“Your body is not a storage unit. It’s a living record.” It sounds poetic, but it’s clinically true. Every stress we shoulder, every loss we grieve, every injustice we swallow whole without digesting—our bodies keep the receipts. Muscles tighten. Blood pressures climb. Hearts race. Stomachs churn. We pretend to move on, but our bodies remain the archivists of our lives.
Bessel van der Kolk’s famous book gave me the title of this column, but you don’t need to read the whole tome to understand the principle. Just look at your own life. Remember the last time you had to smile through a tense meeting or endure a family argument at Sunday lunch? Hours later, your neck stiffened or your lower back throbbed. That was biology.
I see it daily. The man with migraines that began after a bitter divorce. The nurse with irritable bowel syndrome that always flares up before shifts in the ICU. The teenage boy with eczema erupting after exams. None of these conditions is “just in the head”. Our bodies are storytellers, even when our mouths remain silent.
One of my mentors taught me to listen to “the whisper before the shout”. Most diseases start quietly. Fatigue. Tension headaches. Indigestion. A feeling of being “off”. We often ignore these whispers until they become full-throated roars: a heart attack at 45, uncontrolled diabetes at 50, a major depressive episode. Stress hormones, once meant to help us run from predators, now marinate us in a slow stew.
We tell children “stop crying” or “man up”. We label depression as laziness, anxiety as weakness, and therapy as “American ting”. So instead of talking, we somatise: chest pain, joint pain, stomach pain. I’ve learnt to ask my patients not just “Where does it hurt?” but “When did it start?” and “What was happening in your life then?”
The answers are often revelatory. Illness often coincides with a job loss, a breakup, or a bereavement. The immune system falters when the heart is heavy. The pancreas rebels when the family does.
Chronic stress dysregulates the hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal (HPA) axis. Cortisol and adrenaline spike. Immune function changes, making us more prone to infections and inflammation. Blood pressure rises. Blood sugar rises. Neurons in the brain shrink. Genes switch on and off.
Similarly, trauma changes the brain. People who’ve lived through childhood abuse or community violence often show higher rates of heart disease, diabetes, stroke, and autoimmune disorders.
The good news? The body can also un-keep the score. Neuroplasticity is real. So is healing. But it’s not about “just thinking positive”. It’s about deliberate, evidence-based action:
• Movement: Exercise resets stress hormones, boosts endorphins and strengthens the heart. It’s not punishment.
• Breathing and Mindfulness: Slow, deliberate breathing activates the parasympathetic nervous system, turning off fight-or-flight.
• Connection: Humans are wired for co-regulation. Supportive friendships, therapy or community groups—these literally calm the nervous system.
• Nutrition: A healthy gut feeds a healthy mind. Omega-3s, fibre, and adequate sleep lower inflammation.
• Therapy: Talking therapies and trauma-informed care are as vital as any pill.
Another patient, a retired policeman, developed insomnia after investigating a series of gruesome cases. No amount of sleeping pills helped. What worked was therapy, prayer, and learning progressive muscle relaxation. His blood pressure dropped. He started painting. His body’s narrative began to shift from trauma to recovery.
Baby Daniel watches me more than he listens to me. If I take time to hold him, breathe with him, and laugh with him, his tiny shoulders relax. We talk about “generational wealth” but not enough about “generational nervous systems”. Our children inherit more than our genes. They inherit our stress signatures, our coping habits, and our ways of being in a body.
Doctors aren’t immune. We’re famous for eating lunch at 4 pm, ignoring headaches, and working 36-hour shifts. We pride ourselves on stamina but rarely on self-care. Our bodies keep the score, too—“burnout”, hypertension, marital breakdowns or substance misuse. The pandemic only amplified this. We were applauded as heroes but treated as expendable. Our nervous systems are still recovering.
If I could write one prescription for our society, it would be this: honour the body as witness. Stop calling people “weak” for showing signs of stress or trauma. Stop treating therapy like a luxury and self-care like vanity. Start teaching children emotional literacy alongside mathematics. Start designing workplaces and cities with rest in mind. Start valuing slowness, stillness, and connection as much as hustle.
We need policies that reflect this understanding—shorter commutes, more green spaces, universal access to mental health care, and trauma-informed schools. These are investments in national health.
When I put my stethoscope on a patient’s chest, I’m not just listening for murmurs or crackles. I’m listening for their story, imprinted in muscle, nerve, and bone. The rhythm of the heart, the rise of the lungs, the tremor of the hands—they are all chapters.
So, the next time your body aches in mysterious ways, don’t scold it. Ask it. What are you trying to tell me? Where does it hurt, and when did it start? The answer might be the beginning of your healing.
