There’s Always an Explanation. Even if We Can’t Measure It Yet.

"When we call something idiopathic, we’re often naming our limits—not the child’s experience." - Mary Coughlin

In their thoughtful review, Kassab et al. (2025) explore the wide landscape of chest pain in children. They remind us that 99% of pediatric chest pain is not cardiac, and most of it is ultimately labeled as musculoskeletal, psychogenic, or idiopathic.

The science is clear.
But what if we let our hearts speak, too?

“Idiopathic,” a mentor once told me, is just a clever way of saying we’ve stopped asking deeper questions.

Yes, we need ECGs, physical exams, and clinical protocols. But we also need presence.
We need curiosity.
We need to consider what can’t be seen in labs but is felt in the body.

• A child’s chest pain may be a whisper of something unspoken.

• A symptom of dysregulation.

• A need for connection, for safety, for story.

This isn’t anti-science. It’s whole-science.
It’s what happens when we integrate developmental trauma, relational neuroscience, and yes—even energetics—into our diagnostic frameworks.

As Kassab et al. point out, mindfulness-based interventions and psychiatric support show promise. But let’s not stop there.

Let’s ask:

• What if this child’s body is telling a story no one has had the courage—or the time—to hear?

• What would happen if we made space for that story, even if it didn’t fit neatly into a billing code?

This isn’t about abandoning evidence.
It’s about expanding it.

There’s always an explanation.
Sometimes it lives in the space between science and soul.

Until we dare to look beyond the diagnosis, we’ll keep missing the child right in front of us.
Weave on, my friend

Mary

P.S.: If this stirred something in you, you’re not alone. This is the kind of presence we explore in the Trauma-Informed Professional (TIP) Certificate Program—where science, soul, and skill meet to transform care. Learn more here 💗