When the Body Keeps Score: Trauma, Illness, and Finding Real Healing
- karenmrubinstein
- Aug 30
- 4 min read
How our bodies hold on to pain—and how recovery, community, and self-compassion help us let go
The Body Tells the Truth
This week in our Women in the Rooms circle, we explored a theme that runs deeper than words: how our bodies carry what our minds cannot say. These meetings aren’t like any other. Here, we’re safe to tell the truth, to let our bodies and hearts finally loosen and breathe.
When I was a kid, my body spoke for me long before I understood its language. I had stomach aches, constant colds and flus, and bronchitis that always seemed to hover near pneumonia. Just recently, while cleaning out the garage with Barry, I found my first-grade report card—it showed I was absent for thirty days in a single school year.
Thirty! That isn’t simply a “weak immune system.” It’s a child’s body crying out.
Looking back, I can see my small body was acting out the tension and confusion I felt but couldn’t name.
Chronic illness in children is often linked to stress in the home—even when a child isn’t consciously aware of it, according to the Harvard Center on the Developing Child and recent research.
Stomach trouble frequently signals anxiety or the inability to “digest” what’s happening emotionally.
Lungs and chronic bronchitis may reflect unprocessed grief, loss, or the sense of being unable to speak one’s truth—findings supported by studies on stress and childhood health.
Chakra perspective:
Stomach issues are associated with the solar plexus (power and identity).
Lungs and throat connect to our expression and to the heart’s sense of safety.
My body became the messenger and, in many ways, the only one brave enough to tell my real story.
The Weight of Silence
Decades later, after the trauma of therapy abuse from a trusted professional, I gained a hundred pounds in a single year. (Yes, one hundred pounds—within just twelve months!) That weight gain wasn’t simply about food. It was pure surrender. I stopped caring, and my body showed it.
My body spoke again—this time saying, “I give up. I can’t carry this.”
My weight became both my uniform and my armor. I remember constantly wearing head-to-toe black—stretchy pants and flowy tops. I called it my “uniform” because I wore it every day, hoping it would help me hide in plain sight. The fat itself, in so many ways, became a shield: protection from men’s attention, from being sexualized, from a world where I no longer felt safe.
And I’m not alone. Research shows that women who experience childhood sexual abuse are nearly twice as likely to become obese in adulthood compared to women without such histories. Multiple studies published in medical journals, including the National Institutes of Health’s PubMed Central, confirm a strong association between childhood sexual abuse and obesity in women. For example:
One study found that 33% of women who experienced childhood sexual abuse became obese as adults, versus 18% of those who were not abused.
Another review highlights that both sexual and physical abuse in childhood increase the risk even further, suggesting these experiences can affect eating behaviors, metabolism, and coping strategies.
Psychology offers reasons for this connection: “barrier weight” provides protection, a way for survivors to become less visible to potential abusers, or to feel distanced from the body that was hurt. As the late Bessel van der Kolk put it: “The body keeps the score.”
Illness as Armor, Fat as Voice
As a child, my sick body was really saying: “I can’t handle this.”
Later, my adult body, padded with weight, was saying: “Stay away. I don’t feel safe.”
In both cases, my body wasn’t betraying me. It was trying to protect me—speaking the truth I couldn’t yet speak.
Below is a photo of me at about 80 pounds heavier, circa 2015.
From Armor to Alignment
My body’s language shifted, but the message was always the same: “I’m not safe.”
Recovery has changed my relationship with my body. No longer an enemy. No longer just a container to punish, push, or numb. Instead, the body is a messenger—a compass pointing me toward healing.
For years, my mind, body, and spirit were scattered—like a snowman’s pieces after a thaw. Today, I work to bring them back into alignment.
Tension in my chest? That’s usually fear I haven’t named.
An ache in my stomach? Anxiety, bracing for rejection or loss of control.
Extra weight? It’s no longer my armor. It’s an invitation to listen more compassionately to myself.
The truth is: my body isn’t against me. It’s always been trying to help me survive.
Now, in sobriety, I can finally hear what it’s been trying to say all along:You are safe now. You don’t have to carry this anymore.
Healing Together: The Power of Women in the Rooms
And here’s the best part—I don’t walk this healing road alone.
In my Women in the Rooms meetings, I hear echoes of my own journey every week—stories of bodies carrying secrets, pain, survival, and hope. Together, we name these truths, hold space for them, and, piece by piece, we begin to let go.
Members often tell me these meetings are unlike anything they’ve experienced elsewhere. There’s an honesty, a softness, and a courage in this circle of women that feels, quite simply, like home.
If you’ve been longing for a place where recovery means healing body, mind, and spirit—not just abstinence—come join us. I’d love for you to experience what it feels like to be truly seen, heard, and supported. Click here to join!
✨ Join the Workshop! Coming September 17th!
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