can do this.”
How Someone Can Maintain Healthy Boundaries While Still Being Supportive, Especially When Childhood Patterns Push Them Towards Overgiving
Maintaining healthy boundaries is something many of us struggle with — myself included — particularly because we fear that saying no will hurt someone’s feelings or make them dislike us. I believe that maintaining boundaries is primarily about clear communication, carried out in a way that is respectful and that employs active listening. We often claim to be good listeners, but in reality we frequently interrupt and fail to truly hear what someone is saying. Clear, respectful communication — while still offering support within your capacity — is foundational.
Always staying within your capacity to support someone, without sacrificing your own needs, requires a degree of assertiveness that people-pleasers typically struggle with. We have to be able to say no sometimes, and people will not always like it — but that reaction says more about what is happening within them than it does about us. It is about communicating clearly: “I cannot help with this right now, but I genuinely understand what you are going through and I can be a sounding board for you.”
Setting boundaries clearly does not mean you do not care about the person. It means prioritising your own energy and needs while still being present for others. It is about knowing your limits: what you are capable of, what you are comfortable with, and what will leave you feeling completely drained. When communicating your boundaries, using “I” statements is important — expressing your needs and feelings directly, without blame. Instead of “You make me feel...” try “I feel...” so there is no accusation. You might say, “I really love spending time with you, but tonight I need some time to myself. I cannot do tonight, but I would love to do something tomorrow.” That way, you are maintaining the boundary and creating time for yourself while also being empathetic and offering an alternative.
The biggest hurdle with boundaries is often practising assertiveness — being firm and direct about your limitations without coming across as aggressive. It also helps to set expectations early. If you are someone who habitually rushes to others’ rescue, people will come to expect that of you. By establishing your boundaries at the beginning of a relationship, or in the early instances when someone asks for your support, you help them understand that you will not always be available to bail them out. By doing so, you protect yourself from the guilt that arises when you cannot meet their expectations.
The Relationship Between Childhood Emotional Neglect and the Tendency to Feel Excessive Guilt or Shame When Setting Boundaries as an Adult
Whenever we have experienced childhood emotional neglect, there will always be lasting consequences in our personalities and coping mechanisms as adults. When this happens early in life, our nervous system does not develop in the usual way, and we do not develop the capacity to return to a baseline of calm. We become stuck in survival mode and stress response.
Common responses to childhood emotional neglect include emotional reactions that seem disproportionate to the situation, a negative self-perception, and impaired social functioning. While each person’s experience of emotional neglect is unique, a common thread in any childhood abuse or neglect is the presence of significant guilt and shame — the feeling of “I am not good enough” or “How did I let that happen?” We need to remember that these experiences do not make us unworthy or undeserving of love.
Someone who was emotionally neglected as a child will often feel profoundly lonely and crave attention from others, yet at the same time feel the need to be alone because of social anxiety. When they do receive the attention they crave, they may not know what to do with it — it may trigger memories or fears from childhood. Trust is difficult when you have always carried a sense of insecurity. As a child, you were made to feel worthless or an embarrassment, and so shame became a constant companion. You were not good enough; you must have done something wrong to make them treat you that way. The messages — “You will never amount to anything,” “You are stupid for thinking that” — become part of your internal narrative and begin to define you, preventing you from setting boundaries and reaching your full potential.
For people who have experienced emotional neglect, becoming a parent can be deeply anxiety-provoking. There is often a fear of repeating the same patterns with your own child, which can lead to overprotectiveness — and sometimes, in the effort to avoid what happened to you, inadvertently recreating similar dynamics. That can bring an enormous amount of guilt. Similarly, setting boundaries with children can be extremely difficult when you either grew up in a household with no boundaries at all, or with boundaries that were excessively rigid.
With emotional abuse or neglect, we can very easily regress to an emotionally childlike state when we are triggered. Even as adults, we can revert to that age at which we were made to feel worthless — becoming overly sensitive, overly emotional, or shutting down completely and becoming avoidant and unresponsive. The overwhelm when it comes to setting or enforcing boundaries can feel almost impossible.
As we grow closer to someone, all of that guilt, shame, and fear can rise to the surface regardless of how deeply it has been buried, and with it comes the expectation of pain if we are perceived negatively by the other person. So, setting a boundary — saying no, or putting our own needs first — feels like it will inevitably lead to rejection or abandonment, because that is what we have come to expect.
This is where shadow work is particularly valuable. As children, when we are neglected or abused, we adapt ourselves constantly — moulding our behaviour to fit others’ expectations in the hope of being loved and accepted. We gradually fill what I think of as an imaginary bucket of shame. By the time we reach adulthood, it does not take much to tip that bucket, and when it does, all of that accumulated guilt and shame comes flooding back.
Shadow work allows us to confront and process those feelings — the guilt, the shame, the fears, the deep sense of not being good enough — rather than hiding them away out of fear that if someone sees them, they will not like us. When we can do that work and begin to accept those aspects of ourselves, we create the conditions for healthier relationships in which we can be open, honest, and genuinely self-respecting.
Specific Practices or Exercises That Can Be Effective in Helping People Recognise and Heal Deep-Seated Childhood Patterns
Shadow work is in many ways similar to inner child work — it addresses feelings such as shame and guilt and other difficult emotions that are, in fact, entirely normal human experiences. However, shadow work can be revealing in ways that inner child work is not.
The shadow is that darker side of our personality — the part we feel so ashamed of that we would do anything to conceal it. We employ personas: presenting ourselves as kind, positive, and composed, so that people do not see our impatience, our anger, or whatever other traits we carry that we perceive as weaknesses. But we all have these traits. If we deny and refuse to take responsibility for them, we will continue to use those personas and remain out of touch with who we truly are — and we will continue to hurt people unconsciously as a result.
We have to learn to accept our shadow — and even to use it as a positive force. Those darker aspects of ourselves can become a source of creative energy and determination, steering us in directions we might never have imagined. To do that, we must acknowledge and sit with those feelings. We must find the innocent part of ourselves within all of that perceived negativity and begin to work with it — recognising that we are not to blame for everything that happened, and that we do not need to continue carrying shame for experiences that occurred long before we had any power to change them. It means exploring our triggers: what activates those darker parts of our personality? The more aware we become, the less we project those aspects onto others.
The aim is to identify the personas we use to hide these shadow aspects — and then to understand how we project our darker qualities and unresolved experiences onto others. Why do we do it? How does it manifest? When we begin to use that awareness consciously, we can start to move forward rather than remaining trapped. We construct images of ourselves, and the ego works to protect us from the pain of our traumas — but when we become conscious that these are simply personas, and when we learn to let go of the behaviours designed to shield us, we begin to see ourselves and others more clearly. We start to present a more authentic version of ourselves to the world.
That process can bring up fear — the familiar feeling that we are not good enough, that we do not belong, that we need to keep hiding. But the truth is we are good enough. One of the benefits of shadow work is the ability to discard those conditioned beliefs — those things that were drummed into us in childhood — and to reclaim a genuine sense of belonging and authentic identity, shadow and light together. Only then can we begin to understand our own purpose and relate to others in a more positive way. If we cannot embrace those shadow parts, we cannot fully embrace ourselves. But that is only half the work. The other half is recognising how we project those shadow aspects outward and how, in doing so, we cast ourselves as the victim — which brings us back, again, to Karpman’s Triangle.
One exercise I use with clients is to ask them to identify someone with whom they have an emotionally turbulent relationship. I ask them to describe the challenges of that relationship — what the other person does that makes it difficult, or that causes pain. I then ask the client to step into the perspective of that person and write a series of “I am” statements, based on how they imagine that person is thinking, feeling, or behaving in ways that contribute to the relationship difficulties. Then I ask the client to circle any “I am” statements that they themselves resonate with. These may reflect elements of their own shadow — and thus their own unresolved traumas. The client can then examine where those elements originate and when they first remember feeling that way. Often, this will take them back to something unresolved from childhood, and they can begin to work with how those feelings live in the body. It can be a powerful way of engaging with the shadow.
The Relationship Between Recognising These Personas and Developing Authentic Intimacy, Particularly When Both Partners Are Working Through Their Own Shadow Aspects
A persona is essentially a false identity — a mask we wear to feel safe, to cope, or to present what we believe is the best version of ourselves to others.
Carl Jung wrote about this: that people have a particular way of presenting themselves, and may even come to believe that the self they present is who they truly are. That is where it becomes especially complicated in intimate relationships. When you habitually wear a persona, or begin to believe that is who you are, you have to maintain that performance consistently in order for it to remain convincing — even to yourself. You end up compromising who you really are, continuously, until the image you present to the outside world is flawless. But underneath, some part of you knows it is not the real you, and if you are not consciously aware of that, you can create serious conflict in intimate relationships, because people will eventually begin to notice the discrepancy: who you are in private is very different from who you are in public. They will start to ask: who are you, really?
It is very difficult to get close to someone when you can see two different versions of them. In those who present a polished public persona and a very different private one, there is often a gradual loss of an authentic self — and certain narratives develop from within the persona that are not truly central to who that person is. Others will not see the real person, and this will reinforce the belief that they are not good enough or not genuinely accepted.
We need to be very conscious in our use of these archetypes and personas, or we will lose sight of who we truly are — and all of this in the name of protecting ourselves from past pain.
When becoming aware of our personas, it is worth asking: Is there a core aspect of our vulnerability that we feel unable to share with the world? If so, why? We have a deep yearning for intimacy and connection, but the thought of true intimacy is often terrifying, because it means lowering the walls we have built to protect ourselves. It means being vulnerable — and in doing so, we open ourselves to the risk of rejection, to not being accepted or truly seen, and when people see who we really are, perhaps they will not like it.
So we remain distant, hiding behind our personas, using them to protect ourselves. We need to learn how to be present. How often, in our most intimate relationships, do we simply sit together in silence — just looking at each other, not afraid to be vulnerable in that moment? When we examine our personas, we should ask: are we choosing them consciously, or have they begun to define us? Have we become imprisoned by them, obligated to keep performing? None of these personas are inherently wrong. Most are learned behaviours from childhood or from previous experiences of harm. What matters is how we understand and relate to them.
In order to avoid a co-dependent relationship — one built entirely around the personas we display — we have to commit to simply feeling what we feel, whether pleasant or painful, and taking responsibility for those feelings. We need to give ourselves permission to accept them, and to gradually cultivate a sense of safety around them. If we cannot do that with ourselves first, we will never be able to do it with someone else.
We see this clearly in those with a fear of abandonment who use personas or present themselves as the innocent party while engaging in unfaithful behaviour — seeking affection and validation they are afraid to ask for directly from their partner, fearing rejection. They end up causing the very hurt they were trying to avoid, and can destroy intimate relationships in the process. Unless we commit to fully revealing ourselves — to not concealing what we fear will be rejected — those past wounds will continue to surface.
We have to find a way to acknowledge and accept ourselves as we truly are: without protective personas, without the ego defining who we are or dictating how we should act. If we cannot do that, we will continue to withdraw, withhold ourselves, and suppress our needs and feelings in relationships. The trauma cycle will simply regenerate itself, over and over.
How Someone Can Begin to Recognise When Their Protective Relationship Behaviours Are Actually Re-creating the Very Abandonment Patterns That They Fear
Abandonment issues almost always develop in childhood, arising from unmet needs — whether material, physical, affectionate, emotional, or relational. They stem from a caregiver who was not attuned to the needs of the child: perhaps because of mental illness, addiction, or simply a lack of internal resources to give what was needed.
There are typical signs we can begin to recognise when our protective behaviours and coping mechanisms are recreating abandonment patterns. These include constantly anticipating that the other person is going to leave; hypervigilance about signs that the other person is withdrawing; spending significant time and energy monitoring your partner for indications that they are not as engaged as before; worrying persistently about worst-case scenarios rather than being present in the relationship as it actually is.
Other signs include controlling or jealous behaviours, clinginess, and a constant need for reassurance — reassurance that was never adequately provided in childhood. In more toxic situations, this can develop into obsessive or controlling behaviour, which is never a healthy dynamic.
People who experienced abandonment in childhood often carry very low self-esteem. They grow up feeling defective or unworthy of connection and support, and that belief manifests as an ongoing need to please others, seek their approval, and work hard to be accepted. As adults, they may become highly anxious and develop unhealthy coping mechanisms — self-deprecating behaviours, self-harm, or addictions — as a way of finding comfort when they cannot get it from other people.
Recognising these patterns in ourselves is the first step towards reflecting more deeply on our own abandonment wounds and doing the work to ensure they do not continue to disrupt our relationships.
The First Crucial Step Someone Should Take When They Realise Their Childhood Experiences Are Significantly Impacting Their Current Relationships
With any traumatic experience, it always comes back to the nervous system. Whether the trauma occurred in childhood — preventing the nervous system from maturing as it might have done otherwise — or at some other point in life, the capacity for self-regulation is often compromised. Recognising the stress response in your own body and understanding how it affects you is an essential starting point.
The survival response is essentially how we protect ourselves from a perceived threat following trauma. In most people without trauma histories, this response deactivates relatively quickly because they can self-regulate. When our baseline is higher — when our nervous system is already dysregulated — that self-regulation is much harder to achieve.
One of the things we can do to reprogram our thinking and behaviours is to improve our self-awareness. As Gabor Maté has noted, awareness includes learning to recognise the signs of stress in the body — the ways our physiology can signal something important when our conscious mind has missed the cues. The physiological stress response is often a more accurate indicator of our actual internal experience than either conscious awareness or observed behaviour.
This is why somatic work can be so valuable. It helps not only in releasing stored emotions that keep us locked in stress response, but also in developing self-awareness. It is helpful to understand that we have two types of memory: explicit memory, in which we recall the details of a traumatic event consciously, and implicit memory, in which the body has encoded the experience in ways that may not be accessible to conscious thought. The body attempts to complete protective actions that were never fully resolved. This is what people mean when they say trauma is stored in the body — it is not only in the mind. We need to heal the nervous system, and somatic work can support that process, helping us to feel safer in our environment, to recognise tension and warning signals, and to respond rather than react.
Finding a support system and connecting with community is also essential. Positive social experiences activate the social engagement component of the parasympathetic nervous system, enabling connection and, on a physiological level, supporting self-regulation and stress reduction. Without that social support, we are more vulnerable to remaining in survival mode. Given that chronic stress is understood to be a contributing factor in a significant proportion of medical conditions, having a circle of people with whom we feel safe is not a luxury — it is a foundation for healing. Where a wide social circle is not available, counselling, volunteering, or community activities can provide some of that structure.
Developing awareness of our own physiology can also help us intervene before the nervous system becomes fully dysregulated. For example, IBS-type symptoms may be an indication that the vagus nerve — which connects the brain to the gut and plays a significant role in nervous system regulation — has become highly activated in response to stress or a trigger. Recognising that signal and pausing to ask what is happening emotionally in that moment can become part of a healing practice.
As we build greater capacity through social connection and somatic awareness, we become more able to process triggers quickly and release stress before defaulting to avoidance, freeze responses, or dissociation. Even something as simple as deep breathing can be enough to begin resetting the system — to interrupt the contraction of the diaphragm that tends to accompany survival mode and which amplifies anxiety, pain, and reduced coping capacity. The following practices can all support the process of moving out of survival mode and into healing:
• Somatic exercises
• Mindfulness
• Breathwork
• Yoga
• Developing your social circle
• Returning to activities you enjoyed as a child
If you are already in a relationship and are recognising these unhealthy patterns affecting it, the most important thing is to take a step back, reflect on what you are feeling and why, and then try to communicate that to your partner. If that feels impossible in the moment, at the very least find a way to say: “I am feeling some difficult things right now, and I just need a little time and space to work through them.” Then, where possible, seek individual counselling or support from a trusted, objective third party — allowing yourself time to build your emotional capacity before returning to the relationship from a more regulated, open place.
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