the link between trauma and why play feels hard as an adult

I remember sitting on the floor with my children one afternoon, surrounded by half-built towers and scattered toys, feeling a strange tightness in my chest. They were laughing, fully immersed, making up rules that changed every few minutes, completely unconcerned with whether what they were doing made sense. I noticed how my body wanted to rush it. To tidy up. To redirect. To make it productive. And in that moment, something landed hard. I realised how unfamiliar that state felt in my own body. Being absorbed. Being unselfconscious. Being playful without an outcome.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to play. It was that somewhere along the way, play stopped feeling safe.

For many of us, play is framed as something we leave behind with childhood. As we grow older, life becomes about responsibility, productivity, achievement and keeping everything together. Play gets relegated to the edges of life, treated as a reward once everything else is done. But the truth is, play is not some luxury or an indulgence. It is a fundamental human need. And when it is interrupted, restricted or taken away too early, it leaves a mark that can follow us into adulthood.

As children, play is how we make sense of the world. It is how we explore boundaries, express emotion, experiment with identity and process experiences that we don't have words for yet. Through play, the nervous system learns safety, flexibility and regulation. The body learns that it is allowed to move, imagine, express and rest within connection.

When play is consistently interrupted, controlled or dismissed, the body learns something very different.

Interrupted play can look many ways. A child who is constantly told to stop, be quiet, behave or grow up. A child whose play is cut short because adults are overwhelmed, stressed or unavailable. A child who has to become responsible too early and is praised for being mature. A child living in an environment where survival takes priority over imagination. A child whose emotional expression is unsafe or inconvenient.

None of this needs to be extreme to have an impact. Developmental trauma often lives in these smaller repeated moments, not just in obvious harm. When a child’s natural rhythm of play is repeatedly disrupted, the nervous system adapts. It learns to stay alert. It learns to suppress impulses. It learns that being spontaneous, expressive or imaginative might lead to rejection, criticism or disconnection.

Over time, play becomes associated with risk.

As adults, this can show up in subtle but painful ways. Difficulty relaxing without guilt. Feeling awkward or exposed when trying something new. Struggling with creativity or self-expression. A sense of being disconnected from joy without knowing why. Feeling like life is heavy even when things are objectively okay. Feeling like there is a real version of you somewhere inside but you do not quite know how to access it.

Authenticity is not just about telling the truth or knowing who you are intellectually. Authenticity is a lived experience in the body. It is the ability to respond, express and move through the world without constant self-monitoring. Play is one of the most natural pathways back to that state.

When we play, we step out of performance. We are not trying to get it right. We are not aiming for approval. We are not editing ourselves in real time. Play invites presence. It allows the nervous system to soften its grip and experience safety through engagement rather than control.

This is why play can feel uncomfortable for adults who grew up without enough of it. The body does not recognise it as safe territory. Instead of ease, there may be self-consciousness. Instead of joy, there may be anxiety or resistance. Instead of curiosity, there may be a voice that says this is silly or pointless.

That voice is not a personal failing. It is a learned response.

I see this often in my work. Adults who long to feel more like themselves but do not know how. They have done the insight work. They understand their patterns. They can explain their history in detail. But something still feels stuck. What is often missing is not more understanding. It is experience. Specifically, the experience of being in their body in a way that is expressive, exploratory and unpressured.

Play offers that.

And play does not have to look like board games or hobbies that feel forced. It is not about recreating childhood exactly as it was (though... it can be). It is about allowing moments where there is no agenda. Moments where you follow interest instead of obligation. Moments where movement, creativity or curiosity are allowed to lead.

This could be dancing in the kitchen without worrying how it looks. Drawing without caring if it is good. Laughing loudly. Trying something new without needing to master it. Making up stories. Being playful with language. Letting humour surface. Allowing rest to be rest instead of recovery for more work.

What matters is not the activity itself but the internal permission.

For those with developmental trauma, play can also bring up grief. Grief for what was missed. Grief for the childhood that required you to grow up too soon. This is normal and it deserves tenderness. Reclaiming play as an adult is not about bypassing that pain. It is about acknowledging it while choosing something different now.

The nervous system can learn safety at any age. Neuroplasticity does not expire. When we introduce play slowly and with compassion, we offer the body new information. We show it that expression does not automatically lead to harm. That spontaneity does not equal danger. That enjoyment does not have to be earned.

Over time, this reshapes how we relate to ourselves and others. Play supports flexibility rather than rigidity. Connection rather than isolation. Presence rather than dissociation. It helps regulate stress not by numbing it but by balancing it with experiences of engagement and pleasure.

This is especially important in a world that constantly pulls us toward seriousness and productivity. Many adults live in a near-constant state of low-level threat. The body is always preparing. Always bracing. Play interrupts that cycle. It brings the nervous system into a state where learning, connection and authenticity can occur.

Authenticity grows where there is safety to explore.

I think back to that moment on the floor with my children often. Not because I did it perfectly but because it showed me something important. Play is not something we give to children alone. It is something we model. When we allow ourselves to be playful, we show that it is safe to be human. To be expressive. To be imperfect. To be alive.

And perhaps just as importantly, we give ourselves permission to return to parts of us that were never broken, only paused.

If play feels distant or uncomfortable for you, that does not mean you are doing it wrong. It means your body learned what it needed to survive. You can thank it for that and still invite something new. Start small. Stay curious. Notice resistance without forcing past it. Let play be an offering, not a demand.

There is no rush. No right way. No outcome you need to achieve.

Play is not about becoming someone else. It is about remembering who you were before the world asked you to be anything at all.

With love & support,

Shorina | Mindful Soul Collective

Holistic Counsellor, Wellbeing Coach & Business Mentor

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