When a person experiences overwhelming fear, helplessness, violation, loss, or chronic stress, the body does not file the event away like a story in a book. It encodes it as survival data.

The question is not whether trauma affects the body. It does. The real question is how.

First, the brain changes.

Neuroimaging studies consistently show that individuals with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) often have an overactive amygdala—the brain’s alarm system—and reduced activity in the prefrontal cortex, the region responsible for reasoning and impulse control [1]. The hippocampus, which helps distinguish past from present, is frequently smaller in chronic trauma survivors [2]. That matters. When the hippocampus struggles, the brain has difficulty tagging a threat as “over.” The body reacts as if it is still happening.

This is why someone can be safe in a quiet room yet feel their heart race as if they are under attack.

Trauma also disrupts the stress-response system—the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis. Cortisol and adrenaline are meant to surge briefly and then settle. In trauma survivors, that system can become dysregulated. Either it fires too easily or it shuts down inefficiently [3]. Over time, chronic activation contributes to inflammation, cardiovascular strain, metabolic disorders, and immune dysfunction.

The body pays interest on unresolved stress.

Large-scale research confirms the long-term consequences. The landmark Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACE) study, conducted by the CDC and Kaiser Permanente, found that individuals with four or more adverse experiences in childhood were significantly more likely to develop heart disease, chronic lung disease, depression, and substance use disorders later in life [4]. The higher the ACE score, the higher the health risk. This is not metaphor. It is epidemiology.

So where is trauma “stored”?

Not in muscles as literal memory. Not in bones as mysticism. Trauma is stored in neural pathways, in conditioned physiological responses, and in procedural memory—body-based memory that operates below conscious awareness.

Think of it this way: if you touch a hot stove, you do not need to retell the story to recoil the next time. Your nervous system remembers. Trauma works similarly. The body encodes threat patterns—tight jaw, shallow breathing, clenched hips, hypervigilance. These are adaptive responses that became chronic.

Researchers call this implicit or somatic memory [5]. The person may not recall every detail, but their body reacts to cues that resemble the original threat.

There is also emerging research in epigenetics showing that severe stress can alter gene expression—turning certain stress-related genes “on” or “off” through methylation patterns [6]. This does not change DNA structure, but it changes how genes function. Trauma can influence biology at the molecular level. That influence may even affect offspring in some cases, though this area is still being studied and remains complex.

Now, the harder question: what about organ transplantation? Can someone “inherit” trauma from a donor?

This topic attracts sensational stories, particularly involving heart transplants. There are anecdotal reports of recipients developing new preferences, cravings, or emotional tendencies resembling those of their donors. However, controlled scientific evidence does not support the theory that memories are stored in transplanted organs. The current medical consensus attributes such changes to psychological adaptation, medication effects, survivor’s guilt, and the profound emotional experience of transplantation itself.

That said, transplant recipients do face measurable psychological strain. Studies show elevated rates of anxiety and depression following organ transplantation, often related to identity shifts, fear of organ rejection, and existential questions about survival [7]. The body is changed. The immune system is suppressed. The person must integrate a new biological reality. That process alone can be destabilizing.

Trauma does not transfer through tissue. But the experience of life-saving surgery can be traumatic in its own right.

So what can be done?

The answer is not “just talk about it.” Cognitive understanding is important, but trauma lives in the nervous system. Treatment must address both mind and body.

Evidence-based approaches include:

Cognitive Processing Therapy (CPT) and Prolonged Exposure Therapy (PE), which help the brain reclassify traumatic memories as past events rather than ongoing threats [8].

EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing), which has strong empirical support for reducing PTSD symptoms by facilitating adaptive memory reconsolidation [9].

Trauma-focused cognitive behavioral therapy for children and adolescents.

Body-based interventions, including trauma-sensitive yoga and somatic therapies, which help recalibrate autonomic nervous system regulation. Randomized trials show yoga can reduce PTSD symptom severity, particularly in women with chronic trauma histories [10].

Medication, when appropriate, including SSRIs and in some cases adjunctive therapies to reduce hyperarousal.

Breathwork and vagal tone regulation techniques that directly influence parasympathetic activation. Slow, diaphragmatic breathing is not spiritual theater—it changes heart rate variability and nervous system balance.

Healing trauma is not about erasing memory. It is about restoring regulation.

A regulated nervous system can remember without reliving.

If trauma has altered neural pathways, those pathways can also be reshaped. Neuroplasticity is not theoretical. It is observable. The brain changes in response to repeated corrective experiences.

But here is the critical distinction: insight without integration does not heal trauma. You can intellectually understand your past and still live in a body that reacts as if it is under siege.

Real recovery requires safety, repetition, relational trust, and physiological recalibration.

Trauma is not weakness. It is a survival adaptation that outlived its usefulness.

The body is not the enemy. It is the record.

And records can be rewritten—not by denial, not by force—but by consistent, evidence-based restoration of nervous system stability.

References

[1] Rauch, S. L., Shin, L. M., & Phelps, E. A. (2006). Neurocircuitry models of PTSD and extinction. Biological Psychiatry, 60(4), 376–382.
[2] Bremner, J. D. (2006). Traumatic stress: effects on the brain. Dialogues in Clinical Neuroscience, 8(4), 445–461.
[3] Yehuda, R. (2002). Post-traumatic stress disorder. New England Journal of Medicine, 346(2), 108–114.
[4] Felitti, V. J., et al. (1998). Relationship of childhood abuse and household dysfunction to leading causes of death. American Journal of Preventive Medicine, 14(4), 245–258.
[5] van der Kolk, B. A. (1994). The body keeps the score. Harvard Review of Psychiatry, 1(5), 253–265.
[6] McGowan, P. O., et al. (2009). Epigenetic regulation of the glucocorticoid receptor in human brain associates with childhood abuse. Nature Neuroscience, 12(3), 342–348.
[7] Dew, M. A., et al. (2015). Depression and anxiety in organ transplantation recipients. Current Opinion in Organ Transplantation, 20(2), 188–193.
[8] Resick, P. A., et al. (2017). A randomized clinical trial of group cognitive processing therapy. Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology.
[9] Shapiro, F. (2014). The role of EMDR in trauma treatment. Journal of EMDR Practice and Research.
[10] van der Kolk, B. A., et al. (2014). Yoga as an adjunctive treatment for PTSD. Journal of Clinical Psychiatry.