What It Means to Reprocess: The Science and Soul of EMDR
I took up tennis in my 40s.
I have never been particularly athletic. Coordination has never been my gift. Why I decided to pick up a racquet at this stage of life is still, frankly, a mystery.
On paper, I am a well-functioning adult (most days anyway). I pay taxes. I run a practice. I maintain long-standing, meaningful relationships. I am capable, steady, responsible.
And yet, there are moments during a tennis lesson when I do not recognize myself.
I am stomping my feet in frustration.
I am muttering sharp, cutting things to myself under my breath.
I feel a wave of shame that seems wildly disproportionate to missing a backhand.
This is a recreational activity. No one’s livelihood depends on it. No scholarships are at stake. There is no audience keeping score of my worth.
So why does it feel like there is?
Because as a child, learning was not neutral.
Learning was charged.
It was evaluated.
It was tied to approval.
Achievement equaled worth.
On the tennis court, when I miss an easy shot and feel that familiar heat rise in my chest, the past is not in the past.
It is happening now. The feelings of shame, frustration, judgment and stuckness all come from sitting at the kitchen table getting tutored in math, not understanding, knowing that I won’t be able to get up from the table until I can demonstrate comprehension. I forget that I am an adult and can leave mid-lesson, never pick up a racquet again, if that was my choice.
You might notice I’m using an ordinary moment — a tennis lesson — to talk about trauma. I want to be thoughtful here. Many people carry experiences of overt abuse, neglect, violence, racism, or chronic emotional deprivation. I am not equating missing a backhand with those realities. This is merely an illustration of how the past can stay with us in ways that we don’t even realize, and an example of how we do not always meet the past where it originally occurred. We meet it where it still shows up.
When the Past Isn’t a Memory — It’s a State
This is what trauma often looks like in adulthood.
Not necessarily dramatic flashbacks.
Not necessarily catastrophic events.
Sometimes it looks like:
disproportionate self-criticism
panic over small mistakes
shame that floods the body
a sudden regression into “not good enough”
You are not consciously thinking about childhood. You are not remembering a specific scene.
But your nervous system is.
Your body is responding to an old emotional blueprint.
That moment on the tennis court is not about tennis.
It is about a younger version of me who learned:
Mistakes are dangerous.
Performance determines belonging.
Try harder or risk losing connection.
When that belief gets activated, it doesn’t feel historical. It feels immediate.
That is what we mean when we say trauma lives in the present.
Trauma is not defined only by the objective severity of an event, but by how the nervous system organized around it. Two people can live through very different circumstances and yet carry similarly intense reactions in the present. What matters clinically is not whether a moment looks significant from the outside, but whether the body still responds as if something important is at stake.
Why Insight Alone Doesn’t Fix It
Here’s the important part:
I understand all of this.
I can articulate the family dynamics.
I can name the pressure.
I can compassionately reflect on how achievement became fused with identity.
And still — in the middle of a lesson — my foot hits the ground in frustration before my adult self can intervene.
This is where many high-functioning adults feel confused.
They think:
I’ve done therapy.
I know where this comes from.
Why am I still reacting like this?
Because insight lives in the thinking brain.
But those reactions live in memory networks laid down much earlier — in emotional and somatic systems that do not update just because we understand them.
The brain stores experiences not just as stories, but as sensations, beliefs, and emotional states.
When something in the present resembles the past — even subtly — that network activates.
You do not remember it.
You re-experience it.
This is also why many adults feel uncertain whether their experiences “count.” If there was no single catastrophic event, they assume their reactions must be overreactions. But the nervous system does not measure trauma by drama. It measures by meaning — especially experiences that linked performance, safety, attachment, or belonging.
What It Means to Reprocess
Reprocessing is not about retelling the story again.
It is about helping the brain finally recognize:
That was then.
This is now.
In therapies like EMDR, we work with the original memory networks — the earlier experiences where learning became fused with worth, where mistakes became threats, where the nervous system adapted in order to belong or stay safe.
Through bilateral stimulation and guided processing, the brain is supported in doing what it was unable to do at the time: fully digest the experience and store it adaptively.
When a memory is reprocessed:
the emotional charge decreases
the body response softens
the old belief (“I’m only as good as my performance”) loosens
a new belief (“I can learn and still be safe”) integrates
The memory does not disappear.
It simply becomes something that happened — rather than something that is still happening.
Reprocessing does not rank suffering. Whether someone carries memories of overt harm or quieter but persistent emotional pressures, the brain can store unfinished experiences in remarkably similar ways. The goal is not to compare stories, but to help the nervous system update what it learned when options, protection, or support were limited.
The Soul of It
Reprocessing is not only neurological.
It is deeply humane.
It is the moment when your adult self can finally stand beside your younger self — not in analysis, but in integration.
It is when the tennis court becomes just a tennis court.
A missed shot becomes feedback instead of a verdict.
Frustration no longer carries shame.
You recognize yourself again.
The tennis example is simply a small doorway into a larger principle: the past survives wherever the nervous system has not yet had the chance to complete the experience. Sometimes it appears in nightmares or panic. Sometimes in relationships. Sometimes in something as ordinary as learning a new skill and discovering the emotional response is far bigger than the present moment requires.
Healing is not about erasing your history.
It is about allowing your nervous system to finally understand that you are no longer there.
Reflection Prompt
If your mind and body didn’t have to stay on guard anymore, what might become possible in your life?
About Dr Vicky Huangfu
Vicky is a first generation Chinese American who honors cultural heritage with humility and curiosity. Her passion is in helping women say the things that feel too hard to say; things like, "NO," "I am not OK," "I am OK," and "STFU!". As a clinical psychologist and EMDR-certified therapist for over 20 years, she is committed to providing a trauma-informed and affirming space where you can get in touch with what is true for you.
