Michelle: Most people think trauma is a life sentence etched into the brain. But what if the key to healing isn't in your head at all? What if it’s a forgotten instinct that wild animals use every single day to shake off terror and survive? Mark: Wild animals? That’s a bold start, Michelle. What do gazelles on the Serengeti have to do with human trauma? It feels like we're comparing apples and, well, terrified oranges. Michelle: It’s the central, revolutionary idea in Peter Levine's book, In an Unspoken Voice: How the Body Releases Trauma and Restores Goodness. And it’s the question that unlocks everything. Mark: I have to admit, when I saw who the author was, I paid attention. Levine isn't just some new-age guru; the man has doctorates in both medical biophysics and psychology. He was even a stress consultant for NASA during the Space Shuttle program. He’s a serious scientist. Michelle: He is, which makes his conclusions all the more startling. He argues that we, as a species, have forgotten the most fundamental language we have: the language of our own bodies. And that forgetting is at the root of our suffering. Mark: Okay, I'm hooked. So, what is this forgotten secret that the animals know and we don't? Michelle: It all starts with a simple observation. A gazelle gets chased by a cheetah, nearly dies, but escapes. Five minutes later, it's back to peacefully grazing. A human gets into a fender bender and can be haunted by anxiety for years. Levine’s entire work is built on answering one question: what’s the difference?

Michelle: The difference, Levine says, is that the gazelle’s body knows exactly what to do after the threat is gone. It doesn't go to talk therapy. It doesn't analyze its childhood. It stands there, and it shakes. It trembles uncontrollably, its whole body convulsing. It’s literally shaking off the massive surge of survival energy—the adrenaline, the cortisol—that it mobilized to escape. Once that energy is discharged, it’s done. The trauma is complete. Mark: That makes a kind of primal sense. But humans are so much more complex. We have memories, we tell ourselves stories about what happened. Isn't it the story of the trauma that gets stuck in our heads and keeps us suffering? Michelle: That’s the conventional wisdom, but Levine completely flips it. He argues the body gets stuck first, and the mind just follows along for the ride. He says trauma isn't what happens to us, but what we hold inside in the absence of an empathetic witness. The core of it is a physiological state he calls 'tonic immobility.' Mark: Tonic immobility... that sounds technical. Is that the 'deer in the headlights' feeling? That sense of being completely frozen? Michelle: Exactly. It’s our most primitive survival response, even older than fight or flight. When a threat is so overwhelming that we can't fight it and we can't run from it, the body has one last trick: it plays dead. It shuts down. But all that high-octane survival energy that was meant for fighting or fleeing? It doesn't just vanish. It gets trapped in the nervous system, leading to that feeling of being frozen and helpless. Mark: And that’s why he calls it an 'injury' and not a 'disorder'? Michelle: Precisely. And this has been a pretty controversial stance in psychiatric circles. Over the last century, we've gone from visceral terms like 'shell shock' in World War I, which sounds like a physical impact, to the very clinical, detached 'Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder' or PTSD. Levine argues this medicalized language distances us from the raw, physical reality of the experience. He’s saying your nervous system is injured, it’s stuck in a biological feedback loop. It's not a flaw in your character or your mind. Mark: That feels... profoundly more hopeful. If it's an injury, it implies it can heal. A disorder sounds like a permanent label you have to manage forever. Michelle: That is the entire foundation of his work. An injury can be healed. And if the injury is in the body, the healing must be too.

Michelle: So if the problem is this massive amount of trapped energy in the body, the solution has to be bodily as well. And this is where Levine's own life provides the most powerful case study imaginable. Mark: You mean his car accident? I read that chapter, and it’s absolutely gripping. Michelle: It is. He’s walking on a beautiful morning, feeling on top of the world, and in an instant, he's hit by a car. He describes lying on the pavement, completely disoriented, unable to move. An off-duty paramedic rushes over and starts peppering him with questions, which only makes him feel more overwhelmed. But then, a pediatrician arrives. She doesn't do much; she just sits with him, her presence calm and reassuring. Mark: She becomes his 'empathetic witness.' Michelle: Yes. And that sense of safety is the anchor. Later, in the ambulance, he feels his body start to shake and tremble. Instead of fighting it, he leans into it. He’s a trauma expert, so he knows exactly what's happening: his body is discharging the shock. He’s letting the animal instinct take over. Mark: And the best part of that story is the exchange with the paramedic. The paramedic wants to stop the shaking, saying, 'We usually give people sedatives for that in the hospital.' And Levine, lying on a gurney, says one of the most profound lines in the book. Michelle: "It may give them temporary relief, but it just keeps them frozen and stuck." He was actively fighting against the standard medical procedure, knowing it would trap the trauma inside him. He was, in his own words, 'resetting' his nervous system in real-time. Mark: So he’s essentially performing his own therapy on himself. But what about for the rest of us, who aren't world-renowned trauma experts? How does this work in a therapy session? Michelle: That's where his core techniques come in. The two most important are titration and pendulation. Titration is a term from chemistry. If you pour a beaker of acid into a beaker of base, you get a violent explosion. But if you add the base one drop at a time, you get a tiny fizz, and you can safely neutralize the acid. With trauma, you don't dive into the whole memory at once. You touch it, just for a second—one drop of the fear or helplessness. Mark: And pendulation? Michelle: That’s the rhythm of healing. Pendulation is gently swinging your awareness back and forth between the 'drop' of trauma and a place in your body that feels safe, calm, or even just neutral. For Levine in the ambulance, it was swinging between the memory of the impact and the feeling of safety from the pediatrician's presence. This rhythm allows the nervous system to process the intense energy without being overwhelmed. Mark: Can you give another example? How does this work with someone who is stuck in a trauma from years ago? Michelle: Perfect question. Let's talk about Nancy. This was a case from early in his career, in 1969. She comes to him with a whole host of issues—agoraphobia, panic attacks, chronic pain. She's basically a prisoner in her own home. During one session, he's guiding her through a relaxation exercise, and she suddenly has a massive panic attack. Her heart is racing, she can't breathe, she's terrified she's dying. Mark: She’s completely frozen in that tonic immobility state. Michelle: Completely. And in that moment, Levine has this instinct. He doesn't know where it comes from, but he just blurts out, "Nancy! There's a tiger behind you! Run! Climb that rock!" And her body responds. While still lying on the floor, her legs start making these running motions. Her whole body begins to shake and tremble. She's completing the escape response that was frozen in her body. Mark: A tiger? Where did that come from? Michelle: It turned out to be a repressed memory from a traumatic tonsillectomy when she was four. She was held down on the operating table, terrified, unable to escape. The tiger was the symbol her unconscious mind created for that overwhelming threat. By 'running' from the tiger, her body was finally able to complete the survival response that was interrupted decades earlier. After that one session, her panic attacks stopped. Forever.

Michelle: And this release of energy, this completion of the survival response, doesn't just lead to 'not feeling bad anymore.' This is where Levine's work goes from clinical therapy to something much, much deeper. He started noticing this strange and beautiful 'side effect' in his patients. Mark: A side effect? What kind of side effect? Michelle: After these powerful releases, people like Nancy would report experiences of profound joy, exquisite clarity, and an all-embracing sense of oneness. Nancy described it as being held in 'warm tingling waves,' and for the first time in her life, she felt a deep 'goodness of self.' Mark: That sounds less like therapy and more like a mystical experience. Michelle: Levine argues that it is. He makes the huge claim that this raw, primal survival energy—the same energy that allows a mother to lift a car off her child—is the very same energy that underlies spiritual and mystical states. The brain structures involved, like the amygdala, are active during both intense fear and ecstatic bliss. Mark: That's a massive leap. Connecting biological survival energy directly to spirituality. Is he saying you have to be traumatized to become enlightened? Michelle: Not at all. He's saying that trauma forces an unavoidable confrontation with this primal life force. But that energy, that potential, is in all of us. Healing trauma is a path of embodiment—of returning to the wisdom of the body. And he believes that is, by its very nature, a spiritual path. It's about moving from being a mind that has a body, to being a fully alive, embodied self. Mark: It’s like that quote from the book of Job he uses: "For in my flesh I shall see God." He’s taking it literally. Michelle: He is. He believes the body is the shore on the ocean of being. The transformation isn't about escaping the body, but about fully inhabiting it. That’s where we find not just healing, but wholeness.

Michelle: So, in the end, Levine's message is incredibly hopeful. It reframes trauma not as a flaw or a life sentence, but as a doorway. The very thing that shatters us—this overwhelming, primal survival energy—is also the raw material for our transformation and our deepest connection to life. Mark: It really shifts the entire focus from 'What's wrong with my brain?' to 'What is my body trying to tell me?' It’s about learning to listen to that unspoken voice inside. Michelle: Exactly. And a simple takeaway for anyone listening is just to start noticing. You don't have to be an expert. When you feel stressed, or anxious, or even just a little 'off,' take a second. Where do you feel it in your body? Is it a tightness in your chest? A clenched jaw? A knot in your stomach? Mark: So you’re not trying to fix it or analyze it. Just notice it. Michelle: Just bring a gentle, curious awareness to the sensation, without judgment. That simple act of listening is the first step on this path. It's the beginning of coming home to yourself. Mark: That’s a powerful idea to end on. We’d love to hear your thoughts on this. Does this idea of the body holding trauma resonate with you? Find us on our social channels and join the conversation. Michelle: This is Aibrary, signing off.