The Neuroscience of Trauma: What Happens in Your Brain

Trauma isn’t just something that happens to “other people.” It’s not only war veterans, survivors of car crashes, or those who’ve faced obvious catastrophe. Trauma is something almost all of us carry—often without realizing it. It can be loud and dramatic, yes. But more often, it’s quiet, hidden, and woven into the everyday fabric of life.

It might be a moment of terror you still can’t talk about.
It might be growing up in a house where no one screamed—but no one really saw you either.
It might be years of walking on eggshells, never knowing when the emotional floor would give way.
It might be being the “good kid” or the “strong one,” because there was no room for your needs.

That’s trauma, too.

As Dr. Gabor Maté writes in The Myth of Normal, trauma isn’t just the bad things that happened to you. It’s also the good things you needed but never got—the tenderness, the co-regulation, the sense that your emotions were welcome, your boundaries respected, and your presence cherished. Read more about how my approach takes this into consideration. 

In that light, trauma becomes something heartbreakingly ordinary.

It’s the nervous system adapting to survive in a world—maybe a home, maybe a culture—that felt unsafe, unkind, or emotionally confusing.
It’s your body learning to shut down, overreact, or numb out—because those reactions kept you going.
It’s your brain doing its absolute best to protect you, even if those protections now get in the way of the life or relationships you want.

This isn’t about blame—it’s about understanding. Trauma leaves fingerprints on everything: how we think, how we feel, how we love, how we pull away when things get close.

And yet—this is the hopeful part—those fingerprints aren’t fixed. The brain can rewire. The body can soften. The heart can relearn trust.

So let’s take a walk together through what trauma actually does under the surface. How it shapes our emotions, choices, and relationships. And most importantly, how healing doesn’t have to be dramatic or perfect. It can start with just one small, steady, self-loving step at a time.

What Is Trauma, Really?

Trauma isn’t just about “big, dramatic events.” It’s not always the car crash, the house fire, the violent assault—though those absolutely count. It’s really about overwhelm—when something is too much, too fast, or too little for too long, and your body, brain, or spirit just can’t keep up.

At its core, trauma is what happens inside you as a result of what’s happening around you. It’s less about the event and more about your nervous system’s ability (or inability) to process and stay regulated through it.

Your body goes, “I can’t handle this,” and instead of integrating the experience, it stores it—deep in your cells, your responses, your sense of safety.

There are a few different ways this can play out:

Acute Trauma

This is the kind most people think of first: a single, high-impact event that overwhelms your system.

• A car accident.

• A physical assault.

• Witnessing a death.

• Receiving a frightening medical diagnosis.

These kinds of experiences often leave people jumpy, hypervigilant, or emotionally stuck in the moment of impact—like their body and brain never fully left the scene.

Chronic Trauma

Chronic trauma happens when you’re exposed to ongoing stress, fear, or instability over a long period of time.

• Living in a home with constant tension or unpredictable behavior.

• Enduring systemic racism or discrimination.

• Surviving long-term poverty, food insecurity, or unsafe neighborhoods.

• Dealing with ongoing medical issues that rob you of control or dignity.

It’s like a slow, invisible drip. You learn to brace yourself every day—until your body forgets how to un-brace.

Complex Trauma

This is the most layered kind—and often the most misunderstood. Complex trauma happens when the trauma is relational and repeated, especially during childhood when your brain and body are still developing.

It’s not always about what was done to you. It’s just as much about what was missing.

• No one comforted you when you cried.

• You had to be the caretaker instead of being cared for.

• You were punished for having emotions, needs, or boundaries.

• You felt invisible, like your presence didn’t matter.

In these environments, the wound isn’t always a single moment. It’s the ongoing lack of safety, attunement, and emotional nourishment. You grow up in a state of low-grade survival mode—and you might not even realize that’s what it was.

When You Don’t Realize It’s Trauma

Relational and complex trauma are especially sneaky. There’s often no “incident” to point to. No bruises. No headlines. Just this quiet, aching confusion:

• “Why do I get so anxious when someone gets too close to me?”

• “Why do I shut down in conflict—even when I want to speak up?”

• “Why do I always feel like I’m too much, or not enough?”

• “Why do I sabotage love, joy, or rest the second it shows up?”

That’s not you being broken. That’s your nervous system remembering.

It remembers that closeness once meant danger. That asking for help once led to punishment. That soft emotions weren’t welcome in your world. And so, even if your life looks “fine” now, your body might still be stuck in old survival strategies—strategies that once protected you, but now hold you back.

How Trauma Rewires the Brain and Body

Your body is wired for one primary thing: survival. When something threatening happens—real or perceived—your nervous system doesn’t pause to think it through. It doesn’t wait for a rational explanation or check if the danger is “valid.” It acts.

This is your body trying to save your life.

When trauma strikes, your system flips into one of four built-in survival modes. These aren’t conscious choices. These are reflexes:

Fight

You push back. Your jaw clenches. Fists tighten. Anger rises. This might look like yelling, resisting, confronting, or trying to regain control through force or intensity. Think: “I will not let this happen to me.”

Flight

You escape. Sometimes literally—running out of a room. But it can also mean emotional escape: shutting people out, throwing yourself into work, staying endlessly busy so you never have to feel what’s underneath. Think: “If I can just get away from this, I’ll be safe.”

Freeze

You shut down. You go still. Your body feels stuck or numb. You might dissociate or go blank. This is the nervous system slamming the brakes when it believes no amount of fighting or running will help. Think: “Maybe if I don’t move or speak, this will pass.”

Fawn

You appease. You smile through gritted teeth. You try to keep the peace, over-accommodate, or put others’ needs ahead of your own in hopes of staying safe. This is often learned in environments where expressing needs or saying “no” wasn’t an option. Think: “If I stay small and agreeable, maybe they won’t hurt me.”

These reactions aren’t personality traits. They’re survival strategies, rooted in your biology. And once they’re learned, they don’t just vanish when the threat is gone.

What’s Happening Inside the Brain?

Let’s take a peek under the hood.

Amygdala – Your Internal Alarm Bell

This tiny structure is always scanning for danger. When it senses threat—real or imagined—it sounds the alarm. It doesn’t care if you’re in a war zone or just got a cold, dismissive look from someone you love. If it smells fear, it acts fast.

Hypothalamus – The Command Center

The hypothalamus gets the signal from the amygdala and hits the gas pedal. It triggers a cascade of stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. These chemicals get your body ready to act: heart rate speeds up, blood rushes to your muscles, pupils dilate, digestion halts.

Your body’s not thinking about your to-do list. It’s getting ready to fight, flee, freeze, or fawn.

Hippocampus – The Memory Organizer

This part of your brain helps make sense of experiences and stores them in context. But during trauma, the hippocampus can get overwhelmed. That’s why trauma memories are often fragmented, distorted, or frozen in time.
You might remember the sound of glass shattering, but not what led up to it. Or you might feel intense panic from a smell or song, with no clue why.

Prefrontal Cortex – The CEO of the Brain

This area handles logic, planning, and emotional regulation. It helps you problem-solve, weigh consequences, and calm yourself. But in trauma, it’s like the CEO steps out of the office. The amygdala takes over. So when you’re in survival mode, thinking clearly or “acting normal” just isn’t possible. And that’s not a failure—it’s biology.

Why This Matters

This is why trauma survivors so often feel hijacked by their own bodies.
It’s why someone might lash out, freeze mid-conversation, or shut down emotionally during an argument—even if they know they’re safe now.
It’s why a loving touch might trigger panic. Or a loud voice might cause someone to dissociate.

Their body isn’t reacting to the current situation—it’s reacting to something the nervous system hasn’t fully processed yet. That’s not drama. That’s a brain doing its job too well.

But here’s the good news: the brain is plastic. It can change. It can heal. With time, safety, and the right support, those alarm systems can recalibrate. You can rewire your body to respond to life in a way that feels less like survival, and more like living.

 

What Trauma Looks Like in Real Life

Trauma doesn’t always come with sirens, flashbacks, or dramatic breakdowns. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it blends in. And sometimes, it’s so familiar that you don’t even recognize it as trauma at all—you just call it “my anxiety,” or “how I’ve always been.”

It might look like this:

• You panic when your partner doesn’t text back. Your head says, “They’re probably just busy,” but your body spirals into fear: “They’ve left. I did something wrong. I’m about to be abandoned.”

• You say “yes” when everything in you wants to say “no.” Because saying no has never felt safe. Because you learned early on that your needs were too much, or that love was conditional.

• You shut down during conflict—even when you’re not in danger. Your partner raises their voice slightly and your body freezes. Your brain fogs over. You feel like a scared kid again, not a capable adult.

• You go numb in joyful moments. Something good happens—a compliment, a hug, a moment of connection—and instead of basking in it, you disconnect. Part of you doesn’t trust it will last. Another part is already bracing for the fallout.

These aren’t character flaws. They’re not “overreactions.” They’re adaptations. Your nervous system was wired to expect danger—even when danger isn’t there—because at one point, that was the reality. And your body doesn’t forget.

Complex Trauma and Relational Wounds

This is where Dr. Gabor Maté’s work in The Myth of Normal hits like a truth bomb. He reframes trauma not just as the catastrophic events that broke us—but as the chronic conditions that shaped us.

“Trauma is not what happens to you. It’s what happens inside you as a result of what happened to you.” — Gabor Maté

And most often, that shaping happens in relationships—especially the early ones.

Maybe you grew up in a home where:

• You had to be “the strong one” because there was no room for your emotions.

• Love came with strings attached—perform, please, behave, or risk rejection.

• You were emotionally neglected, even if all your physical needs were met.

• Expressing anger or sadness was punished or mocked.

• You were praised for being “low-maintenance,” which really just meant invisible.

That’s relational trauma. It’s the pain of never being met, seen, or accepted in your wholeness. You learned to hide parts of yourself—not because you were bad or broken, but because those parts didn’t feel safe to show.

What That Turns Into in Adulthood

The problem is, the survival strategies you once needed? They come with you. Even long after the original threat is gone. They show up in your adult relationships, your work life, your sense of self.

Fear of Intimacy or Abandonment

You crave closeness but fear what will happen when someone gets too close. Vulnerability feels dangerous. So you keep one foot out the door, push people away when things get real, or fall apart if someone pulls away first.

Chronic People-Pleasing

You smile. You nod. You bend yourself to fit what others want. And afterward, you feel resentful, drained, maybe even a little hollow. You don’t know where your needs end and others’ expectations begin.

Explosive Reactions to Minor Stress

A comment. A tone of voice. A canceled plan. Suddenly you’re in a full-body panic, or red-hot anger. It seems “disproportionate,” even to you—but that’s your nervous system protecting old wounds.

Self-Sabotage When Things Go Well

Everything’s finally calm. You’re in a good relationship, or work is flowing—and you start picking fights, withdrawing, procrastinating. Part of you doesn’t trust that good things can last. Safety feels unfamiliar, maybe even threatening. These aren’t signs that something’s wrong with you. They’re signs that something once went very, very wrong around you—and your body did what it had to do to get through it.

The work now isn’t to punish yourself for these patterns. It’s to understand them. To honor them for getting you through. And then—slowly, with support—to choose something different.

Because you’re allowed to outgrow your survival strategies.
You’re allowed to feel safe, even when things are good.
You’re allowed to have boundaries and still be loved.
You’re allowed to soften.

Long-Term Effects of Trauma on the Brain

Neuroplasticity and Trauma

Neuroplasticity is the brain’s ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections throughout life. While this is a beneficial trait, repeated exposure to trauma can cause the brain to develop maladaptive neural pathways. These changes can result in persistent symptoms such as hypervigilance, emotional numbness, and difficulty regulating emotions.

Long-Term Effects of Trauma on the Brain

Neuroplasticity and Trauma

Neuroplasticity is the brain’s incredible ability to reorganize itself by forming new neural connections throughout life. This adaptability allows the brain to recover from injuries, learn new skills, and adapt to new situations. It’s like the brain’s version of remodeling a house, continually updating and reorganizing its structure to function more effectively.

However, repeated exposure to trauma can harness neuroplasticity in a negative way, leading to the development of maladaptive neural pathways. Instead of forming beneficial connections, the brain creates pathways that reinforce the trauma response, which can have long-lasting effects on a person’s mental health and behavior.

Maladaptive Neural Pathways

When someone experiences trauma repeatedly, their brain adapts by becoming more efficient at responding to perceived threats. Unfortunately, this often means the brain becomes hypersensitive to potential dangers, even when there are none. Imagine a smoke alarm that goes off not only for fires but also for burnt toast or even for no apparent reason at all. This is similar to what happens in the brain of someone who has experienced repeated trauma.

Symptoms of Maladaptive Neuroplasticity

1. Hypervigilance: This is a state of constant alertness where the person is always on the lookout for danger. It’s as if their internal alarm system is stuck in the “on” position. For example, a war veteran might jump at the sound of fireworks, interpreting it as gunfire, or a survivor of domestic abuse might feel on edge in any loud or chaotic environment.
2. Emotional Numbness: To cope with overwhelming emotions, the brain might develop pathways that dampen emotional responses. This can lead to a sense of emotional numbness or detachment. A person might feel disconnected from their feelings or unable to experience joy, love, or sadness fully. For example, someone who has been through severe trauma might find it difficult to feel excitement about positive life events, such as a promotion or the birth of a child.
3. Difficulty Regulating Emotions: Trauma can disrupt the brain’s ability to manage emotions effectively. This can manifest as mood swings, where a person goes from feeling fine to feeling extremely anxious or angry without a clear trigger. It’s like driving a car with a highly sensitive accelerator and brake, making it hard to maintain a steady speed. For instance, a trauma survivor might react with intense fear or anger to minor stressors, such as being stuck in traffic or receiving constructive criticism.

How Therapy Helps: Rebuilding Safety from the Inside Out

Healing from trauma isn’t just about understanding what happened. It’s about feeling safe in your body and your relationships again—maybe for the first time. That starts with the kind of space where you can soften your guard, speak your truth, and be met with compassion instead of judgment.

Person-Centered Therapy: The Power of Being Seen

Carl Rogers, the founder of person-centered therapy, believed something radical: that people grow when they feel genuinely understood. Not fixed. Not analyzed. Just deeply seen.

This kind of therapy offers something many trauma survivors never had growing up—a relationship where your emotions are welcomed, your pace is respected, and your whole self is embraced.

In this space:

• You’re not interrupted or redirected.

• You’re not asked to justify how you feel.

• You’re listened to with presence and empathy.

And slowly, your nervous system learns:
“Maybe it’s safe to be me here. Maybe I don’t have to hide anymore.”

That kind of unconditional regard can start to undo years of internalized shame. You stop trying to be “better” or “fixed” and start trusting that who you are, as you are, is already enough.

IFS (Internal Family Systems): Meeting the Parts That Protected You

If you’ve ever felt like “part of me wants to run, and part of me wants to stay,” or “why do I keep doing this thing I know isn’t good for me?”—IFS speaks directly to that.

Internal Family Systems understands the psyche as a system of parts, each with their own role, emotion, and story. Trauma doesn’t create these parts—it forces them into extreme roles to protect you.

• Exiles carry the raw, painful wounds—shame, abandonment, helplessness. They’re often pushed out of awareness because their pain feels too big.

• Managers work overtime to prevent the exiles from being triggered. They show up as perfectionism, control, people-pleasing.

• Firefighters jump in when exiles break through. They distract you quickly—sometimes through impulsive choices, numbing, or compulsions.

IFS invites you to meet these parts with compassion, not contempt.
You learn to say: “I see why you’re doing this. You’ve been trying to protect me all along.”

As you build trust with your parts, something incredible happens:
They start to relax. The panic softens. The shame loses its grip.
And the true you—the grounded, compassionate self underneath it all—gets to lead.

That’s not just emotional relief. That’s integration. That’s healing.

When You Love Someone with Trauma (Or Are That Someone)

Let’s be honest: relationships are where trauma hurts the most—and where it heals the most, too.

If you love someone who’s experienced trauma, you’ve probably felt the confusion:

• Why do they shut down when I get close?

• Why do they react so strongly to small things?

• Why does it feel like we’re speaking different languages?

Or maybe you’re the one carrying the trauma, wondering:

• Why do I keep pulling away from people I love?

• Why do I get overwhelmed so easily?

• Will anyone ever really understand me?

This is where the Gottman Method becomes a lifeline. It’s a research-based approach that gives couples practical tools to rebuild safety and connection—especially when trauma is in the mix.

Gottman Tools for Healing Together

• Love Maps: Take time to know each other’s worlds—traumas, triggers, dreams, fears. Not just facts, but feelings.

• Turning Toward: Respond to small bids for connection—a glance, a sigh, a joke. These tiny moments build trust.

• Positive Perspective: Focus on what’s working. Celebrate the little wins. Don’t let trauma be the only story you tell.

   

• Manage Conflict: Slow down. Use “I feel” statements. Get curious instead of critical. Conflict doesn’t have to mean danger.

• Create Shared Meaning: Build rituals, inside jokes, traditions. Make your relationship a safe, shared story.

Even if the trauma didn’t start in your relationship, the healing can.

Closing Thoughts: You’re Not Broken—You’re Healing

Trauma is not your fault. It never was.

It’s what happened when your body and brain did whatever they had to do to survive a world that didn’t meet your needs. But healing? Healing is your sacred right.

You’re allowed to outgrow the survival strategies that once protected you.
You’re allowed to reclaim the parts of yourself you had to bury.
You’re allowed to have relationships that feel safe, soft, and true.

As Gabor Maté so beautifully says,

“The wound is not your fault, but the healing is your responsibility.”

Responsibility here doesn’t mean blame—it means power.
You don’t have to stay stuck in stories you didn’t choose.
You can write new ones.

Take your time.
Ask for help.
Breathe.

You are healing—and that is no small thing.

References

1. van der Kolk, B. A. (2015). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Penguin Books.
2. Levine, P. A. (2010). In an Unspoken Voice: How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness. North Atlantic Books.
3. Siegel, D. J. (2012). The Developing Mind: How Relationships and the Brain Interact to Shape Who We Are. The Guilford Press.
4. Schwartz, R. (1995). Internal Family Systems Therapy. The Guilford Press.
5. Rogers, C. R. (1951). Client-Centered Therapy: Its Current Practice, Implications, and Theory. Houghton Mifflin.