The body keeps the score
I went to a seminar last weekend with Lauren featuring the author of The Body Keeps the Score. Written by Dr Bessel Van Der Kolk, this landmark book explores how trauma doesn't just live in the mind — it gets stored in the body itself. Van der Kolk, a psychiatrist and trauma researcher, explains that unresolved trauma reshapes the brain and nervous system, showing up as chronic tension, pain, anxiety, fatigue, and disconnection from the body.
Dr. Bessel explains that when we experience something threatening — no matter how long ago, how minor it seemed, or how little impact we thought it had at the time — the brain creates a blueprint from that moment. And once that blueprint is locked in, the brain will trigger the same response every time it detects something even remotely similar, pulling us back into a version of that original experience whether we're conscious of it or not.
Because this isn't really the forum for big trauma conversations, I'll share one of my smaller ones — because it feels relevant.
A while ago, I was having a difficult time at a gym I used to attend. Without going into detail, the environment had become really uncomfortable for me, and while I was never in any physical danger, my body started responding as though I was. For weeks, every drive to the gym came with sweaty palms, a tight chest, and a racing heart. I'd spend the whole journey playing out scenarios in my head, forcing myself not to take the nearest exit and go home. I'd arrive feeling anxious, grind through my session, and leave feeling mentally exhausted on top of physically spent.
Eventually I left and found a different gym. The environment was completely different — but my body didn't get the memo. For months, I had the same response. Sweaty palms, tight chest, racing heart, with nothing in my new surroundings to actually explain it. My nervous system had simply filed "gym" as a threat, and it didn't matter which gym I walked into, and who was there.
So I stopped going. I trained alone, sent my coach videos, and quietly decided that this was just how things would be now. I didn't need to compete. I didn't need to be around people. I could just lift by myself and everything would be fine.
It took a long time to move past that, and honestly, it still surfaces occasionally. What eventually shifted things was deliberately creating a new blueprint — showing up, again and again, to experience an environment that was warm, safe, and supportive, until my brain slowly started to believe it.
These days, the drive to the gym is something I genuinely enjoy. I put on a podcast, look forward to seeing my coach, and get excited about my session. If I skip it, I miss it. And while my brain still does its old thing occasionally, it's become much less frequent — and much less convincing.
Having built a space where feeling safe and welcome is the foundation, I'm also deeply aware that what that looks like is different for everyone. Someone else could have had the exact experience I described and walked away completely unfazed — no lingering anxiety, no months of avoidance. There's no way to predict every person's triggers, and as much as we'd love to call this a truly safe space, that's not something anyone can promise unconditionally.
What we can promise is this: we'll listen, we'll lead with kindness, and no matter how long you're here — whether it's a week or a decade — you'll feel welcome.
