Have you ever stopped to think about why the phrase ‘the body keeps the score’ has become such a cultural catchphrase? Personally, I find it fascinating how a single idea from a book can permeate everyday conversations, therapy sessions, and even social media trends. But here’s the thing: while the concept resonates deeply with many, it’s also a double-edged sword. Let me explain.
The phrase, popularized by Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score, has become shorthand for the physical toll of trauma. And yes, trauma undeniably affects the body—elevated cortisol levels, disrupted sleep, heightened anxiety—these are real, measurable effects. But what’s troubling is how the idea has been oversimplified, almost weaponized, into something far more contentious: the notion that traumatic memories are repressed in the body, waiting to be ‘released’ through specific therapies.
Here’s where it gets tricky. The concept of repressed memories isn’t new; it’s a relic of the 1990s ‘memory wars,’ a scientific debate that largely concluded these memories were unreliable, often false, and sometimes implanted through suggestive therapy techniques. Yet, like a zombie idea, it’s back—and it’s thriving. What makes this particularly fascinating is how it’s been repackaged as a ‘body-centric’ approach, as if storing memories in muscles or organs somehow makes it more credible. Spoiler: it doesn’t.
From my perspective, the resurgence of this idea isn’t just a scientific concern—it’s a cultural one. It taps into our collective desire for neat explanations of complex phenomena. Trauma is messy, memory is fallible, and healing is nonlinear. But telling someone their insomnia or panic attacks are due to ‘hidden trauma’ they can’t remember? That’s a tidy narrative, and it sells. Literally. From online quizzes promising to uncover your ‘forgotten trauma’ to pricey coaching programs, the commodification of this idea is alarming.
One thing that immediately stands out is how this narrative intersects with the rise of alternative therapies. Yoga, psychedelics, guided imagery—these practices can be beneficial, no doubt. But when they’re framed as tools to ‘access repressed memories,’ they become something else entirely. Take psychedelic-assisted therapy, for instance. While MDMA and psilocybin show promise in controlled settings, they also make people highly suggestible. Combine that with a therapist suggesting, ‘Maybe this feeling is a memory,’ and you’ve got a recipe for false memories that feel eerily real.
What many people don’t realize is that memory isn’t a video recording; it’s a reconstruction. Every time we recall an event, it’s influenced by our emotions, new information, and even other people’s narratives. This is why suggestive techniques like hypnosis or guided imagery are so risky—they can plant memories that never existed. And yet, here we are, with a bestseller and countless social media influencers peddling the idea that these ‘hidden’ memories are the key to healing.
If you take a step back and think about it, this raises a deeper question: Why are we so drawn to this narrative? Is it because it offers a sense of control in the face of trauma’s chaos? Or is it because it absolves us of the hard work of grappling with ambiguity? Personally, I think it’s a bit of both. But the cost of this comfort is high—it distracts from evidence-based treatments and perpetuates a myth that can do more harm than good.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how this idea has shifted public perceptions of trauma. Suddenly, everyone’s an expert, diagnosing themselves and others with ‘unremembered trauma.’ What this really suggests is a broader cultural anxiety about mental health, coupled with a thirst for quick fixes. But trauma isn’t a puzzle to be solved; it’s a wound that requires time, patience, and often, traditional therapies like CBT or EMDR.
In my opinion, the real tragedy here isn’t the idea itself but how it’s being misused. The body does keep the score—but not in the way this narrative suggests. It keeps the score through physiological changes, not hidden memories. And while alternative therapies can be part of the healing process, they shouldn’t be sold as a magic bullet for uncovering a past that may not exist.
What this all boils down to is a cautionary tale about the power of storytelling. Ideas, especially those about the mind and body, are seductive. They offer explanations, hope, and sometimes, profit. But as consumers of these narratives, we owe it to ourselves to ask harder questions. Is this idea supported by evidence? What’s the motive behind its promotion? And most importantly, does it truly serve those it claims to help?
So, the next time you hear someone say, ‘The body keeps the score,’ remember: it’s not just a phrase—it’s a lens through which we view trauma, memory, and healing. And like any lens, it can clarify or distort. The choice is ours.
