When Words Wound: How Shame and Bullying Shape the Nervous System — and How to Repair

By Jen Bennethum

The Invisible Injuries We Carry

"Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me." This childhood rhyme, meant to armor us against cruelty, fundamentally misunderstands how our nervous systems actually work. The truth is that name-calling and bullying don't just hurt our feelings — they literally reshape the developing nervous system, creating patterns of protection that can last a lifetime. During No Name-Calling Week, we need to talk not just about kindness, but about the deep neurobiological impact of shame and the patient work of repair.

When a child is repeatedly called names, mocked, or excluded, their nervous system doesn't distinguish between physical, emotional or even a perceived threat. The amygdala fires the same alarm bells, flooding the body with stress hormones like cortisol and adrenaline. Over time, this chronic activation reshapes the nervous system's baseline, like a smoke alarm that's been triggered so often it never fully resets. The child's window of tolerance — their capacity to stay regulated during daily life — shrinks dramatically. They might develop hypervigilance, constantly scanning for the next attack, or they might dissociate, learning to leave their body when the shame becomes unbearable.

"When we are repeatedly hurt by those who are supposed to care for us, or by our peers, we learn that the world is a dangerous place. The body remembers, even when the mind tries to forget." — Peter Levine.

The Body Keeps the Score of Every Name

What makes bullying particularly damaging is how it happens during critical periods of nervous system development. Between ages 6-12, children are learning fundamental lessons about safety, belonging, and their place in the social world. During these years, the prefrontal cortex — responsible for emotional regulation and executive function — is still developing. The hippocampus, which helps process and store memories, is particularly vulnerable to chronic stress. When bullying disrupts this process, it doesn't just hurt — it teaches. The nervous system learns that other people are dangerous, that visibility invites attack, that there's something fundamentally wrong with who they are.

These lessons live in the body, not just the mind. The child who was mocked for their appearance might develop chronic muscle tension, literally trying to make themselves smaller. The one teased for their voice might experience throat constriction that persists into adulthood. The student ridiculed for their learning differences might develop a startle response to any performance situation. These aren't conscious choices — they're nervous system adaptations, as automatic as breathing.

Research shows that children who experience chronic bullying often show similar brain changes to those who've experienced physical abuse. The anterior cingulate cortex, which processes social pain, lights up in brain scans just as it would with physical injury. This is why we say "hurt feelings" — because to the brain, social rejection literally hurts. The pain of being called names, excluded, or humiliated activates the same neural pathways as physical wounds.

The Shapeshifting Nature of Shame

Shame from bullying creates what we might call "shapeshifting survival strategies." These adaptive responses emerge from the nervous system's attempt to predict and prevent future harm. Some children develop a fawn response, becoming pleasers who anticipate others' needs to avoid attack. They might excel at reading micro-expressions, sensing mood shifts before they happen, always adjusting themselves to maintain safety. Others armor up with a fight response that looks like defiance but is actually profound fear. Still others perfect the art of invisibility through a freeze response, becoming so still and small that predators might pass them by.

Many children oscillate between different states, never quite finding solid ground. They might be hypervigilant at school but collapse into numbness at home, or maintain a perfect facade while experiencing crushing internal criticism. This constant shifting exhausts the nervous system, leading to what we now understand as chronic fatigue, anxiety disorders, or depression — not as separate conditions, but as downstream effects of a nervous system stuck in survival mode.

What's particularly heartbreaking is how these adaptations often invite more bullying. The child who fawns might be labeled "weak" or "teacher's pet," while the one who fights back gets branded as "difficult" or "aggressive." The frozen child might be called "weird" or "spacey." The nervous system's attempts to protect actually perpetuate the cycle, confirming the child's worst fears about their worthlessness. This is shame's cruelest trick — it makes us complicit in our own suffering.

The Neurochemical Legacy of Shame

The biochemical impact of chronic bullying extends far beyond the immediate stress response. Repeated activation of the HPA axis (hypothalamic-pituitary-adrenal axis) can lead to dysregulation that persists for years. Children who experience chronic shame often develop altered cortisol patterns — either overproducing this stress hormone or eventually burning out their ability to produce it adequately. This affects everything from immune function to sleep cycles to the ability to form new memories.

The dopamine system, crucial for motivation and pleasure, can also be disrupted. Children learn that social interaction brings pain rather than reward, fundamentally altering their brain's reward circuitry. This might manifest later as social anhedonia — the inability to feel pleasure from social connections — or as addiction vulnerabilities, as the brain seeks external sources of the dopamine it can't produce naturally in social situations.

Epigenetic research now shows us that severe bullying can actually alter how genes are expressed, potentially passing trauma responses to the next generation. The methyl groups that attach to our DNA in response to chronic stress don't just affect us — they can influence how our children's nervous systems develop. This isn't fate, but it underscores the seriousness of addressing bullying as a public health crisis, not just a social issue.

The Ripple Effects Through Time

The impact of childhood bullying extends far beyond the schoolyard. Adults who experienced significant name-calling often struggle with a harsh inner critic that continues the bullies' work long after the original voices have faded. They might experience social anxiety, perfectionism, or difficulty setting boundaries. Their nervous systems remain primed for rejection, making it hard to receive love or believe compliments. Even genuine praise might trigger a stress response, as their bodies brace for the "real" message they're sure is coming.

These patterns affect every area of life. In relationships, they might constantly apologize or struggle to express needs, always waiting for the moment their partner realizes they're "too much" or "not enough." At work, they might over function to prove their worth or under function from learned helplessness. They might sabotage opportunities that would make them visible, or accept treatment far below what they deserve. Even in moments of success, their nervous systems might activate old alarm bells: "Don't get too comfortable. Don't be too visible. Remember what happened last time."

The Neurobiology of Repair

Here's the hope hidden in the science: just as relationships can wound, relationships can heal. The same neuroplasticity that allowed bullying to shape the nervous system also allows for repair. But this isn't about positive thinking or simply "moving on." True healing requires understanding how to work with the nervous system's protective patterns, not against them.

Repair begins with something called "neuroception of safety— helping the nervous system recognize that the current environment is different from the past. This happens through consistent, attuned relationships where someone sees us without judgment. It might be a therapist, teacher, partner, or friend who responds to our shame with curiosity rather than criticism. These relationships literally rewire the nervous system, teaching it that connection can be safe.

Somatic Strategies for Healing

Because shame lives in the body, healing must include the body. Somatic practices help us befriend our nervous systems rather than fight them. Simple exercises like placing a hand on the heart while breathing slowly can activate the ventral vagal system — our social engagement circuitry. Progressive muscle relaxation helps release chronic holding patterns. Movement practices like yoga, dance, or even gentle stretching teach the body it's safe to take up space again.

For many survivors, the practice of "pendulation" — gently moving attention between areas of tension and ease in the body — helps rebuild tolerance for difficult sensations. This isn't about forcing relaxation but about teaching the nervous system it can move between states. Some find relief through bilateral stimulation like drumming, walking, or EMDR-based techniques that help integrate traumatic memories stored in the body.

Breaking the Silence, Finding Your Voice

One of shame's most effective strategies is silencing. Children who are bullied often lose access to their authentic voice — literally and figuratively. Healing involves reclaiming that voice, but this must happen at the body's pace. Humming, singing, or even sighing can help release throat constriction. Speaking our truth to safe witnesses helps rewire the belief that visibility equals danger.

For many survivors, creative expression becomes a pathway back to voice. Writing, art, music, or movement allow us to tell our stories in ways that feel manageable. The goal isn't to relive trauma but to transform it — to take the raw material of our pain and shape it into something that serves our healing and potentially others'.

The Power of Compassionate Community

Bullying thrives in isolation, convincing targets they're alone in their unworthiness. Healing happens in community — not despite our wounds but through them. Support groups, whether formal or informal, provide the revolutionary experience of being seen and accepted in our struggles. When we witness others' healing journeys, our nervous systems learn by observation that change is possible.

This extends to how we build community for current students. Schools that implement restorative practices rather than punitive measures create environments where nervous systems can regulate together. When we teach children about the neurobiology of emotions, we give them language for their experiences. When we model repair after rupture, we show them that relationships can withstand imperfection.

Rewiring the Inner Critic

The internalized bully — that harsh inner voice that continues the name-calling long after the original perpetrators are gone — requires patient, persistent work to transform. This isn't about positive affirmations that our nervous systems will reject as lies. Instead, it's about developing what some therapists call an "inner ally" or "compassionate witness."

This inner ally doesn't argue with the critic but sits alongside our wounded parts with curiosity and care. "Of course you're scared of being seen — you learned early that visibility meant attack. Thank you for trying to protect me." This approach honors our adaptations while gently inviting new possibilities. Over time, the volume of the inner critic naturally decreases as we offer ourselves the understanding we needed but didn't receive.

Moving Forward

As we observe No Name-Calling Week, let's expand our understanding beyond "be kind" to recognize the profound neurobiological impact of our words and actions. For those still carrying the wounds of childhood bullying, know that your nervous system's adaptations were brilliant survival strategies, not character flaws. Healing is possible — not through willpower or positive thinking, but through patient, embodied practices that teach your system new songs of safety.

For educators, parents, and community members, understand that preventing bullying isn't just about stopping bad behavior — it's about creating environments where all nervous systems can thrive. This means modeling regulation, teaching emotional literacy, and responding to harm with restoration rather than punishment. When we understand that hurt people hurt people, we can interrupt cycles of shame with cycles of healing.

The words we speak to children today echo in their nervous systems for decades. But here's the revolutionary truth: healing words can echo just as powerfully. Every time we meet someone's shame with compassion, every time we see the person beneath their protective armor, every time we create safety where there was fear — we literally rewire the future. That's the deeper promise of No Name-Calling Week: not just to stop the wounds, but to become part of the repair. Please feel to reach out to us at Integrate Therapy and Wellness Collective with any questions and if yo would like us to walk with you on your journey to wholeness.