Who Knows a Rape Victim?
I know several, among my clients.
This is not an abstract statistic or a distant topic of debate. It is a reality that resonates with a painful sharpness every time a new tragedy comes to light, serving as a brutal reminder of the consequences of silence and inaction.
Today, anger is mixed with immense sadness following the death of Lyhanna, the middle-school student from Fleurance whose body was found on June 4th.
Criticism regarding judicial failures in this case is mounting. People are rightfully speaking of "overwhelming and unacceptable failures of State services." The suspect had already been the subject of complaints for rape of a minor, one of which, filed in August 2025, had not led to any hearing nearly nine months later.
The facts are there—we are talking about facts, procedures, and responsibilities. This is indispensable, and the truth must come to light.
But as a professional who supports teenagers and adults through trauma, I know there is another side to this tragedy, a side that is spoken of far too little: the consequences, in adult life, of these events experienced in childhood.
We talk much less about what continues to live, and sometimes scream, in the bodies of victims 20, 30, or 40 years later.
Childhood traumas, particularly sexual violence, abuse, or prolonged situations of insecurity, leave imprints that go far beyond psychology.
Many people suffer without understanding why: chronic anxiety, hypervigilance, relational struggles, compulsions, physical pain, or a feeling of being disconnected from oneself.
These symptoms are not "character weaknesses"; they are real signs of dysregulation in a nervous system that has remained stuck in biological survival responses.
But what is trauma, from a neurobiological perspective?
As physician Gabor Maté and Dr. Peter Levine point out, trauma is not the event itself. Trauma is the incomplete physiological response to that event.
When a child faces an overwhelming threat (and when facing an adult, a child is always unable to fight or flee), their autonomic nervous system triggers a massive release of adrenaline and cortisol in an attempt to survive. But since motor action (fleeing or defending oneself) is impossible, this survival energy is never discharged.
The nervous system then collapses into a state of shock: this is the freeze response, or tonic immobilization. It is a last-resort biological response in which the organism "plays dead" to anesthetize physical and psychological pain.
This vital energy, having nowhere to go, remains frozen in the tissues, fascias, and nervous system. For the reptilian brain, this loss of energy and immobilization are interpreted as an imminent life threat, locking the body into terror.
But why does the body still react years later?
According to the work of psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk (The Body Keeps the Score), trauma is not a memory stored away in the past. It is a physiological imprint.
During the trauma, the hippocampus (the area of the brain that contextualizes and places a "time stamp" on memories) goes offline under stress. On the other hand, the amygdala (the brain's smoke detector, responsible for the alarm) records the threat in its rawest form.
As a result, the trauma does not become a narrative memory ("this happened to me in the past"), but an implicit memory.
The body keeps the score.
Stephen Porges' Polyvagal Theory explains this through neuroception: our nervous system constantly scans the environment for signs of safety or danger, completely unconsciously.
If, years later, a smell, a tone of voice, a posture, or a situation of vulnerability triggers a neuroception of danger, the amygdala sounds the alarm. The body reacts exactly as if the assault were happening right now.
This is why trying to calm down through rational thought is completely ineffective. The prefrontal cortex (the logical brain) is literally disconnected during a survival reaction.
You cannot explain to a body flooded with stress hormones that it is safe; the body needs to run, to shake to discharge.
Humans, however, have learned to inhibit these natural movements through shame or shock.
An unintegrated, unsupported childhood trauma can become a lasting internal organization, an implicit survival identity. Here is how it can manifest:
Emotional and Mental Symptoms:
Anxiety without a clear cause (the body senses a danger the mind cannot see)
Diffuse fear, toxic shame, or guilt
Recurring negative thoughts, brain fog
Physical Symptoms (the most revealing):
Chronic tension (jaw, back, pelvis)
Persistent fatigue, adrenal exhaustion
Unexplained pain, autoimmune diseases
Sleep disorders (the nervous system does not dare to shut down)
Relational Symptoms:
Trust issues, social hypervigilance
Emotional dependency or, conversely, intimacy avoidance
Inability to set boundaries (the body learned that saying "no" is dangerous)
Behavioral Symptoms:
Binge eating, addictions (work, screens, sugar, substances)—these are desperate attempts by the nervous system to self-regulate or anesthetize itself.
An absolute need for control over one's environment.
The Effect of Media and Public Revelations
When a scandal involving sexual violence or pedocriminality is broadcasted in the media (such as the recent cases involving alleged rapist Patrick Bruel), it acts as a powerful trigger.
For those affected, it is not just the mind that is shocked by the news. Implicit memories are reactivated. The body recognizes what the mind has sometimes never been able to put into words. The bodily sensations, sudden emotions, states of stress, or dissociation that occur upon reading an article are not "exaggerated" reactions: they are waves of survival resurfacing.
As psychiatrist Judith Herman points out, trauma becomes particularly pathogenic when it is unrecognized, unsafe, and unintegrated.
Can one heal from childhood trauma?
Yes. And science today is definitive on this point.
Research in affective and interpersonal neuroscience demonstrates the nervous system's capacity to reorganize itself: this is neuroplasticity. The body can learn safety, even if it has never known it.
However, healing does not happen through words alone. "Top-down" approaches (from the mind to the body, such as talk therapy alone) show their limits when trauma is deep. A "bottom-up" approach (from the body to the mind) is required.
The most effective forms of support include:
Somatic therapies (such as Peter Levine's Somatic Experiencing) which allow the frozen survival energy to be discharged and incomplete defensive responses to be completed.
Nervous system regulation work to expand the "window of tolerance" and teach the body that it is safe in the present moment.
The creation of relational safety (co-regulation), because a nervous system wounded within a relationship can only heal within a safe and ethical relationship.
Healing is not about erasing the past, nor is it about "forgiving" at all costs. It is about allowing the body to understand, at the cellular level, that this event is over. That the danger is no longer here, and also to release the emotional charge held captive in the body.
Childhood traumas do not define a person. They are brilliant, desperate biological adaptations to situations that exceeded a child’s capacity for survival.
What was frozen in order to survive can, with time, inner safety, and respectful somatic guidance, begin to move again.
The path to healing is possible—not through willpower alone or mental discipline, but through gentleness, the regulation of the nervous system, and a tender reconnection to one's own body.
I remain available to discuss this further with you.
