what does it actually mean to integrate an experience rather than simply understand what happened?
Integration
To integrate something is to bring something that was apart back into the whole. And to me, having a sense of that wholeness is what healing is about.
Integration comes from the latin root integer. Which is made up of a prefix, in (meaning “not”) and tangere meaning “to touch”. So literally - Not touched, or untouched. Which to me, means unbroken, or whole.
Two other words within the same etymological family tree are integrity as well as integral, which I think strengthen the understanding of integration in the realm of healing. (Don’t worry, this is not just a language lesson...)
Integrity is this state of being undivided. If you think of someone who acts with integrity, it’s someone whose inner world is matched with their outward projection. What they project (i.e. their values, actions and words) are a clear reflection of who they are as a whole person.
Integral, on the other hand, is what is important. It’s something essential to the whole - when a part is missing on a machine and it breaks, that part is deemed essential, it is integral to the machine’s functioning.
So integration, in the realm of healing or growth work, is the process of bringing the parts of ourselves that have become disconnected back into the fold of who we are. If anyone has ever gone through something painful and described themselves as being ‘broken’ or felt ‘divided’, you’ll know what I’m talking about. If the healing journey is about a movement back to that feeling of wholeness, perhaps that means there is something in the parts that have broken off that is not just important to look at, but integral to the whole being able to function with integrity.
But what disconnects us from that whole?
Here is where I want to spend a minute talking about trauma.
One of the definitions of trauma that has resonated most strongly with me comes from Gabor Maté. He talks about how trauma is a disconnect from the Self. One of the results of trauma is that it can leave us untethered from your sense of value or worthiness, feelings, the body, as well as other people and the world.
And some of this disconnection is part of how we survive. When something happens that threatens or overwhelms our capacity to cope, the nervous system prioritizes protection. Our attention can narrow, feelings or sensations can become muted or disconnected, and we can fall back on whatever response gives us the best chance of getting through the moment. That might make us actively avoid a situation (flight), lash out, become vigilant, or controlling (fight); or totally zoning out or shutting down as a way of feeling less of what is happening (freeze or dissociation). These aren't carefully considered decisions; they're automatic ways the nervous system tries to protect us.
The thing is, that protection system can keep running the show long after the original threat has passed. We can cognitively know one thing, while the body stays stuck in a learned physiological behaviour. In birth, this might look like walking into a hospital and consciously thinking, I’m in the place where people give birth. I’m safe here. These people are here to help me. But the sensitive nervous system may be picking up on a different signal - bright lights, beeping machines and unfamiliar faces or loss of privacy - things that signal the body to brace before the thinking mind has a chance to weigh in. In everyday life, it can look much more ordinary. We might know we are allowed to say no, yet hear ourselves saying yes before we have even had a chance to check in with what we actually want.
These examples are some ways that trauma can constrict us. What is happening is that stress narrows the field of possible responses. Instead of having the full range of choices available to us in the present, the nervous system can automatically reach for responses it has already learned will help keep us safe.
This is the kind of disconnection I'm talking about. Not necessarily that a literal piece of us has broken off, even though that is how it can feel sometimes. Rather, we can lose easy access to what we feel, what our body is telling us, what we need or want, and how we actually want to respond. We're still whole, but it feels like we have less of ourselves available to us in that moment.
In my post Imprints, I wrote about what can be left behind by some of those difficult experiences. But what happens next?
Integration, then, is a movement in the other direction - bringing more of our experience back into relationship so that we have greater access to our body, feelings, present-day information and choice. Essentially, it’s about bringing those things into communication again.
And this is where I want to come back to that word tangere - to touch.
I know that is not literally what the etymology of the word is trying to teach us. But I keep coming back to this idea of touch, or contact, when I think about integration.
Because how do we integrate something that we are no longer in contact with?
How do we know we’re tired if we are always pushing through? That we’re angry if anger never felt safe? That something doesn’t feel right if our automatic response is to please the person in front of us?
I think it comes down to touch. Not physical touch, although that can be part of the work, but literally making something that once felt out of reach, tangible. And this is where the body part of the mind-body connection comes into play for me.
There is actually a scientific word for our ability to sense what is going on inside our own body: interoception. It is our awareness of internal signals - things like our breathing, heart rate, muscle tension, temperature, hunger, nausea, fullness, butterflies in the stomach, the tightening of the chest. Those signals are part of how we experience emotion and how the nervous system makes sense of what is happening.
And our relationship with them can change throughout our lives. Sometimes we become highly attuned to the body. Every flutter of the heart or bit of tension feels significant. Other times we become really good at not noticing. We don't realize we are holding our breath, or that the jaw is clenched. We don't notice the stomach tightening while we are saying yes. Or perhaps we notice all of it, but we have learned to override those signals.
So when I talk about coming back into the body, I don’t mean the body somehow has all the answers and the thinking mind doesn’t matter. Our minds are fascinating instruments, and language is too. Telling the story matters, and so does understanding and meaning making. But sometimes we need less talk and more awareness or feeling. I think the body can be a portal into a deeper layer of that wisdom. Because when the body had a chance to actually be heard, sometimes it doesn’t feel the need to get so loud all the time.
You might have heard people say that “trauma is stored in the body.” While I agree, sometimes that language makes it sound as if trauma is a thing inside of us - some bad thing that got lodged there and now needs to be taken out. But I don’t really see trauma that way. I do think release can be part of healing. Sometimes we cry, or something softens that we didn’t realize was tense before. Sometimes we’re finally able to put words to something we have carried for a long time. But I don't think healing always needs to be about finding the ‘thing’ and getting it out. And I don't think we necessarily need to recreate what happened or force some big emotional release in order for integration to happen.
I think of it more as a rearranging.
Safety makes that possible.
If our systems have been primed for decades of surviving the next big stress or we’re still living the overwhelm, the idea of integration may seem so far out of reach. Which brings me back to the nervous system - and it’s role in safety. Because at the other end of our autonomic nervous system spectrum, falls the calm and connection zone.
And this is where exploring how safety shows up needs space too. I believe we must first lay the groundwork of safety so that the work of integration can take shape. If survival required us to disconnect, healing may involve creating enough safety that we don't have to keep disconnecting. Now, when I say safety, I don’t mean everything in your life needs to be in order before you can adequately do this work. I think support and capacity can look different at different times along the journey. And this is where your intention and choice is always guiding the session. In my commitment to providing a trauma-informed space, consent and safety are my number one priorities. Safety also doesn’t mean that we need to convince ourselves that everything is fine. It’s simply a state we can experience - an energy we can embody, just like anything else. Just like relaxation is a skill, so is safety a thing we can practice.
So part of this work can actually be very simple.
Grounding - Feeling the chair underneath you, your feet on the floor. Taking a moment to arrive.
Feeling heard - and like you don't have to explain or defend what you're experiencing.
Having another person there who is not trying to rush you somewhere, or fix you
Feeling connected - to the body, to yourself and sometimes to another person who can stay present and attuned while you explore what is there.
These things are not separate from the healing work - they are integral parts of it.
So what might this actually look like?
Sometimes it’s surprisingly simple. Say, a thought like ‘I can’t do this’ comes up. Instead of immediately trying to replace it with some positive affirmation like ‘yes I can!’, can we instead pause?
Ask yourself: Does that thought feel familiar? What happens in the body when it appears? Maybe the shoulders lift, the stomach tightens, or there’s an urge to disappear from the feeling altogether.
All of those are relevant doorways into the experience. By providing a bit of compassionate space, we can be curious. Maybe that tension just needed to be felt before it released. Maybe it opens a new doorway into an older feeling of fear that deserves a little more attention, or maybe it just needs to know you are there able to witness it without needing to do anything with it.
That little bit of space can give us access to something we didn’t have in the automatic response, and that’s choice. Choice is not control. We can't control every feeling that arises, or every response that the body has. And we certainly can't control what happened or didn’t happen in the past. But it can offer us power and agency. And that’s not a small thing in the realm of the trauma healing journey.
Integration is also not an end point.
It’s a process that unfolds within you. What I mean is that integration doesn’t only happen within the safe container of a session. It might also happen three days later when you notice that you’re choosing rest when you are tired instead of pushing through; or speaking to yourself a little differently. And sometimes it is simply feeling a bit more like yourself - having more of yourself available to come to your aid. Or feeling a bit more connected to your own value and unlimited potential.
Yes I know this sounds corny but it’s true. I’ve felt it in my own healing journey and I’ve seen it show up in the people I’ve had the privilege of supporting. Through ‘healing work’, we are not trying to become someone new. We are really just creating enough connection to what is already here - so that more of us can show up. Maybe that looks like tools that you used to feel were more readily available to you, like breath, compassion or presence, suddenly coming back into view, or maybe it looks like something new taking shape. I think ultimately when we have more access to what we feel, we’re more easily able to elucidate what we need and can move beyond the usual story of what we thought we knew about our capacity. It gives us more of ourselves back so we have the choice in how we actually want to show up in life.
And that, for me, is the movement toward wholeness - towards that integrity that sits at the heart of integration.