Trauma-informed Yoga Healed My Trauma When Therapy Couldn't - Here's How

Published by Linda James, Survivor of trauma, mental health |

Updated on September 9, 2024 | 🕐 6 min | 👁️ 73,121

For years, I poured my heart out in talk therapy, week after week, laying every painful memory on the table.

I kept searching for the magic words that would make me feel whole again, that would make the anxiety disappear and the self-loathing stop.

But instead, every session left me feeling more drained, more hopeless.

It was like picking at a scab that never had the chance to heal.

I kept telling myself, "Next time, maybe next time I'll have the breakthrough I’ve been waiting for."

But that breakthrough never came.

Instead, I felt like I was sinking deeper into a pit I could never climb out of.

The anxiety was always there, like a shadow I couldn’t shake off.

I would wake up every morning with a tightness in my chest, my heart pounding as if something terrible was about to happen. 

I wanted so desperately just to feel normal, to feel calm… but that seemed like a dream slipping further out of reach.

I was constantly second-guessing myself, questioning every decision, convinced that I was somehow getting it all wrong.

The mirror became my enemy.

I couldn’t look at my reflection without seeing all the ways I thought I was failing—failing as a person, as a mother, as someone who was supposed to have it all together by now.

I felt like a fraud, like I was pretending to be okay when inside I was falling apart.

The worst part was the physical toll it was taking on me.

The constant tightness in my chest made it feel like I was always on the verge of a panic attack.

The headaches that would strike out of nowhere, leaving me feeling foggy and detached.

And the stomach pain… oh, the stomach pain.

It was relentless.

My gut would twist into knots, a deep, gnawing ache that would come and go as it pleased, with no warning, no mercy.

I was diagnosed with IBS, but the doctors just shrugged and handed me a pamphlet, telling me to avoid certain foods and “manage my stress.”

 They didn’t understand the shame, the embarrassment of having a body that felt like a ticking time bomb.

I started to avoid social situations, terrified that my body would betray me in front of others.

I stopped eating out, stopped going to places where I didn’t know exactly where the bathroom was, stopped living.

I felt trapped in a body that seemed to be constantly rebelling against me, a body I couldn’t trust.

I started to believe that maybe this was just my life now—an endless cycle of anxiety, shame, and pain.

I thought, "Maybe I’m just permanently broken."

That maybe I would never find peace, that my goal of just feeling calm and normal was asking too much.

I’d see other people laughing, enjoying life, looking so carefree, and I’d wonder, “Why not me?”

Why couldn’t I have that?

What was so wrong with me that I couldn’t just be… okay?

Then, one day, I found myself sitting across from my therapist, tears streaming down my face, saying the words I never thought I’d say: "I don’t think this is working for me."

She looked at me with compassion, a sadness in her eyes, and said, "Maybe it’s time to try something different."

She told me about a trauma-informed yoga program designed for people like me—people whose bodies had become battlegrounds, who felt disconnected and unsafe in their own skin.

She explained that trauma isn’t just something that happens in our minds; it lives in our bodies, too.

That made sense to me.

The tension, the pain, the constant feeling of being on high alert—it all started to click.

I realized I’d been trying to heal from the neck up, while my body was screaming for attention.

But I was scared.

Yoga?

I’d never been to a class in my life, and the thought of it made me feel even more anxious.

I imagined a room full of bendy people, effortlessly twisting into poses I couldn’t dream of attempting.

It felt like one more place where I would fail, where I would be exposed.

But then she explained that this wasn’t like a typical yoga class.

This program was entirely online, at my own pace, in the privacy of my own home.

No pressure, no judgment, no performance—just gentle guidance to help me reconnect with myself.

She said it was designed to be safe, gentle, and empowering, with a focus on healing and self-compassion, not perfection.

So, I decided to give it a try, even though I was skeptical and terrified.

I signed up and logged in to the first session, my heart pounding, feeling a mix of fear and desperation.

But as I sat in my living room, on my own mat, in my own space, I realized how comforting it felt.

The instructor’s voice was calm and soothing, inviting me to move in a way that felt good for my body, to respect my own limits, and to breathe.

For the first time in years, I felt a tiny sense of relief.

I wasn’t in a room full of strangers.

I was in the safest place I could be—my own home.

And I could take things at my own pace.

I didn’t have to be perfect.

I didn’t have to prove anything to anyone.

I could just be.

As the days went by, I noticed small changes.

The tightness in my chest started to ease.

I was breathing deeper, feeling my lungs fill up with air in a way that felt nourishing, like life itself was coming back into my body.

The pain in my stomach wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t ruling me anymore.

I learned to breathe into the discomfort, to soften instead of clench, to give myself grace instead of guilt.

And when anxiety hit, instead of spiraling into panic, I could close my eyes, follow the video’s gentle prompts, and feel myself coming back to center.

I started to notice the small things—how my shoulders would creep up toward my ears when I was stressed, how I clenched my jaw without even realizing it.

With gentle guidance, I learned to soften those places, to let go of the tension I’d been holding onto for so long.

But the most profound change was in how I saw myself.

I began to feel a flicker of compassion for my body, this body I had spent so many years hating and fighting against.

I realized it wasn’t my enemy; it was just trying to protect me in the only way it knew how.

And slowly, with each session, I began to trust it again.

Then, one day, something incredible happened.

My teenage child, who had been pulling away from me for months, walked in while I was doing one of the video sessions.

They watched for a moment, then sat down beside me.

After a few minutes, they whispered…

“Mom, you seem… different. Calmer. Happier. I want to learn how to do that.”

Tears filled my eyes.

All the work I had been doing, all the pain I had faced, suddenly felt worth it.

I realized that in healing myself, I was also healing my child, showing them a different way to live—a way without fear, without shame, without anxiety running the show.

By the end of the program, I wasn’t just managing symptoms or surviving.

I was reconnecting with myself.

I wasn’t perfect, but I was on a path that finally felt right, that felt possible.

If you’re tired of feeling broken, of feeling stuck, if you’re ready to find a way to reconnect with your body in a way that feels safe, gentle, and empowering, I urge you to try this trauma-informed yoga program.

It helped me heal in a way I never thought possible, and it might just do the same for you.

Join the program today and discover a new path to healing.

Click the link below to learn more about how this trauma-informed yoga program can help you find peace, balance, and a deeper connection to yourself.

Heal Trauma Without Reliving The Past - Neurotoned