How EMDR Helps You Reclaim What Trauma Took

   A Memory is Not Just a Memory

 There are certain moments that don’t quite stay in the past. They linger. Not in the poetic way we imagine nostalgia does, but more like shadows that sit just off the frame — present, uninvited, waiting. You are thirty-five and your partner asks you sharply, “Why didn’t you tell me where you were going?” and something in your chest locks up. You hear the words, but what you feel is your third-grade teacher’s voice — brittle, biting — demanding you sit still, answer correctly, apologize for asking why. You don’t remember what you said back then, but you do remember the heat of shame. And the feeling that questioning meant punishment.

Childhood trauma has a way of installing itself like faulty wiring in the body’s memory system. Even when you think you’ve forgotten, it hums underneath. I used to tell clients, “Your brain is doing its best to protect you.” Because that’s what it is — protection. Your nervous system catalogued every terror, every humiliation, every time you learned that pleasing others meant safety. It doesn’t know the calendar has turned. It only knows how to keep you alive.

 This is why traditional talk therapy, though powerful, can sometimes fall short. You can tell your story a thousand times and still not feel different. You can intellectually understand that you’re not a bad daughter, not a difficult child — and yet your body freezes every time someone expects obedience. Because trauma isn’t just in the story. It’s in the nervous system. It’s in the way you smile when you want to scream. The way you always say “it’s fine.” The way your needs seem too loud, even when whispered.

 EMDR therapy begins with the radical idea that trauma gets stuck. It’s as though, in the moment of the event, the brain never finished filing the memory away. The result is that it continues to behave as if it’s happening now. Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing works by helping the brain resume its natural healing process — allowing what was frozen in place to finally move.

 I have often thought about how we carry these moments without knowing their weight. Until one day, someone says something — a therapist, a friend, even yourself in a dream — and the weight suddenly has a name. EMDR does not erase the memory. That isn’t possible. But it does something more profound: it unhooks the sting. It allows you to remember without drowning.

 We begin, not by diving into pain, but by preparing you to face it safely. With support. With tools. With the promise that you will not be alone in the remembering.

The Discovery (A Walk in the Park)

 EMDR might sound complicated, but its discovery was surprisingly simple. In the late 1980s, psychologist Francine Shapiro was walking through a park, turning over a stressful thought in her mind. As she looked back and forth, her eyes moving left to right, she noticed the anxiety she felt suddenly easing. It was subtle, but real — the thought was still there, but it didn’t hurt in the same way.

 She began experimenting, first with herself, then with others. Could eye movements — something as natural as looking side to side — actually help the brain process distressing memories?

 As it turned out, yes. What she’d stumbled upon was a way to unstick trauma.

 When something overwhelming happens, especially in childhood, the brain sometimes doesn’t fully process it. It gets “stuck,” almost like a scratch on a record. You try to move on, but part of you keeps looping back to that feeling — fear, shame, powerlessness. EMDR helps the brain reprocess that memory, using eye movements or other gentle rhythms to get both sides of the brain working together again.

 It’s not hypnosis. You’re awake, alert, in control. But somehow, in this structured and supported space, your brain does what it was always meant to do: it starts to heal.

The Mechanics of Healing

 If you’re considering EMDR, you might be wondering: What actually happens in a session? Do I just move my eyes around and suddenly feel better? Not exactly — but you’re not far off. EMDR is structured, but it’s also deeply intuitive. The process follows eight phases, though it doesn’t feel clinical or cold. Think of it more like a map your therapist uses to help you safely move through old pain.

 At the start, you won’t dive into trauma right away. You’ll first spend time building trust with your therapist, learning calming techniques, and identifying memories that feel charged or unresolved. You’re never pushed — you go at your own pace. Some people start with memories they’ve carried since childhood: a parent yelling, being told to “be good” or else, feeling invisible at the dinner table.

 Then, when you’re ready, you’ll be asked to bring one memory to mind — just enough to feel its emotional impact. At the same time, you’ll follow a back-and-forth rhythm. Most often, this is done with your eyes tracking your therapist’s fingers or a moving light, but it can also be tapping or sound. This rhythm — known as bilateral stimulation — is what helps unlock the brain’s natural processing system.

 Here’s an example. One client described always feeling panicked when someone gave them direct instructions. In childhood, they were punished for asking questions or saying “no.” In the session, they recalled sitting at the kitchen table, being told to finish dinner or “there will be consequences.” Their chest tightened. But as they followed the therapist’s hand side to side, something shifted. Images came up. Emotions swelled. And then, almost suddenly, the scene softened. They said, “It’s like I can still see it, but I’m not trapped in it anymore.”

That’s the heart of EMDR: you’re not forgetting. You’re reprocessing. The memory becomes part of your past — not something that hijacks your present. You can remember what happened without your whole body reacting like it’s happening all over again.

 And yes — it can be emotional. But it’s also incredibly freeing.

Not Magic, But Close

 Most people come into EMDR unsure of what to expect. They've often tried other therapies. They've journaled, talked things through, tried to make peace with the past. But the panic still comes. The people-pleasing still kicks in. The deep-down belief that they are too much or not enough hasn’t shifted. So they try EMDR — maybe a little skeptical, maybe quietly hopeful.

 And then something starts to change.

 A client once told me that after a few sessions, it felt like “my memories are still there, but they’re further away — like I’m watching them from a distance instead of inside them.” Another described it as a film reel that finally stops skipping. The same scene plays, but it doesn’t hurt the same. There’s clarity. Space. Choice.

 That’s what EMDR does. It doesn’t erase trauma. It takes the charge out of it. The flashbacks lose their grip. The anxiety starts to quiet. You stop reacting to things that don’t belong in the present — because your brain finally gets that they’re part of the past.

 And it doesn’t take years.

That surprises people. EMDR is considered a brief therapy for a reason. Some clients experience major relief after just a few sessions. For others, especially those with complex trauma, it takes longer — but progress often comes in waves, and it tends to feel real. Grounded. Less like “coping,” more like healing.

 It’s not magic. But it can feel that way when you’ve spent years stuck in the same loop, believing this is just how life has to feel.

The Younger Self, Still Listening

 There’s a moment in EMDR that happens often. Quietly. Without ceremony. A memory rises — maybe one you knew was there, maybe one you hadn’t thought about in years — and suddenly, you’re no longer the adult in the room. You’re seven. You’re small. You’re trying hard to follow the rules, not cry, not make a fuss. You just want someone to notice. To ask why you’re so quiet. To say you don’t have to be perfect to be loved.

 What EMDR gives you — what few other things can — is a chance to meet that version of yourself again. Not just to remember what happened, but to feel it with new eyes. Adult eyes. Safe eyes.

 I remember a client who always panicked when someone corrected them — even gently. During a session, they remembered being five years old and being left behind at school. A miscommunication, nothing major. But in their child-mind, it meant: I’m bad. I’m forgettable. I deserve this. As they processed that memory, something unexpected happened. They didn’t just recall it — they saw that little kid. The way they stood on the steps, trying not to cry. The way they told the teacher, “It’s okay. I’ll wait.” And they felt a wave of compassion.

 Not pity. Not analysis. Just: You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t do anything wrong.

 That’s the shift EMDR makes possible. From shame to understanding. From blaming yourself to realizing someone should’ve protected you, and it wasn’t your job to be so strong.

 Over time, you begin to notice that your reactions in the present are changing. You no longer shrink when someone’s disappointed. You stop over-apologizing. You stop bracing for rejection. Because that younger self inside you is no longer alone in the memory. You’re there now. And you’re listening.

 That’s what healing looks like sometimes. Not fireworks. Not sudden joy. Just a steady, deep knowing: That wasn’t my fault. And I don’t have to carry it the same way anymore.

  Things I Wish People Knew

 There are a few things I wish everyone understood about EMDR — especially those quietly wondering if it could help them, but unsure if they’re “traumatized enough,” or too much, or too late.

 First: you don’t have to remember everything. Trauma doesn’t always come in clean, clear memories. Sometimes it shows up in the body — in the tightness in your throat when someone raises their voice, in the impulse to make yourself smaller, in the way you replay conversations hours after they’ve ended. EMDR doesn’t require you to explain every detail. You bring what you have, and that’s enough.

 Second: you don’t have to “talk it all out.” This surprises people. EMDR isn’t about retelling the worst moments of your life over and over. It’s about helping your brain finish what it couldn’t finish back then. Sometimes, the most profound shifts happen with very few words. A tear. A breath. A sense of, I don’t feel that panic anymore.

 Third: you’re not broken. You adapted. You found ways to survive in a world that wasn’t always safe or fair. EMDR doesn’t erase your past — it helps you change your relationship to it. So you’re not just reacting. You’re choosing. You’re living from the present, not constantly bracing for what already happened.

 And finally: healing isn’t linear. Some sessions will feel big. Others might feel like nothing’s happening — and then, days later, something quietly shifts. You set a boundary you never thought you could. You don’t spiral after a hard conversation. You sleep better. These are the signs.

 If you’ve made it this far — in reading, or just in your own life — know that you don’t have to carry it alone. EMDR isn’t a magic fix. But for many people, it opens a door that’s been locked for years.

 You can walk through it. At your pace. With support. And find that on the other side of survival, there’s something