In recent months, I’ve been introduced to how Jungian therapists, who often work with the depths of the psyche, also incorporate the body into their therapeutic approach. This has opened my eyes to how much wisdom our bodies truly carry. This is not about being “stubborn” but about understanding that the body holds memories, experiences, and even emotions that haven’t been fully processed. In therapy, the body can bring you back to those moments, offering a gateway to healing.
What fascinates me is how, in a therapeutic setting, the body allows us to re-experience something difficult, but this time with a new perspective. The therapist offers a safe container for the experience, so you can stay connected to your conscious self, analyze the emotion or sensation, and even complete a trauma reaction that you weren’t able to when the experience first happened. This is crucial because it’s not just our minds that hold onto unresolved emotions—our bodies do, too.
I learned during my psychosocial studies that the brain doesn’t differentiate between real experiences and vividly imagined ones, especially when it comes to fear. In conditions like PTSD, the brain reacts to triggers or imagined threats as if they are real dangers, trapping the body in a perpetual state of trauma. This may have served an evolutionary purpose, but in today’s world, it often works against us, with constant exposure to stressful information from around the globe. Our bodies can end up in a near-constant state of heightened stress.
The beauty of body-oriented therapy is that it offers a way out of this loop, by releasing what’s trapped in the body. I’m now exploring how I can incorporate this into my own therapeutic work. I believe that healing cannot just be about words. We must include the body’s truth alongside the rational, spiritual, and unconscious layers of ourselves. These elements all influence our daily lives, and integrating them is essential for true transformation.
I want to touch specifically on anger, an emotion that many of us struggle to express, whether because of cultural norms or because the target of our anger wasn’t able to receive it. In my case, I’ve worked through much of my anger mentally, but when I explored my body—particularly in my shoulders, arms, chest, and neck—I found unexpressed rage still locked inside. This anger, surprisingly, is tied to situations that my mind had already processed and “moved on from,” but my body had not.
Our bodies move much more slowly than our minds, and for good reason—they provide balance. But for someone like me, who is an intuitive thinker, this can be challenging to grasp. I’ve come to understand that my body needs time to catch up, and that it’s holding onto incomplete stress reactions from past experiences. These unresolved emotions often relate to times when I couldn’t express my anger because I wasn’t allowed, or because the other person wasn’t equipped to handle it.
This is particularly true when dealing with narcissistic dynamics, where the ground is constantly shifting beneath you. Narcissists are skilled at distorting reality, leaving you confused about whether your anger is justified. In these relationships, your boundaries are eroded, and even when you feel anger, it’s stripped of legitimacy. This can lead to a profound sense of frustration and helplessness, where you’re aware of being trapped but unable to express it or escape.
I believe this phenomenon is not limited to personal relationships but extends to broader societal dynamics. Many of us feel trapped in systems that don’t work for us, environments that stifle our voices, or a world grappling with climate crises and systemic failures. There’s a collective sense of not being able to break free, and this can deeply affect our bodies. The anger that we can’t express builds up and turns inward, manifesting as pain, chronic tension, or even self-punishment.
Thankfully, with time, patience, and therapeutic work, it is possible to release this anger and complete these trapped stress responses. I’m personally learning to give myself the space to let the anger seep out of my body, even as my mind has already processed much of it. This is a slow process, one that requires time and the ability to stay with the experience without rushing to “fix” it.
The path to healing lies in acknowledging how trapped we’ve been, staying present with those feelings, and allowing our bodies the time they need to heal. It’s uncomfortable, but it’s necessary. And it’s something I’m continuing to explore, both for myself and for others.
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