Even through Zoom, I could tell she was unraveling. Her face was drawn, her shoulders hunched, her eyes darting just off-camera like she was bracing for bad news. She told me the incisions from her colon resection were healing well. Her vitals were stable. She said all the right things – “I’m lucky, it could’ve been worse, I just want to move on.”
But her body told another story. Her voice was flat. Her posture, rigid. Her hands trembled when she lifted her tea. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t concentrate. She kept scanning herself for signs that something – anything – was wrong again.
She was 32. A young woman with colon cancer. The surgery had saved her life. But she hadn’t returned to herself.
After two decades of clinical work – and my own experience with serious illness – I’ve come to see a troubling pattern: Society treats illness as a series of discrete medical events while ignoring the psychological aftermath that often follows. Whether someone is living with cancer, multiple sclerosis, ulcerative colitis, a post-viral condition like long Covid, or another autoimmune or chronic illness, the emotional reverberations – marked by dissociation, grief, body mistrust, and a destabilized sense of self – follow a remarkably consistent arc. Yet it rarely gets named.
Despite its prevalence,the trauma of illness remains largely invisible in both medical and mental health settings. Care is often siloed by diagnosis, with providers focusing on survival metrics and symptom management, rarely asking what the whole person has endured. Psychologically, illness is treated as secondary – a stressor, perhaps, or a temporary adjustment issue. But for many patients, the emotional disruption of self isn’t peripheral. It’s central.
Why depression after traumatic brain injury is distinct – and less likely to respond to standard treatment
Once the medical crisis is “resolved,” the expectation is recovery – not just physical, but emotional. Providers may be relieved. Families may celebrate. And patients? They may smile, nod, and try to keep up. But beneath that surface, many remain braced, fragmented, or quietly grieving. Their nervous systems are still in a state of threat, their bodies unfamiliar, their identities destabilized. Symptoms like insomnia, brain fog, disconnection, emotional reactivity, and hypervigilance get misread as anxiety, depression, or resistance. Frequently enough,though,thes are signs of unacknowledged medical trauma. And unless we learn to name and treat that trauma, we risk retraumatizing people in the very systems meant to support them.
I once worked with a young man who had undergone multiple surgeries for ulcerative colitis. He had returned to work and was “functioning,” but only technically. He avoided dating, refused to talk about his body, and barely slept. In session, he joked constantly – until one day he didn’t. “I can’t even stand to look at myself,” he said, eyes fixed on the floor.His care team had celebrated his surgical recovery. But no one had asked how it felt to live in a
The Overlooked Trauma of Modern Healthcare
Medical trauma is a pervasive, yet frequently enough overlooked, result of modern healthcare. Despite its prevalence, few patients receive adequate mental health support following discharge from hospitals, even after prolonged stays or receiving life-altering diagnoses.Furthermore, many mental health professionals lack the specialized training needed to recognize and effectively treat medical trauma, leaving patients to grapple with the psychological aftermath largely on their own – often feeling misunderstood by clinicians and unsupported by the healthcare system.
This lack of recognition and support stems from a narrow focus on physical recovery. True healing extends beyond survival rates and restored physical function; it encompasses helping individuals rebuild their relationship with their bodies and their lives. This requires a shift in how healthcare providers approach patient care, begining with more empathetic and open-ended questioning. Instead of solely focusing on physical progress, clinicians should ask: What was it like for you? How has this changed your relationship with your body or your life? What still feels unresolved? [https://www.statnews.com/2017/07/24/icu-patient-support-group/]
The importance of simply listening to the answers cannot be overstated.Bearing witness to the often-unseen, unspoken, and dismissed emotional and psychological impacts of illness is crucial. Until healthcare systems acknowledge and address the disconnection between body and self, and build infrastructure to support patients through this process, trauma will continue to be misconstrued as resistance, and care will inevitably fall short of meeting patients’ true needs.
Support groups for individuals who have experienced intensive care unit (ICU) stays, often referred to as “ICU survivors,” are beginning to emerge, recognizing the unique trauma associated with these experiences. [https://www.statnews.com/2017/07/24/icu-patient-support-group/] However, ensuring these resources are widely accessible and integrated into standard post-discharge care remains a significant challenge.
Alexandra Kutnick, Ph.D., is a clinical psychologist and writer focusing on trauma and the psychological impact of illness.