The Body Remembers, But Does It Really?
A Critical Look at the Resurgence of Repressed Memories
There’s a phrase that’s been echoing across social media, therapy rooms, and casual conversations lately: “The body keeps the score.” On the surface, it’s a compelling way to describe how trauma leaves its mark—not just in the mind, but in the physical body. But as someone who’s spent years dissecting the intersection of psychology and culture, I can’t help but feel a twinge of unease. What makes this particularly fascinating is how a single idea, popularized by Bessel van der Kolk’s The Body Keeps the Score, has morphed into a cultural mantra—one that, in my opinion, oversimplifies a far more complex and contentious issue.
The Allure of a Simple Truth
Let’s start with why this phrase resonates. Trauma is messy, and the idea that our bodies hold onto pain in ways our minds can’t fully grasp feels intuitively right. It’s a comforting explanation for why some people experience physical symptoms—chronic pain, insomnia, panic attacks—long after a traumatic event. But here’s where it gets tricky: the book’s core argument isn’t just that trauma affects the body. It’s that traumatic memories are stored in the body, inaccessible to conscious memory, only to resurface later as physical symptoms.
Personally, I think this is where the line between insight and oversimplification blurs. The concept of repressed memories isn’t new—it’s a relic of the 1990s “memory wars,” a heated debate among clinicians and researchers about whether the mind can truly bury memories of trauma. After decades of research, the consensus was clear: memory isn’t a filing cabinet where files can be locked away and retrieved intact. It’s reconstructive, malleable, and prone to distortion. Yet, here we are, revisiting the idea as if it’s a groundbreaking revelation.
The Memory Myth and Its Modern Revival
What many people don’t realize is that the resurgence of repressed memory theory isn’t just about revisiting old ideas—it’s about repackaging them in a way that feels fresh and scientifically validated. The body-centric narrative adds a layer of biological credibility, as if saying, “It’s not just in your head; it’s in your cells.” But if you take a step back and think about it, this raises a deeper question: Are we conflating the undeniable physical effects of trauma with a dubious theory about memory?
From my perspective, the problem isn’t that trauma doesn’t affect the body—it absolutely does. Stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline can wreak havoc on our systems, leading to everything from high blood pressure to PTSD symptoms. But the leap from “trauma changes the body” to “the body stores hidden memories” is a massive one, and it’s not supported by the bulk of memory research.
The Therapy Trap
One thing that immediately stands out is how this narrative has influenced therapeutic practices. The Body Keeps the Score promotes alternative therapies like yoga, psychodrama, and even psychedelic-assisted therapy as ways to “release” these supposed repressed memories. Now, don’t get me wrong—yoga can be incredibly beneficial for stress reduction, and psychedelics like MDMA have shown promise in controlled settings. But the claim that these methods can unlock buried memories? That’s where I draw the line.
A detail that I find especially interesting is how this idea has been monetized. Scroll through social media, and you’ll find ads suggesting that your insomnia or anxiety might be due to repressed trauma. Take a quiz, get a diagnosis, and sign up for a paid coaching program. It’s a lucrative narrative, but it’s also a dangerous one. What this really suggests is that we’re not just dealing with a psychological theory—we’re dealing with a cultural phenomenon that’s being exploited.
The Psychedelics Paradox
Speaking of psychedelics, let’s talk about the elephant in the room. MDMA and psilocybin are being hailed as potential game-changers for trauma treatment, and I’m not dismissing their potential. But here’s the catch: these substances make people more suggestible. In a therapeutic setting, this means a person might “remember” something that never happened, simply because the experience feels so vivid and real.
This raises a deeper question: Are we trading one form of harm—the trauma itself—for another, like false memories that could reshape someone’s identity? Early reports of apparent trauma memories emerging during psychedelic therapy are already raising red flags. What many people don’t realize is that memory isn’t just about recalling the past; it’s about constructing a narrative that makes sense in the present. And when that narrative is influenced by external suggestions, the line between truth and fiction blurs dangerously.
The Cultural Shift: What’s Really at Stake?
If you take a step back and think about it, the resurgence of repressed memory theory isn’t just about psychology—it’s about how we understand ourselves as a society. Trauma has become a buzzword, a lens through which we interpret everything from personal struggles to systemic issues. But has this broadened our understanding, or has it narrowed it?
In my opinion, the real danger isn’t the theory itself, but how it’s being used. By attributing every physical symptom to hidden trauma, we risk overlooking other explanations—medical, environmental, or even situational. We’re also feeding into a narrative that trauma is inevitable, inescapable, and all-encompassing. This isn’t empowerment; it’s disempowerment disguised as insight.
Final Thoughts: The Score We’re Really Keeping
So, does the body keep the score? In a way, yes—trauma leaves its mark, and the body bears the brunt of it. But the idea that it stores hidden memories, waiting to be unlocked through alternative therapies, is a stretch at best and a harmful oversimplification at worst.
What this really suggests is that we need to be more critical of the narratives we adopt, especially when they’re wrapped in the language of science and healing. Trauma is real, and so is the need for effective treatments. But let’s not confuse a catchy phrase with a comprehensive understanding. The body may keep the score, but it’s up to us to make sure we’re reading it correctly.
