Online Psychodynamic Therapy
Online Psychodynamic Therapy
Five Seas Integrative Therapy
Karen Baker, Registered Psychotherapist
Online Psychodynamic Therapy
Five Seas Integrative Therapy
Karen Baker, Registered Psychotherapist
Understanding Trauma
Many people think of Trauma as an event - the accident, the loss, the crisis. However, from a clinical lens, we understand trauma as what happens inside the nervous system when a stressor (of any kind) is too much, too fast, or too prolonged to be fully processed. Like the rest of the body, the nervous system adapts to what's asked of it. Under manageable stress, it adapts well: building resilience and capacity. Under overwhelming or prolonged stress, it adapts differently: bracing, shutting down, or staying on high alert, long after the danger has passed. That adaptation is what we call trauma - it's not pathology, nor a sign of weakness, but a legitimate survival response that's outlasted its usefulness. It leaves a mark not just in memory, but in the body, in the stories we tell about who we are, and in patterns that cycle through our relationships. There isn't only one kind of trauma. Broadly, there are two - sometimes called shock trauma (or "Big T" trauma, often linked to PTSD) and complex trauma (which encompasses developmental trauma, CPTSD, attachment trauma, or relational trauma) - the mechanism is still a response to an overwhelmed nervous system, but it can show up somewhat differently.
Big 'T' or shock trauma, is most well known. It's the response to a single, overwhelming occurrence: an accident, an assault, a sudden loss, a natural disaster, a war. Something happens too fast, or overwhelmingly, for the nervous system to fully respond to, and complete its normal survival process. Rather than discharging and settling, that unfinished response gets stored (trapped) in the body's tissues and cells. The entire system can remain permanently braced for a danger that has already passed, showing up as muscle tension, flashbacks, hypervigilance, nightmares, or a startle response that seems disproportionate to the moment. Shock trauma tends to have a clear before and after.
Developmental trauma is different. It's an accumulation of wounds over time. It happens gradually, often in the earliest years of life, when a person's sense of self and nervous system are still forming. A child's nervous system doesn't yet have the capacity to process stress the way an adult's can. It depends on a caregiver's presence and attunement to help regulate what it can't manage alone. When that attunement is inconsistent, absent, or reversed (e.g. a child having to manage a caregiver's needs before their own were ever addressed) the nervous system adapts anyway, just as it would to any other demand it can't otherwise meet. This doesn't require abuse or dramatic circumstance. Even well-intentioned caregiving can miss a child's actual capacity, expecting more than a developing nervous system is capable of. Because this happens while identity itself is still being built, it doesn't just leave a memory: it becomes part of the foundation (the child's identity). It can shape a lasting sense of being too much, or not enough, of needing to earn belonging, or of not being able to fully trust one's own perceptions.
Beyond the Individual
Trauma can also be inherited - passed down through the body, in family patterns, and in the stories told (or omitted) generation after generation. Even when what's being carried feels older than one's own experience, it is still part of life's landscape, and may be valuable and necessary work to explore.
The same holds for collective stressors and systemic oppression. The cumulative weight of living under conditions that are not safe (physically or emotionally) is a recognized form of trauma in its own right, and it belongs in the full account, even when the immediate focus is at the personal level.
Whether the origin is a single event or an accumulation over years, the mechanism is the same: an adaptation, not pathology. A nervous system shaped by overwhelming or prolonged stress reorganizes around threat detection rather than rest: staying braced, shut down, or oscillating between the two, long after the original circumstances have changed. This cannot be overcome by willpower, and it isn't a malfunction. It's the body's physiology doing what it was built to do: adapt to the demands placed upon it. The trouble arises when the adaptation (so necessary at the time) outlasts the danger that shaped it and continues operating in situations where it's no longer needed, and no longer appropriate. Healing tends to require working with the body and the nervous system directly, not just talking things through.
When the nervous system rarely gets to fully settle, the effects tend to spread. It affects sleep, mood, concentration, immune function, how we relate to the world, to others, and to ourselves. What might get labelled as anxiety, burnout, or "just being sensitive" is often the downstream effect of an adaptation that's been running in the background for a very long time, without ever having the chance to stand down.
Trauma researchers such as Bessel van der Kolk (author of The Body Keeps the Score) have shown that trauma is held in the body as much as the mind. Talk therapy alone can be insufficient, and at times retraumatizing, if the nervous system hasn't first gained access to a felt sense of safety.
Polyvagal Theory (developed by Dr. Stephen Porges) offers a useful framework for understanding the science of safety. It explains how our nervous system is constantly, unconsciously scanning for safety or danger, often without our awareness or control. Long before we consciously register a possible threat, our body has already responded: bracing, shutting down, or reaching out for connection.
When we've experienced overwhelming or prolonged stress, the nervous system can get stuck in survival mode. It might stay chronically braced, chronically shut down, or oscillate between the two, even in situations that don't, or no longer, call for it.
These states shape more than physiology. The stories we carry about ourselves, whether we're safe, capable, or worthy of connection, often say more about which state we're in than about any objective truth.
Paying close attention to these states as they show up in session, and working with them, can help groove an embodied sense of safety, rather than only an intellectual understanding of it. Over time, this makes room for more flexibility. The nervous system finds it easier to move out of survival, and spends more time in states that allow for genuine connection, curiosity, and rest.
Working directly with the body and nervous system, alongside more traditional exploratory work, tends to support more lasting transformation, through small, cumulative shifts: shorter recovery time after stress, more patience in hard conversations, restorative sleep, or more curiosity and hope about life.