Maybe the Story of Suffering Doesn’t Begin With Trauma: Part 2 of 4

Maybe it begins years earlier—with how the nervous system learned, or didn’t learn, to encounter stress and return to safety.

I have been thinking a lot lately about trauma, resilience, inflammation, and the body.

But the further I follow the research, the more I wonder whether I started the story too late.

Maybe the story doesn’t begin with trauma.

Maybe it begins much earlier.

Maybe it begins in childhood, when the nervous system is learning one of the most important lessons it will ever learn:

What do I do when something is hard?

Do I panic?

Do I freeze?

Does someone immediately rescue me?

Do I believe I can’t handle it?

Or do I struggle, adapt, recover, and eventually discover:

I can do hard things.

That difference may matter more than we realize.

We Tend to Think Stress Is Always Bad

We hear a lot about eliminating stress.

Reduce stress.

Protect children from stress.

Avoid stressful situations.

Create safe environments.

Certainly, severe and chronic stress can be damaging. Abuse, neglect, violence, extreme poverty and overwhelming childhood adversity are associated with major long-term health consequences.

But stress itself is not necessarily the enemy.

Our bodies were designed to encounter challenges.

And there is a fascinating area of research called stress inoculation.

The idea is surprisingly simple:

A manageable amount of stress—something challenging but not overwhelming—may actually teach the nervous system how to handle future stress.

One scientific review describes stress inoculation as exposure to relatively mild, controllable challenges that can increase resilience to later stress. (PubMed Central (PMC))

Think of it almost like exercise.

A muscle becomes stronger because we challenge it.

Not because we tear it apart.

And not because we refuse to use it.

We provide just enough resistance for adaptation.

Perhaps the nervous system works similarly.

A Little Adversity May Actually Be Protective

One particularly interesting longitudinal study followed people across their lives and compared their history of adversity with later mental health.

The researchers discovered something unexpected.

People who had experienced some adversity actually had better outcomes than both people who had experienced very high adversity and people who reported virtually none.

Those with moderate previous adversity had:

lower psychological distress,

less functional impairment,

fewer post-traumatic stress symptoms,

and greater life satisfaction.

They were also less affected when new stressful events occurred later. (PubMed)

That’s important.

It doesn’t mean suffering is good.

It means successfully coping with difficulty may teach us something that complete protection cannot.

The most resilient nervous system may not necessarily be the one that has never experienced difficulty.

It may be the one that has repeatedly experienced:

challenge → stress response → coping → recovery.

Perhaps Resilience Is Practiced

Think about childhood for a moment.

You try to climb a tree.

You fall.

You try again.

You don’t make the team.

You’re disappointed.

Eventually you discover another activity you love.

Someone doesn’t invite you to a party.

It hurts.

You recover.

You have an argument with a friend.

No adult immediately intervenes.

You have to figure out how to repair the relationship—or walk away.

You get a bad grade.

Your parents don’t call the teacher demanding that it be changed.

You have to study harder.

Every one of those experiences is unpleasant.

But they also provide something valuable:

practice recovering.

And recovery may be the key.

Resilience doesn’t mean that the nervous system never activates.

A resilient person still feels fear.

Their heart still races.

Cortisol still rises.

They still become angry or hurt.

The difference may be that their nervous system has learned:

I have been here before.I can handle this.This feeling will pass.I can return to baseline.

That is an entirely different biological experience from:

Something is wrong.I can’t handle this.Someone needs to save me.I’m not safe.

What Happens When We Remove Too Much Difficulty?

This is where modern parenting becomes interesting.

Parents naturally want to protect their children.

That’s part of being a parent.

But there may be an important difference between protecting children from danger and protecting children from discomfort.

Researchers studying what has become known as helicopter parenting or overprotective parenting have begun examining that distinction.

A 2022 systematic review examined 38 studies involving helicopter or overprotective parenting.

Most of the studies found an association between overprotective parenting and increased symptoms of anxiety and depression. The researchers were appropriately cautious: much of the research is observational, so we cannot say that overprotective parenting directly causes anxiety.

But the pattern was remarkably consistent. (PubMed Central (PMC))

Then researchers took the question further.

A 2024 meta-analysis combined 53 studies involving more than 46,000 emerging adults.

Helicopter parenting was associated with:

more anxiety and depressive symptoms,

lower self-efficacy,

poorer emotional regulation,

and poorer academic adjustment. (Springer)

Self-efficacy is particularly important here.

It essentially means:

Do I believe I can handle what happens to me?

That’s awfully close to what we’re talking about when we talk about resilience.

Even the Biology May Be Different

This question is no longer confined to psychology.

A 2026 scoping review examined 62 studies looking at objectively measurable biological outcomes associated with parental overprotection.

Researchers found studies suggesting associations involving:

HPA-axis activity—the body’s primary stress-response system,

other measures of stress physiology,

brain anatomy and neurophysiology,

DNA-related changes,

and certain physical-health outcomes.

The authors were very careful to say that causality has not yet been established.

But their conclusion was important: overprotection may have measurable biological associations, and the subject deserves much more research. (PubMed)

That changes the conversation.

We aren’t simply asking whether children raised with excessive protection become less confident adults.

We are beginning to ask whether the developing stress-regulation system itself may be affected.

The Goal Isn’t a Hard Childhood

This is where I want to be very clear.

I am not advocating neglect.

I’m not saying bullying is good.

I’m not saying children should experience abuse, humiliation or unnecessary suffering.

Severe adversity is associated with enormous harm.

And research on positive childhood experiences shows something equally important:

Children benefit enormously from feeling loved, supported, connected and safe.

A systematic review of 58 studies found that positive childhood experiences were associated with better adult mental health, physical health, psychosocial functioning and stress outcomes. (PubMed)

A newer meta-analysis involving more than 74,000 people found that greater positive childhood experiences were associated with lower levels of anxiety, depression and PTSD symptoms later in life. (PubMed)

So the healthiest childhood does not appear to be:

hardship without support.

Nor does it appear to be:

protection from every hardship.

Perhaps the sweet spot is:

love + safety + challenge + autonomy + recovery.

Tough Love May Have Contained Something We Didn’t Understand

I grew up in Generation X.

People my age frequently joke about our childhood.

We disappeared outside for hours.

Parents didn’t always know exactly where we were.

We fell off bicycles.

We climbed things we probably shouldn’t have climbed.

Adults weren’t constantly negotiating our social relationships.

If somebody didn’t like us, our parents didn’t necessarily intervene.

If we didn’t make the team, we didn’t make the team.

If we failed, sometimes we simply failed.

Some of that absolutely went too far.

Real bullying was sometimes ignored.

Mental-health problems were poorly understood.

Children who genuinely needed help often didn’t receive it.

That wasn’t resilience-building.

That was sometimes simply neglect.

But I wonder whether something else was happening alongside it.

We had enormous opportunities to practice solving problems ourselves.

We regularly experienced low-level discomfort without an adult immediately removing it.

We learned through experience:

You might be uncomfortable and still be okay.

That’s an extraordinarily valuable lesson for a nervous system.

What Happens When Life Becomes Safer but the Nervous System Gets Less Practice?

Modern childhood has become safer in many wonderful ways.

Cars are safer.

Playgrounds are safer.

Schools have stronger protections.

Medicine can save people and animals who once would have died.

Parents have instant communication with their children.

We understand psychological harm much better.

Those are genuine improvements.

But perhaps there has been an unintended consequence.

In trying to protect people from legitimate harm, have we gradually begun protecting them from normal discomfort as well?

Failure.

Disappointment.

Risk.

Conflict.

Waiting.

Being bored.

Working something out alone.

Being told no.

Natural consequences.

Perhaps those experiences look small.

But perhaps they are repetitions.

Repetitions in which the developing nervous system learns:

activation does not equal catastrophe.

And:

discomfort eventually passes.

The Military Gives Us a Fascinating Clue

The military has provided one of the clearest demonstrations that the traumatic event itself doesn’t completely determine what happens afterward.

Two soldiers can experience similar combat.

One develops PTSD.

The other doesn’t.

Why?

Researchers have spent decades trying to answer that question.

One prospective study followed more than 5,400 U.S. military personnel before and after combat deployment.

People entering deployment with the poorest baseline mental-health scores were more than three times as likely to develop new PTSD symptoms afterward.

In fact, poor mental health before the deployment was the strongest risk factor identified in that study. (BMJ)

More recently, Army STARRS researchers followed 2,542 combat-arms soldiers before deployment to Afghanistan and afterward.

About 41% experienced high combat-related stress.

Yet only 5.4% developed persistent PTSD.

Researchers could identify differences in vulnerability before deployment.

Among the 20% of soldiers categorized as least resilient, high combat stress produced a dramatically greater risk of persistent PTSD compared with the more resilient 80%. (PubMed Central (PMC))

That tells us something profound.

The event matters.

But the person who enters the event matters too.

Perhaps Trauma Doesn’t Start the Story

Imagine two nervous systems entering the exact same traumatic event.

Nervous System A has spent twenty years learning:

I can tolerate uncertainty.

I can solve problems.

I have failed before.

I have recovered before.

Stress rises and then falls.

I have people who support me.

I trust myself.

Nervous System B has had fewer opportunities to develop those skills.

Problems were frequently solved for them.

Discomfort was quickly removed.

Failure was prevented.

Conflict was mediated.

Risk was minimized.

Then both nervous systems experience something truly terrible.

The trauma is identical.

But the starting point isn’t.

That’s exactly what military resilience research suggests we need to think about.

And Now My Original Question Changes

I originally became interested in trauma because I was looking at chronic tension, inflammation and nervous-system guarding.

I wondered whether severe trauma could leave the nervous system stuck in protection.

But now I think the more interesting question comes before trauma.

What determined whether the nervous system could return to baseline afterward?

Maybe the pathway begins something like this:

Childhood experiences

↓

manageable challenges + autonomy + supportive relationships

↓

repeated opportunities to solve, cope and recover

↓

stronger self-efficacy and stress regulation

↓

greater baseline resilience

↓

major adult stress or trauma

↓

nervous system activates—but can eventually return toward baseline.

Or perhaps:

childhood overprotection / fewer opportunities for independent coping

↓

fewer repetitions of manageable stress and successful recovery

↓

lower self-efficacy or weaker stress-regulation skills

↓

major adult stress or trauma

↓

greater likelihood of persistent nervous-system activation.

That second pathway remains a hypothesis, not established fact.

But important pieces of it now have scientific support.

Then the Body Enters the Story

This is where this discussion connects with the research I have been doing on trauma, fascia, movement, lymphatic function and inflammation.

If a nervous system does not efficiently return to baseline after stress, what happens physically?

Muscles remain guarded.

Breathing may remain altered.

Sleep changes.

Activity changes.

Pain sensitivity may increase.

Movement becomes protective.

And over time, the mechanical environment of the body can change.

That’s why I no longer think we can talk about resilience as simply a personality trait.

It may be:

psychological,

neurological,

hormonal,

behavioral,

social,

and ultimately physical.

The mind and body aren’t running separate programs.

They are the same organism responding to the same environment.

The Question We May Need to Ask Children Is Different

Perhaps our goal should not be:

How do we make sure this child never experiences stress?

Maybe it should be:

How do we make sure this child experiences the right amount of challenge while knowing they have a safe place to return to?

Let them struggle.

But don’t abandon them.

Let them fail.

But don’t humiliate them.

Let them experience disappointment.

But teach them that disappointment is survivable.

Let them solve problems.

But be available when the problem truly exceeds their capacity.

Give them independence.

Give them responsibility.

Let them discover:

I did that myself.

That may be one of the greatest psychological—and perhaps biological—gifts we can give a developing nervous system.

Maybe Resilience Is Not Something You Either Have or Don’t Have

Perhaps resilience is something we practice.

Every time life produces a manageable challenge:

stress rises.

We respond.

We adapt.

We recover.

And the nervous system learns.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until one day something much bigger happens.

A death.

An accident.

A divorce.

A diagnosis.

A war.

A betrayal.

A devastating loss.

And perhaps somewhere inside that nervous system exists a deeply practiced memory:

I have experienced distress before.

I know distress changes.

I know how to reach for support.

I know how to recover.

I can survive this moment.

That doesn’t mean trauma won’t hurt.

It doesn’t mean PTSD is a failure of character.

It doesn’t mean resilience can overcome every overwhelming experience.

But the military research tells us clearly that people do not enter traumatic events as blank slates.

Their nervous systems bring a history with them.

And maybe that history begins much earlier than we thought.

The Question I’m Left With

Maybe the dramatic increase we are seeing in anxiety and psychological distress among younger people cannot be explained simply by saying:

“Life has become more stressful.”

Perhaps we should also ask:

Have we changed the way young nervous systems learn to deal with stress?

Have we confused safety with eliminating all discomfort?

Have we removed too many opportunities for independence?

Have we inadvertently taught some children that normal distress signals danger?

And could restoring manageable challenge, autonomy, physical movement, responsibility, connection and recovery become part of building healthier nervous systems again?

I don’t think science has answered all of those questions yet.

But it has given us enough pieces that I believe they are worth asking.

And perhaps that’s where the story really begins.

Not with trauma.

But with everything the nervous system learned before the trauma ever arrived.

Research referenced

Research on stress inoculation and developmental resilience suggests that challenging but non-overwhelming stressors, particularly when they are controllable, may promote later stress regulation and resilience. (PubMed Central (PMC))

A longitudinal study found a U-shaped relationship between lifetime adversity and later functioning: people reporting some adversity had better psychological outcomes than both those reporting very high adversity and those reporting virtually none. (PubMed)

A systematic review found that helicopter and overprotective parenting was frequently associated with anxiety and depression in young people. (PubMed Central (PMC))

A 2024 meta-analysis of 53 studies found helicopter parenting associated with greater internalizing symptoms and lower self-efficacy, emotional regulation and academic adjustment. (Springer)

A 2026 review of 62 studies found possible associations between overprotection and objectively measured biological outcomes involving stress physiology and neurobiology, although causality remains uncertain. (PubMed)

Research on positive childhood experiences strongly supports the importance of supportive relationships, connection and other positive developmental experiences in later mental health and resilience. (PubMed)

Prospective military studies demonstrate that baseline psychological and physical health and predeployment resilience substantially influence the likelihood of developing PTSD after combat exposure. (PubMed Central (PMC))