You’re Not Cold, You’re Disassociating: What Disconnection Really Feels Like
Let’s skip the sugarcoating:
A lot of us aren’t healed—we’re just numb.
We’re not glowing in our “soft era.” We’re not effortlessly unbothered. We’re disconnected. Quiet doesn’t always mean peace. And stillness doesn’t always mean balance.
Sometimes, it’s just dissociation.
Image Credit: Midjourney AI
Dissociation is your brain’s emergency exit. When things feel too intense—whether it’s trauma, stress, grief, sensory overload, or even just life stacking up without pause—your mind can decide:
“I’m not doing this.”
So it checks out.
And what’s wild is that most people don’t even realize they’re disassociating. Especially women. Because we’re so used to suppressing our needs, skipping meals, pushing past emotions, showing up no matter what—that disconnection feels normal.
But it’s not.
You might be telling yourself you’re just tired.
Just busy.
Just not a “feely” person.
But check this out:
You forget full conversations or tasks minutes after doing them
You feel like you’re watching yourself from outside your body
You zone out while driving or scrolling
You struggle to feel anything—good or bad
You “blank out” in stressful moments and respond later with emotions that feel delayed
You feel physically numb or detached from your body
You say, “I’m fine,” but can’t describe why you’re fine—or what you even feel
If any of that rings true? You’re not broken. You’re surviving.
Dissociation is your nervous system’s way of pulling the ripcord. It protects you from emotions, sensations, or memories you can’t handle in the moment.
Maybe you’re overworked.
Maybe your relationships are draining you.
Maybe motherhood is a whirlwind and you don’t even have time to cry.
Or maybe you’re just… full. Too much has happened for too long and your body is waving the white flag.
This isn’t your fault.
It’s a symptom.
Here’s the tricky part: if you live in this state long enough, it becomes your norm.
You’ll convince yourself this blankness is stability.
That forgetting is freedom.
That going through the motions is just what adulthood feels like.
But this isn’t peace.
This is emergency autopilot.
And the longer you stay disconnected, the harder it becomes to access your own needs, dreams, emotions, and instincts. You start to lose track of you.
There’s no magic fix. But the journey back to yourself doesn’t need to be dramatic. Start small. Consistent.
Place your hand on your chest and breathe deeply once a day
Speak out loud: “I am safe. I am in my body.”
Do something tactile—walk barefoot, take a cold shower, brush your skin
Track your thoughts: are they yours, or echoes from someone else’s expectations?
Check in with one real emotion a day—even if it’s just naming that you feel “off”
And if you're able to? Therapy that focuses on trauma and nervous system healing—like EMDR or somatic therapy—can be life-changing.
You’re not broken. You’re not frozen forever.
You are still in there—underneath the armor, the forgetfulness, the flat tone of “I’m fine.”
You’re not cold. You’re just tired of feeling everything all at once.
And I see you.
So let’s name it. Let’s stop glamorizing numbness as control.
Let’s stop calling silence “strength” when it’s really a quiet cry for help.
You don’t have to stay disconnected forever.
Come back slowly.
Come back softly.
But come back.
Because you deserve to feel again.
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