What I’ve Learned About Treating Trauma (From the Table — and My Own Body)
I’ve spent years working with injured bodies — in clinic, in quiet moments after accidents, and in the in-between space where someone is shaken but not sure what they need yet.
And I’ve learned this:
The most important steps in treating trauma usually happen before any treatment begins.
This isn’t something I learned from textbooks alone. It’s something the body teaches you — again and again — if you’re willing to slow down and listen.
Step One: Is This an Emergency?
When something happens — a fall, an impact, a sudden pain — the nervous system goes into alert. Our instinct is often to do something immediately. But the first thing I always assess, for myself and for others, is very simple:
Does this body need Western medical care right now?
I look for clear signs that mean we don’t wait:
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Loss of consciousness or confusion
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Head injury with worsening symptoms
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Heavy or uncontrolled bleeding
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Obvious deformity (broken bone) or suspected fracture
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Sudden loss of movement or sensation
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Difficulty breathing or chest pain
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Severe or rapidly increasing pain
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Neck or spinal pain after impact
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Feeling faint, dissociated, or “not fully here”
If those signs are present, I don’t hesitate. Emergency medicine exists for a reason and choosing it is a form of care.
If those signs are not present, then something else becomes possible.
Step Two: Pause, Observe & Hold
If it’s not an emergency, I slow everything down. Before treating.
Before deciding what it “is.”
I gently HOLD the injury.
I watch breathing.
I notice whether pain is spreading or staying localized.
I feel whether the body is bracing, collapsing, or holding its breath.
I pay attention to emotional shock — because trauma is never just physical.
I wait for the body to stop shaking and after a few minutes, it will take a breath, and you can physically feel the muscles and tissues let go and the body relaxes.
This pause matters more than most people realize.
In my experience, rushing past this step is one of the ways acute injuries turn into long-term patterns.
Holding Comes Before Fixing
Across cultures and healing traditions, there is a shared instinct when someone is hurt:
You hold them.
Not massage.
Not manipulation.
Not correcting anything.
Just holding.
That might mean supporting an injured limb, so the body doesn’t guard.
Resting hands over an area of pain. Cradling the head, pelvis, or joint.
Allowing stillness — while staying present.
This can also mean another person putting their hands to support someone's injured body called yin tuina in China and is called sobada in Guatemala.
What I see, again and again, is that holding tells the nervous system something essential:
You’re safe enough to settle right now.
When that message lands, tissues soften. Breathing changes. Circulation improves. Pain often decreases — not because it was “fixed,” but because the body stopped defending itself.
This step alone can change the entire trajectory of healing.
A Recent Experience That Changed Everything
Recently, I had an injury myself — one that, in another timeline, absolutely would have landed me in the hospital.
Instead of panicking or pushing through, I followed the same steps I use with my patients:
I assessed.
I observed.
I held, or actually I had my husband hold and I held on to top of his hands.
I stayed still long enough to let my system regulate before deciding what came next.
And that pause — that holding — changed the outcome entirely.
It was a simple accident. I wasn’t thinking that anything serious could happen — and then it did.
My hands were checking the space under a tire as we were changing it when the jack gave out. Nearly 3,000 pounds dropped straight onto my right hand.
There was no way to get the jack back up. I knew immediately I had one option: I had to pull my hand out.
At first, it wouldn’t move. Time slowed. Tears came, but I didn’t panic. After twenty or thirty seconds of trying, I gave one strong pull, then another. On the second or third tug, my hand finally slipped free.
When I looked down, I was horrified. My hand was flattened, with clear tire imprints across it. What felt like my saving grace was that it had landed in grass and dirt — the earth offering a small amount of forgiveness.
My husband wanted to take me straight to the emergency room. Instead, I asked him to hold my hand. I placed my left hand over his, and we stayed still.
After three to five minutes, my body stopped shaking. It took a deep breath, and I could feel my system begin to settle. I looked closely — nothing appeared obviously broken, though my knuckles were my biggest concern.
One thing felt very clear: do not move the hand or bend the knuckles.
We went home and continued to assess. Remarkably, I was able to work the next day without hesitation. Most of the traumatized tissue showed significant healing within two days, and the recovery continued quickly with the treatment that followed.
I’m writing this about three and a half days after the accident. I’ll continue my care, but I felt strongly guided to share my process — step by step — over the next couple posts, because that first step made all the difference for me.
What struck me afterward was how close the edge was — and how different the result might have been if I’d overridden my body instead of listening to it.
I often think about how quickly we rush after an injury — how someone twists an ankle and immediately tries to stand up, or heads straight to the emergency room, only to be told hours later to ice it and go home. In that rush, we often miss something important.
Children don’t do this. When they get hurt, they stop. They sit. They hold the injured area. They cry if they need to. Without being taught, they give their bodies a moment to settle.
Somewhere along the way, we lose that instinct. We start worrying about what others think. We rely on conditioning that tells us to push through, to keep moving, or to hand our bodies over to a system before we’ve even listened ourselves. And in that moment of rushing, we often move too soon — and lose a valuable window for healing.
Step Four: Let the Next Step Reveal Itself
Once the body settles, the next layer of care becomes clearer.
Sometimes that means rest and protection and internal herbs.
Sometimes herbs or topical support.
Sometimes acupuncture, other techniques or devices.
Sometimes medical evaluation — but now without panic.
The difference is that action follows regulation, not fear.
Trauma-Informed Care Is Not Passive
Holding is not doing nothing.
It is a conscious choice to support the nervous system so healing can actually happen. Many chronic pain patterns begin not with the injury itself, but with how the injury was met — rushed, ignored, or overridden.
I personally am very grateful for the reminder to think before doing and for my amazing recovery. I am very passionate about my work and beyond relieved to have the right tools to continue serving everyone.
What I’ve learned, both professionally and personally, is this:
If it’s an emergency, get help.
If it’s not, slow down.
Hold first.
Listen.
The body is always communicating.
Our job is to hear it.