#Dissociation – WannaBeNormal

There are moments when I’m technically awake, technically functioning, but not really here.

I’ll be mid-sentence and lose the sentence. Mid-thought and lose the thought. Mid-day and suddenly it’s hours later.

That’s dissociation — and it’s a lot quieter, weirder, and more common than people think.

This isn’t a dramatic shutdown. It’s not a panic attack. It’s not giving up.

It’s my nervous system quietly saying: this is too much right now.

What Dissociation Actually Feels Like

Not the textbook version. The real-life one.

My body keeps going, but my brain feels like it stepped out for coffee.
Sounds feel slightly delayed, like everything is happening behind glass.
Emotions flatten — not sad, not calm, just muted.
I forget what I’m saying while I’m saying it.
Time skips. Ten minutes disappears. Sometimes an hour.

It doesn’t feel scary in the moment — it feels empty. And that’s often what makes it unsettling afterward.

Why It Happens (No Jargon, I Promise)

Your brain has two big jobs:

Keep you alive
Process information and feelings

When stress, pain, trauma, sensory overload, or emotional pressure stack too high, the brain makes a call:

“Processing everything right now would cost too much energy.”

So it pulls back.

Less sensation. Less emotion. Less memory formation.

This isn’t a flaw. It’s a conservation strategy.

How to Gently Come Back (Without Forcing It)

Dissociation doesn’t respond well to yelling at yourself to focus.

It responds to safety cues.

1. Start With the Body

Thinking your way out rarely works — the body has to go first.

Press your feet into the floor and notice the pressure
Wrap up in a hoodie or blanket (weight helps)
Hold something textured: a mug, fabric seam, stone

Feeling your body is the bridge back.

2. Use Temperature as a Reset

Temperature changes speak directly to the nervous system.

Splash cool water on your face
Hold something warm or cold in your hands
Step outside for fresh air if you can

You’re telling your body: we’re here, and it’s now.

3. Name What’s Happening

No analysis required.

Quietly acknowledging it helps reduce fear:

“I’m dissociating right now.”
“My system is protecting me.”
“I don’t have to fix this — just notice it.”

Naming brings orientation without pressure.

4. Ground Through One Sense (Not Five)

Sometimes the classic five-senses exercise is too much.

Try just one:

Sight: name one color you can see
Sound: listen for the furthest noise you can hear
Touch: rub your thumb across your fingers slowly

Simple works better than intense.

5. Externalize Memory When Words Slip

If thoughts are falling through trapdoors:

Write a single keyword
Record a 10‑second voice memo
Text yourself: “brain offline — continue later”

This isn’t failure. It’s accommodation.

Aftercare Matters More Than You Think

When dissociation fades, what often shows up next is shame.

Why can’t I just stay present?

But dissociation means something was already overwhelming.

The kind response is not pushing harder — it’s softer transitions:

water
food
low stimulation
rest

You don’t need to earn recovery.

One Last Thing

Dissociation doesn’t mean you’re bad at coping.

It usually means you’ve coped a lot.

Your nervous system learned this because it once helped you survive.

Now you’re teaching it that there are other safe options too.

And that learning takes time.

Gentle time. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves, and each other.

(Or: “Sorry, kid, my brain’s floating three feet to the left right now.”)

Some days, I’m Supermom(ish).
Other days, I’m just a sentient pile of laundry pretending to be a person.
And then there are the days I’m trying to parent through a fog so thick it feels like I’m watching my life on a 5-second delay. Do you ever do that? Your nodding along, it appears you are in agreement only to blurt out an answer to a rhetorical question from two topics ago and its just stares and crickets? No? just me?

That’s dissociation — and it’s not just zoning out. It’s a real and very common symptom of trauma, stress, and neurodivergence.

What Dissociation Actually Is

Dissociation is your brain’s way of going, “Nope. Too much. We’re going to detach for survival now.” Believe it or not I learned this when my heart stopped. I have ZERO recollection of at least a month on either side, and I hope I never get those memories back because they had to be scary for my brain to hide them like that.

Dissociation can feel like:

You’re watching yourself from outside your body
Time is warped or unreal
The world looks… fake. Like how they depict it in movies with people in your face that look like characters from a dream
Emotions are muted, or you’re totally numb

According to the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI), dissociation can affect people with PTSD, anxiety, depression, ADHD, and bipolar disorder — basically, a Greatest Hits list of what I’m working with.

And yes, it can show up in chronic pain conditions too. Research in the Journal of Trauma & Dissociation (2020) found that people with fibromyalgia reported higher dissociation symptoms than control groups — likely because living in constant pain is its own form of trauma.

But What Does That Look Like as a Parent?

It looks like:

Nodding at your teen’s story but realizing you didn’t process a word of it
Looking at the kitchen sink and wondering how the dishes multiplied like gremlins
Holding your kid’s hand while mentally floating somewhere in 2004
Hearing “Mom?” for the third time before realizing you are Mom. Or your name, anything someone has to say three times before it registers.

And when your kid’s autistic and needs you fully present — or your brain’s ADHD and skittering like George in a glitter store — that’s a special brand of guilt.

What Helps Me Come Back

I’m still figuring it out. But here’s what works — sometimes:

Name it: “I’m dissociating” sounds weird at first, but saying it out loud grounds me. It also helps my teen understand it’s not personal. It has helped countless times with hubby.
Cold water or texture changes: Ice packs, textured putty, or touching something rough brings me back. Try keeping a wash cloth in the freezer.
Mindless movement: Folding towels. Walking in circles. Tapping my fingers. Rhythm helps. Fidget spinners. Keep a pencil and paper and doodle. Anything mindless.
Breathing and narration: “I’m sitting. My feet are on the floor. I can hear the fan.” It’s cheesy. It works. Its a variation of a tact professionals use, five things you can see, four things you can hear, etc.

If This Is You Too…

You’re not broken.
You’re not a bad parent.
You’re not failing because your brain protects you in weird, inconvenient ways.

You’re doing the best you can. And you’re still showing up. Even if it’s in pieces, even if you’re floating — you’re here.

That counts for something. Til next time gang, take care of yourselves and each other.

Tag: #Dissociation

When My Brain Checks Out: Dissociation, Explained Gently