12/09/2025
Sharing because this articulated explanation of trigger points. Enjoy!
Today I want to bring you into the quiet interior world of the body, a place where science and sensation coexist, and where even the smallest structures hold stories. Before we explore the deeper art of myofascial trigger point therapy in my next post, I want to lay a foundation that feels both beautiful and true.
Many bodyworkers were never entirely taught the science behind trigger points, and many clients know them only as “knots.” But the truth is far more elegant, far more human, and far more poetic than that. When we understand them correctly, the body's whole landscape begins to make sense.
Inside every muscle are tiny contractile threads called sarcomeres. I often imagine them as thousands of delicate accordion folds lined up end to end, expanding and contracting in a rhythm that mirrors breath. In a healthy state, these folds open and close with ease, like the petals of a flower responding to light. But life doesn’t always keep its softness. A moment of stress, a pattern of overuse, a season of guarding, or the quiet residue of something emotionally overwhelming can cause a cluster of these little folds to clamp down and refuse to release. They hold tight, far tighter than the body ever intended. This is the beginning of a trigger point, a small place in the body's fabric where movement stops, and holding begins.
When these sarcomeres remain contracted, blood flow cannot fully enter the area. The tissue becomes a tiny pocket of drought. The body calls this ischemia, but you can imagine it as a river narrowing until only a trickle can pass through. Without fresh blood, oxygen cannot arrive, nourishment cannot circulate, and the natural byproducts of muscle activity begin to collect instead of being washed away.
These metabolites, harmless in motion, become irritating when trapped. They gather like stagnant water behind a dam, slowly altering the tissue's chemistry until the nerves around them begin to react. This is why a trigger point aches, burns, radiates, or surprises us with sharpness. It is not just tension; it is nature trying to move again.
Fascia, the body’s great communicator, becomes part of this story too. Because fascia is one continuous web, a single small obstruction can create distant echoes. A trigger point in the neck might send pain into the jaw or temple. A trigger point in the glute might imitate sciatica. A point in the diaphragm might reshape breath and ripple into the lower back. These are not accidents. These are the fascial lines speaking their language, sending signals through the body’s interconnected map. What happens in one place is felt everywhere.
And hidden beneath all of this is something more subtle, something more tender. Trigger points often form not only from physical strain but also from emotional tightening. The jaw clenches around unspoken words. The diaphragm holds back tears. The belly tightens around fear. The hips brace for imagined impact. Over time, these emotional reflexes crystallize into physical ones. The body remembers its history in the places where it stops moving.
This is why understanding trigger points is so important. They are not random knots; they are small dams in a river that longs to flow. When we release a trigger point, we are not just softening tension; we are restoring circulation to a starved pocket of tissue. We are dissolving chemical stagnation. We are freeing a section of fascia so the whole body can move with more grace. We are interrupting a protective pattern the nervous system has been holding onto, sometimes for years.
In the next post, we will step into the artistry of how I approach myofascial trigger point work, the breaking of the dam, and the waves of release that can change an entire region of the body. For now, let this be your gateway.
Trigger points are small, but the story they tell is vast. And once you understand them, you begin to understand the deep intelligence of the body that carries them.
