Why Do I Feel Worse in the Summer?
A researcher named Tali Sharot has spent much of her career studying what she calls the “optimism bias,” the human tendency to overestimate how…
Sarah had built a good life. She had a loving husband, a fulfilling career, and friendships that sustained her. Yet every time her boss’s tone shifted slightly during meetings, her body reacted as if she were 12 years old again, bracing for her father’s unpredictable rage. Twenty years had passed, but her nervous system hadn’t gotten the memo. She wondered, as so many do: “Why can’t I just move on?”
If you’ve ever felt hijacked by your past—if old wounds feel as fresh as yesterday, or if you find yourself reacting to present situations with the intensity of past pain—you’re experiencing one of trauma’s most frustrating features. Unlike regular memories that fade and soften with time, trauma has a way of staying vivid, immediate, and overwhelmingly present.
When something traumatic happens, your brain doesn’t process it like a regular memory. Think of normal memories like files that get properly sorted, labeled, and stored in your mental filing cabinet. You can access them when you want, and they have a clear timestamp that says “this happened in the past.”
Trauma memories, however, are like scattered papers blown across your mental office by a hurricane. They never got properly filed because your brain was too busy trying to survive. These fragments—sounds, smells, body sensations, emotions—float around without context or timeline. That’s why a particular cologne can suddenly transport you back to a painful moment, or why your body might freeze up in situations that your logical mind knows are safe.
Your nervous system doesn’t distinguish between a memory of danger and actual present danger. When trauma memories get triggered, your body responds as if the threat is happening right now, flooding you with the same stress hormones and activating the same survival responses as during the original event¹.
People often describe trauma as feeling “frozen in time,” and neuroscience shows us why this metaphor is so apt. During overwhelming experiences, the part of your brain responsible for sequencing and time-stamping memories, the hippocampus, can go offline². Without this crucial processing, traumatic experiences exist in a kind of eternal present tense.
This is why you might intellectually know that you’re safe now, that years have passed, that circumstances have changed completely, yet your body remains convinced otherwise. It’s not a failure of willpower or an inability to “let go.” It’s your nervous system doing exactly what it evolved to do: prioritize survival over accuracy.
Unhealed trauma rarely announces itself clearly. Instead, it whispers through patterns you might not immediately connect to past experiences. You might notice yourself having emotional reactions that seem too big for the current situation—crying uncontrollably when a friend cancels plans, or feeling rage when someone interrupts you. These aren’t character flaws; they’re often emotional memories from times when disappointment or powerlessness felt genuinely threatening.
Many people with unhealed trauma develop an internal emotional thermostat that only has two settings: numb or overwhelmed. You might feel disconnected during moments that should bring joy—holding your child, celebrating achievements, spending time with loved ones—as if you’re watching your life through glass. Alternatively, you might find yourself flooded with intense emotions over seemingly minor triggers, unable to regulate your responses despite your best efforts.
Trauma has a way of writing scripts for our relationships that we follow without realizing it. You might find yourself drawn to people who feel familiar in all the wrong ways, recreating dynamics from your past. Or perhaps you’ve become hyper-independent, struggling to let anyone close enough to potentially hurt you.
These patterns often show up as an inability to trust even trustworthy people, expecting betrayal or abandonment even from those who’ve shown consistent care. You might find yourself testing relationships, pushing people away to see if they’ll stay, or clinging too tightly out of fear they’ll leave. Some people become emotional chameleons, shape-shifting to avoid conflict, having learned early that being yourself wasn’t safe.
Your body often holds trauma memories more faithfully than your conscious mind¹. Chronic pain with no clear medical cause, particularly in areas that were involved in the trauma, is common. Digestive issues, headaches, and muscle tension that won’t respond to typical treatments often have roots in unprocessed trauma.
You might notice your startle response is hair-trigger sensitive—jumping at sudden noises, feeling constantly on guard even in safe environments. Sleep becomes complicated when your nervous system won’t fully shut down. You might experience nightmares, or simply find yourself unable to achieve deep, restorative sleep because some part of you remains vigilant.
Your amygdala—your brain’s smoke alarm—becomes hypersensitive after trauma⁷. In people with unhealed trauma, this alarm system is like a smoke detector that goes off every time you make toast. It’s trying to protect you, but it’s calibrated to a threat level that no longer exists.
Meanwhile, your prefrontal cortex—the part of your brain that could tell the smoke alarm “it’s just toast, we’re safe”—goes offline during trauma responses⁸. This is why logic and reasoning feel impossible when you’re triggered. You can’t think your way out of a trauma response any more than you can think your way out of a smoke-filled room. You need to calm your nervous system first, then your thinking brain can come back online.
Recent neuroscience research has revealed something fascinating about trauma and the brain’s default mode network—the system that’s active when we’re not focused on specific tasks. In people with unhealed trauma, this network often defaults to scanning for threats, replaying past events, or dissociating¹⁰.
This is why quiet moments can feel unbearable for trauma survivors. When external distractions fade, the internal noise becomes deafening. It’s why you might stay perpetually busy, avoid meditation, or feel anxious when things are “too quiet.” Your brain is trying to protect you from the unprocessed material that surfaces in stillness.
Your “window of tolerance” is the zone where you feel calm and capable of handling life’s normal ups and downs⁶. Trauma shrinks this window, making you more likely to flip into hyperarousal (anxiety, panic, rage) or hypoarousal (numbness, disconnection, depression).
Start by noticing where you are throughout the day. Are you in your window, above it, or below it? When you notice you’re outside your window, try these simple techniques:
If you’re in hyperarousal (too activated), focus on extending your exhale. Breathe in for 4 counts, out for 8. This activates your parasympathetic nervous system, your body’s natural brake pedal. You can also try gentle movement like slow walking or light stretching, focusing on feeling your feet on the ground.
If you’re in hypoarousal (too shut down), try gentle activation. Splash cold water on your face, step outside for fresh air, or do some light jumping jacks. The goal isn’t to shock your system but to gently invite more aliveness.
Before diving into trauma processing, you need resources—internal and external supports that help you feel grounded and safe. Think of it like building a cushion around the hard stuff.
Start by identifying your resources. What helps you feel even 10% calmer or more grounded? This might be your pet, a particular song, the smell of lavender, or the feeling of soft fabric. Practice calling these resources to mind when you’re calm, so they’re easier to access when you need them.
Create a resource menu for different situations. What helps when you’re anxious might be different from what helps when you’re numb. Maybe anxiety responds to weight (a heavy blanket, a tight hug), while numbness responds to temperature (a hot shower, holding ice cubes). There’s no right answer—only what works for your unique nervous system.
Pendulation is a technique from somatic therapy that helps your nervous system learn it can move between states without getting stuck³. Instead of trying to force yourself to feel better, you practice gently moving between comfort and discomfort.
Start small. Notice an area of tension in your body, then find an area that feels neutral or comfortable. Spend 30 seconds focusing on the tense area, then 30 seconds on the comfortable area. Notice what happens. Often, this gentle swinging helps the tension begin to release without forcing anything.
You can also pendulate between difficult memories and positive resources. Think briefly about something mildly stressful (not your biggest trauma), then shift to thinking about your resources. Back and forth, like a gentle swing. This teaches your nervous system that you can touch difficult feelings and return to safety.
Your nervous system needs repeated experiences of safety to update its programming. Start with your environment. Is there a space in your home that feels particularly safe? Enhance it with soft lighting, comfortable textures, and objects that bring you comfort. Spend time there doing nothing but being present, letting your nervous system learn that safety exists.
Practice present-moment anchoring throughout your day. Feel your feet on the ground, notice the temperature of the air on your skin, listen to the sounds around you. These simple practices might seem too basic to matter, but they’re teaching your nervous system a crucial lesson: right here, right now, you’re safe.
Healing from trauma doesn’t mean forgetting what happened or pretending it didn’t affect you. It means developing a different relationship with your history. You can acknowledge that something terrible happened AND recognize that it’s not happening now. You can honor your survival AND choose different patterns moving forward.
This both/and approach helps you avoid the extremes of either denying your trauma or being defined by it. Your trauma is part of your story, but it’s not the whole story. You’re not broken; you’re having a normal response to abnormal circumstances.
Trauma healing happens in tiny increments, not dramatic breakthroughs. It’s in the moment you notice you’re triggered and take one deep breath. It’s in choosing to call a friend instead of isolating. It’s in saying “no” to something that doesn’t feel right, even if your voice shakes.
Celebrate these micro-victories. Your nervous system learns through repetition, not intensity. Every small choice toward healing matters, even if you can’t see the changes yet. Like drops of water eventually filling a bucket, these moments of choosing differently add up to transformation.
While self-help tools are valuable, some trauma requires professional support to process safely. Consider seeking trauma-informed therapy if you’re experiencing flashbacks or intrusive memories that disrupt your daily life, if you’re using substances or behaviors to cope with emotional pain, if your relationships are suffering due to trauma responses, or if you’ve been trying self-help approaches for months without relief.
Trauma therapy has come a long way. Approaches like EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)⁴, somatic experiencing³, and Internal Family Systems⁹ work with your body and nervous system, not just your thoughts. You don’t have to relive every detail of your trauma to heal from it.
Look for therapists who specialize in trauma and understand the body-mind connection. A good trauma therapist will help you build resources before processing difficult memories, work at your pace without pushing too hard, and help you stay within your window of tolerance while gradually expanding it.
Remember, seeking help isn’t weakness. You wouldn’t try to set your own broken bone, and trauma can be just as complex to heal properly. Professional support can make the difference between staying stuck and finding freedom.
Living with unhealed trauma can feel like being haunted by ghosts that refuse to rest. But here’s what I want you to know: your nervous system’s insistence on remembering isn’t a flaw but rather a testament to your survival. Those outdated alarm bells ring because some part of you is still trying to keep you safe.
Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never be triggered again or that the past will be erased. It means the past will finally feel like the past. Your body will learn, through patient repetition, that the danger has passed. Your nervous system will update its files, properly time-stamping those scattered memories so they stop intruding on your present.
This work isn’t easy, but it’s possible. Every trauma survivor who has found their way to greater peace started exactly where you are now, wondering if they’ll be stuck forever, doubting their ability to heal, but taking one small step anyway.
Your past may have shaped you, but it doesn’t have to define your future. With the right tools, support, and gentle persistence, you can find your way from just surviving to truly living. The past will always be part of your story, but it doesn’t have to be the author of your future chapters.
Start where you are. Start with one breath, one resource, one moment of noticing you’re safe right now. Your healing matters, and it’s never too late to begin.
If you remember nothing else from this article, remember these crucial points:
Your past shaped you, but it doesn’t have to imprison you. Start with one small practice today—notice your window, activate one resource, take one conscious breath when triggered. Your nervous system is capable of learning that the danger has passed. With patience and the right support, the past can finally feel like the past, freeing you to fully inhabit your present life.
Disclaimer: This article is for informational and educational purposes only and is not intended as medical or psychological advice. It should not be used to diagnose or treat any mental health condition. If you’re experiencing symptoms of trauma, PTSD, or other mental health concerns, please consult with a qualified mental health professional. If you’re having thoughts of self-harm or suicide, please reach out for immediate help by calling 988 (Suicide & Crisis Lifeline) in the US or your local emergency services.
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