I Never Recommended The Body Keeps the Score. Here's Why.

Written By Barbara Ferri

The book I couldn’t finish.

My concerns go beyond the science to how trauma survivors experience the book.

Years ago, I tried to read The Body Keeps the Score by Bessel van der Kolk. At the time, it seemed like everyone in the therapy world was talking about it. Colleagues described it as profound, a book that finally explained how trauma affects the body and nervous system.

I couldn't finish it.

The stories were graphic, painful, and relentless. I found the book deeply triggering, even as a clinician who works with trauma. As I read, I kept thinking about the person who might pick it up late at night, hoping to understand their own experiences of abuse, without realizing how difficult some of the material might be to get through.

I decided not to recommend it to my clients. That wasn't always an easy position to explain. People would bring the book into sessions and ask what I thought. I felt some pressure to embrace it because it had become so influential in the mental health field.

Over time, though, my concerns grew beyond the content itself. Researchers and clinicians began raising questions about the scientific evidence behind some of the book's claims and the way certain findings were presented.

I want to look at those concerns fairly. The book has helped many people make sense of their experiences, and I don't want to dismiss that. At the same time, I believe we need to be thoughtful about the messages we give people who are trying to understand trauma and find a way forward.

What the book gets right

One of the reasons The Body Keeps the Score resonated with so many readers is that trauma really can affect the body.

You might notice your heart racing when someone raises their voice. You might struggle with sleep long after a frightening experience has passed. Perhaps you feel tense or on edge without fully understanding why. These responses can be confusing, particularly when you know you're no longer in the situation that first made you feel unsafe.

Understanding that trauma can affect both the mind and the body can bring a sense of relief. It can help people recognize that their reactions are not character flaws or signs of weakness. They may be understandable responses to experiences that overwhelmed their capacity to cope.

Psychologist MaryCatherine McDonald explores this distinction in her Psychology Today article on nuance in trauma healing. She discusses the evidence that traumatic stress can affect processes such as sleep, stress responses, and alertness, while questioning stronger claims about how trauma is supposedly stored in the body.

I appreciate her position that we don't need to reject the entire book to question parts of it. If reading it helped you understand yourself, that experience is still meaningful. You weren't wrong to find something valuable in it.

My concern is not that the book has helped people. It is that some of its explanations may leave readers with an incomplete or unnecessarily frightening picture of trauma and recovery.

Where the science raises questions

Psychiatrist Michael Scheeringa, a professor at Tulane University, has offered one of the most extensive critiques of the book. He also wrote The Body Does Not Keep the Score in response to van der Kolk's work.

In a 2025 article published in BJPsych Bulletin, Scheeringa examines 122 claims from The Body Keeps the Score. He argues that some of the research cited in the book does not adequately support the conclusions drawn from it, whether because the evidence is limited, the findings are presented selectively, or the original studies do not say what readers might assume they say.

One of the central issues is the difference between correlation and causation.

Many brain-imaging studies compare people who have post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) with people who do not. Researchers may find differences between the groups, but those findings alone cannot establish that trauma caused the differences. Some research suggests that certain characteristics may exist before a traumatic experience and may influence a person's vulnerability to developing PTSD.

Why does this distinction matter?

Because there is a difference between believing that trauma has permanently damaged your brain and understanding that your nervous system may respond to stress in ways shaped by both your experiences and your biology. The first interpretation can feel frightening and final. The second leaves more room for complexity, change, and recovery.

Scheeringa also raises questions about several specific claims in the book.

For example, McDonald notes that a claim about traumatized children having asthma at 50 times the usual rate does not appear to be supported by the study cited. The book also draws on the concept of the "triune brain," which divides the brain into a primitive reptilian brain, an emotional mammalian brain, and a rational thinking brain. Although this model can work as a simplified metaphor, it does not accurately reflect the complexity of modern neuroscience.

The book's use of polyvagal theory has also attracted criticism, as aspects of the theory remain scientifically contested.

These concerns don't mean that trauma has no biological effects or that the body is irrelevant to healing. They mean that we need to distinguish between what research supports, what remains uncertain, and what may be an appealing explanation that goes beyond the available evidence.

It's also worth noting that Scheeringa's article appeared in a journal section intended for deliberately challenging or contrarian perspectives. His critique deserves consideration, but readers should understand the context and avoid treating one critic's interpretation as the final word on a complex field.

Why I worried about clients reading it

My concerns have never been limited to the science. I have also worried about how the book might affect someone who is already struggling with the aftermath of trauma.

The case histories can be graphic, particularly those involving sexual violence and childhood abuse. For some readers, these descriptions may be difficult to process. Someone reading alone may find themselves overwhelmed by memories, physical sensations, or emotions they weren't expecting to encounter.

That doesn't mean every survivor will have this reaction. People have different experiences with trauma-related material, and some find detailed accounts validating. My concern is that readers may not know what they're walking into when they begin the book.

Journalist Emi Nietfeld, who has her own history of trauma, explored these issues in a 2024 article for Mother Jones. She described feeling ashamed after reading the book and spoke with researchers whose work van der Kolk cited.

One concern raised in her reporting was the risk of presenting PTSD as a condition that defines a person indefinitely. When people are already afraid that their experiences have changed them beyond repair, messages that suggest lasting damage can reinforce that fear.

I think this is an important point to consider when recommending books to clients.

People who have experienced trauma deserve an explanation of their difficulties that acknowledges the seriousness of what happened without suggesting that they are permanently broken. Recovery isn't always straightforward, and people may continue to struggle with certain symptoms. That doesn't mean improvement is out of reach.

There is substantial evidence supporting trauma-focused treatments, and many people experience meaningful improvement. Nietfeld's article discusses research illustrating how much symptoms can change with appropriate treatment.

I also have concerns about the book's treatment of trauma-focused therapies, including cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT). These approaches have strong research support for PTSD, yet some of the book's arguments may leave readers with the impression that traditional talk therapies are inadequate or that healing requires a very different path.

The reality is more nuanced. Different people respond to different approaches, and trauma treatment should be guided by the individual's needs, preferences, and clinical circumstances. We should not dismiss well-supported treatments because a particular book presents a different view.

The controversy surrounding the author

There is another part of the book's history that readers sometimes ask about.

In 2018, van der Kolk was removed as medical director of the Trauma Center in Brookline, Massachusetts, which he had founded. According to reporting by The Boston Globe, the parent organization described concerns about his treatment of staff and characterized the workplace environment as hostile.

Van der Kolk denied mistreating employees, said he had not been informed of specific allegations, and sued the parent organization for breach of contract.

I include this information because clients sometimes want to understand the broader context surrounding a well-known author. I also think it's important to keep these issues separate.

Questions about someone's professional conduct do not, by themselves, establish whether their scientific claims are accurate. Those claims need to be evaluated on their own merits, using the available evidence.

For me, the more important questions remain what the book tells readers about trauma, how well its claims are supported, and whether its message helps people understand their experiences in a way that leaves room for healing.

If you're reading the book right now

If you're reading The Body Keeps the Score and finding it upsetting, you have permission to put it down.

You don't have to finish a book just because it's widely recommended. If the descriptions are leaving you overwhelmed, frightened, or hopeless, it's okay to take a break or choose something else. You can also talk with your therapist about what you're reading and how it's affecting you.

If the book has helped you make sense of your experiences, you don't need to discard that understanding, either. Recognizing that trauma can affect the body and that your responses may have developed for understandable reasons can be an important part of healing.

The goal is to keep what is useful without assuming that every explanation in the book is definitive.

If you're looking for other perspectives, Judith Herman's Trauma and Recovery explores trauma in its psychological and social context. George Bonanno's The End of Trauma examines resilience and the different ways people respond to adversity, including many people’s capacity to recover.

You can also explore the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs' free PTSD Treatment Decision Aid, which helps you learn about evidence-based treatment options and compare them based on your needs and preferences.

Reading can be a helpful way to learn about trauma, but it isn't a substitute for individualized care when you need it. Trauma-focused therapies, including certain forms of CBT and eye movement desensitization and reprocessing (EMDR), have substantial research support for PTSD.

EMDR is one of the approaches I use in my work with clients, alongside attachment-focused therapy. As with any treatment, the right approach depends on the person, their history, their needs, and what feels appropriate for them.

Making room for the body in healing

Despite my concerns about The Body Keeps the Score, I believe the body deserves a place in conversations about trauma and recovery.

Many people spend years trying to understand their reactions intellectually while still feeling tense, disconnected, or unsettled. Learning why those responses occur can help, but some people also benefit from gentle practices that invite them to notice their bodies and develop a greater sense of ease.

Depending on the person, those practices might include yoga, time in nature, mindfulness, or a trauma-informed sound bath. I offer sound healing alongside my therapy work, with an understanding that it serves a different purpose from psychotherapy.

These practices are not substitutes for trauma treatment, and they aren't right for everyone. Sound, in particular, can feel soothing for some people and activating for others. A trauma-informed approach means respecting those differences, offering choice, and never assuming that one experience will feel safe or helpful to everyone.

Healing is not about forcing yourself to relax, revisiting painful memories before you're ready, or finding the one practice that will finally fix everything. It is about discovering what helps you feel more connected to yourself, what supports your sense of safety, and what allows you to move forward at a pace that respects your needs.

That is the perspective I bring to my work with clients. I want people to understand their experiences without feeling defined by them. I want them to have access to approaches supported by research while also recognizing that healing is personal and rarely follows a straight line.

Most of all, I want people to know that their trauma history does not have to be the final word on their lives.

If you're carrying something difficult and wondering what kind of support might help, you're welcome to reach out. Learn more about my therapy and sound healing offerings at Solum Life Therapy.

Barbara

Sources

Transparency note: This post was written with the support of AI as a writing and editing tool. All clinical perspectives, intentions, and final content reflect my professional judgment and therapeutic values.

Barbara Ferri
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