Have you ever wondered why a certain tone of voice makes your stomach tighten?
Or why your shoulders rise before you even know you’re stressed?
Or why a simple memory – or even a smell – can make your breath catch?
Most of us think we ‘forget’ things. But our bodies don’t forget. The body holds the story.
Bessel van der Kolk, author of The Body Keeps the Score, says it takes enormous trust and courage to allow yourself to remember. I agree. So many of our memories – especially the painful ones – don’t live in words. They live in our posture, breath, tension, flinches, habits, and the quiet ways we brace against life.
What the body holds
In Constellations work, we can map out what is held in the client or seeker’s body. We get to see their stories emerge partly from what the client says, but also from the field itself.
We set up the main people, places or elements and watch. Perhaps there is a slight collapse in the chest. Someone holds their breath. Another is frozen still and quietly sinks to the floor. A sudden urge to look away. These are not ‘symptoms’. They’re messages. They’re the body saying, “Something happened here.”
I’ve seen it many times where someone is invited to stand and represent someone, then they struggle to stand on their right leg, or find their toes curled up in a particular way. When the client sees this, they say “Oh yes, great uncle Harry had a limp from polio, or this person was in an accident and lost some toes.” It is extraordinary how this information is stored and made accessible again through this work.
Modern neuroscience and fascial research are catching up with what somatic practitioners have known for decades: our fascia – the stretchy web around our muscles and organs – is alive, intelligent, and full of sensory nerve endings. Some researchers estimate it holds ten times more nerve endings than muscle. It’s not just padding. It’s a living record.
When something overwhelming happens – a loss, a shock, a betrayal, a family trauma – the fascia tightens to protect us. It can dehydrate, stiffen, or form sticky adhesions. Over time, this becomes a kind of “body memory,” sometimes called neuro‑fascial memory. Not because the body is dramatic, but because it’s trying to keep us safe.
Why somatic awareness matters in facilitation
This is why somatic awareness, or body sensations, are such a big part of my facilitation. Words can lie. Stories can be polished. But the body tells the truth.
When I’m with a client, I’m watching for these body sensations, how they shift – the breath that stops, the shoulders that rise, the eyes that close, the feet that turn away. These are invitations. They show me where the story is living and wanting us to look and see.
When we bring our gentle attention and really look to those places, something that has been held in the dark, frozen, locked can begin to move once more. The body begins to trust. The story begins to unwind.
I was recently facilitating and a man was invited to represent the client’s father – he had marched into the field and stood stiffly, almost defiantly with arms folded. I went and stood next to him, to attune to him. I felt my heart sink and squeeze as my body hardened and stiffened. The inner and the outer truths. This Father felt so much loss and pain, but was unable to access or express this. So he armoured his heart and got on with working and financially supporting his family. He pushed down his feelings. In the constellation, the representative was able to express what the man never could, he cried, he shared his feelings and hugged his wife.
Why remembering is brave
Unprocessed family trauma, personal loss, guilt, shame – these things don’t disappear just because we don’t talk about them. They settle into our organs, fascia and tissues. They wait for the right conditions to be met: safety, warmth, accompaniment.
When someone finally feels safe enough to remember not with their mind, but with their body – it’s a profound moment. A new truth becomes available and possible to be embodied and known. A new structure begins to grow inside their brain and body.
And this is where imagination comes in. As van der Kolk says, imagination is critical to the quality of our lives. When the body feels safe, we can imagine new possibilities. New futures. New ways of being.
A gentle invitation
So I’ll ask you:
Where does your body tighten when you think about your past? What parts of you go quiet? What stories might your breath, your posture, or your movement be holding? You don’t need to know, but if you are curious and ready to begin to see differently, please let me know.