Exploring TMJ, Tension, and the Armoured Body

Vanessa Kredler Author

One of my current “next-level healing” explorations is understanding my long‑standing patterns of chronic body tension—including TMJ.

A big part of this journey has been looking more closely at my TMJ, which causes me enormous tension.

TMJ stands for temporomandibular joint—the hinge-and-glide joint connecting your jawbone (mandible) to your skull (temporal bone), just in front of your ears. It allows all the essential movements of daily life: talking, chewing, yawning, singing. The jaw is part of my bracing and startle response. With so much hypervigilance and tension in this area, I have had jaw pain, earaches, tension headaches, neck stiffness, and night‑time clenching.

According to Dr. Howard Schubiner, TMJ is a classic mind‑body symptom—neuroplastic pain—arising not from tissue damage but from shifts within the nervous system itself. (I wrote more about this in my blog Mind Body Syndrome – When the Body Speaks)

I’ve had some form of TMJ and tension headaches for at least two decades—maybe longer. I’m a familiar face at massage, acupuncture, Chinese medicine practices, craniosacral therapy, chiropractic care, and every bodywork modality imaginable. I even have a favourite balm that I rub onto my temples and jaw to ease the constant tightness. I’ve noticed the tension flares when I’m stressed, and with my Mind Body Syndrome training, I know it’s linked to suppressed emotion. When the pain spikes, it’s often a clue that I need to gently ask myself: What am I not feeling right now?

I’ve always struggled with “stuck emotions”—the sense that tears are there but can’t quite make their way out. Bodywork, dancing, or a deeply sad movie are some ways to unlock them.

Working With My Chiro: Unravelling Patterns

I’ve been exploring my TMJ with my chiropractor—who is far from conventional. He blends network spinal care with intuition, experience, and a kind of emotional-cartography skillset I’ve never encountered before. He can detect body‑energy pattern maps and links physical holding patterns to deeper emotional themes.

He once told me that my suppression pattern is “typical for Germans.” And strangely, I understood exactly what he meant. Germany, as a collective, is full of stoic, emotionally contained people. Our history hasn’t encouraged emotional expression—especially not when the nation had to “get on with it” after WWII, and did a good job of suppressing the guilt, despair and trauma. Where I grew up, emotions simply weren’t part of the vocabulary. You just moved forward.

The Moment I Realised I Didn’t Know How to Relax My Jaw

During one session, my chiro asked me to relax my jaw. And I realised—with genuine surprise—that I didn’t know how. I’ve been trying for years, because yoga teachers and meditation instructors constantly remind us to release the jaw, the neck, the shoulders.

But when he gives adjustments and says “let me,” my body braces so hard that I genuinely respond, “I don’t know how!” We usually laugh, but it’s also true: relaxing feels foreign.

When I finally did manage to soften my jaw by imitating him modelling it to me, it felt awkward and unfamiliar, as though my body had no memory of what relaxation in that area actually feels like.

Then he guided me into a particular neck–shoulder–jaw positioning. Immediately, I felt my nervous system shift. My saliva production spiked and I started swallowing repeatedly—something that often happens during bodywork sessions for me. This is most likely the body dropping into parasympathetic “rest and digest”.  It felt like a gear inside me clicked.

Meeting the Armoured Part in my Chest

Next, he asked me to lie down and bring attention to the “armoured” part of my chest—my heart space. He alerted me to this part of me located there, bracing against overwhelming sensations or emotions. He had me breathe with my jaw relaxed, mouth slightly open, almost as if I were breathing past that shield and into my belly, so that I could notice its constricted presence better.

As soon as I did, a single tear welled up—an immediate wave of compassion for this braced part of me. (Tears are always welcome; they take such a long time to emerge.)

Since then, I’ve been noticing that my chest often feels stony, numb, stiff. I tend toward shallow breathing unless I’m consciously focusing on it. During vagus‑nerve‑soothing activities—yoga, breathwork, bodywork, quiet nature moments—that area feels a little more expansive. For years, I’ve instinctively pressed my hand into my sternum to help me connect to my feelings. Now I understand why it’s been instinctive. I often invite clients to put their hands on their hearts and explore if this works for them or not.

So What Does It All Mean?

I don’t have any conclusion. Right now, it’s an exploration. I’m observing, connecting, feeling, softening where I can. I’m making tiny conscious efforts throughout the day to relax my jaw and to acknowledge this armoured chest space. My chiro and I—equally geeky—are fascinated to see what unfolds next. With my therapist I now have a trailhead: I can see how protector parts are bracing and using my body to armour against the vulnerable parts hidden inside who are waiting for me to come and help them heal.

Categories: : Body, Internal Family Systems, Somatic