Dissociation: What If We Stopped Trying to Force Ourselves Back?

Understanding one of the nervous system’s most protective responses

Dissociation is something I talk about a lot.

And one of the things I find most interesting about it is how often people don’t actually know they’re dissociating.

Sometimes it looks the way we might expect.

I don’t feel real.

The room looks strange.

I feel like I’m watching myself from somewhere else.

I lost time.

But sometimes it’s much quieter.

You were feeling something and suddenly… you’re not.

Someone asks what you’re experiencing and your mind goes completely blank.

You’re telling a painful story, but you can explain it almost like you’re giving a presentation.

You realize you’ve been nodding through a conversation and haven’t taken in a word.

You know you’re upset, but you can’t actually find the feeling anymore.

You feel foggy.

Far away.

Very, very tired.

Or perhaps you’re completely functional.

You’re working. Talking. Parenting. Answering emails. Getting things done.

And yet somehow, you’re not entirely there.

Dissociation can be incredibly confusing.

And when we don’t understand what’s happening, it’s very easy for the fear of dissociation to become almost as distressing as the dissociation itself.

What’s wrong with me?

Why can’t I stay present?

How do I make myself come back?

What if I disappear and can’t get out of it?

But I wonder what changes when we stop beginning with:

How do I make this stop?

And begin instead with:

Why might my system need distance right now?

Dissociation Makes Sense

I sometimes describe dissociation as a brilliant protective response.

And I want to be careful about what I mean by brilliant.

I don’t mean that dissociation feels good.

I don’t mean that it can’t become disruptive, frightening, or incredibly frustrating.

And I certainly don’t mean that someone should be grateful for it.

I mean that there is an intelligence to protection.

When something is too much to fight, flee from, process, feel, or change, our systems have other options.

Sometimes the way through is to experience less.

Less sensation.

Less emotion.

Less connection to the body.

Less awareness of what’s happening.

More distance.

And at some point, that distance may have been exactly what was needed.

The difficulty is that nervous systems learn.

A response that developed in one context can continue showing up long after that context has changed.

So perhaps the question isn’t:

Why does my body keep doing this to me?

Maybe it’s:

What has my system learned about when distance is necessary?

That’s a very different place to begin.

Sometimes We’re Afraid of the Very Thing That Protected Us

This is something I see often with dissociation.

We notice ourselves getting foggy or far away and immediately become afraid.

Oh no. It’s happening.

And then we start checking.

Am I here?

Can I feel my body?

Do things look real?

Am I dissociating?

Am I getting worse?

Suddenly, we’re not only experiencing dissociation.

We’re also experiencing fear about dissociation.

And sometimes urgency follows:

Come back.

Ground.

Feel your feet.

Stay present.

But I think there’s another question worth asking:

What happens inside when I demand that my system come back before it’s ready?

Because if dissociation is creating distance from something that feels like too much, forcing ourselves toward that experience may not communicate safety at all.

It may communicate:

You’re not allowed to protect yourself this way.

That doesn’t mean we never orient toward greater presence.

It means how we get there matters.

“Come Back Into Your Body” Isn’t Always the Answer

This is one of the places where I think nervous system work needs more nuance.

We often hear grounding practices like:

Feel your feet.

Notice your breath.

Scan your body.

And those can be incredibly supportive.

But not for everyone.

Not every time.

For someone whose body has been associated with pain, threat, overwhelm, or experiences they had to disconnect from, turning attention inward can sometimes feel like asking them to move closer to the very thing their system is creating distance from.

So perhaps we don’t start there.

Maybe you notice the light coming through the window.

The color of something across the room.

A sound that feels pleasant.

Your pet lying beside you.

The movement of trees outside.

Maybe your body wants movement rather than stillness.

Maybe you stand.

Stretch.

Walk.

Turn your head and let your eyes take in the room.

Maybe another person’s voice feels more accessible than your own body right now.

We don’t have to force connection through one doorway.

Sometimes we find the place where connection is already available and begin there.

What Happens Before the Disappearing?

Rather than only noticing dissociation once we’re deep inside it, we can slowly become curious about its edges.

What happens before you go away?

Maybe your vision changes slightly.

Maybe words become harder to find.

Maybe your body gets heavy.

Maybe you suddenly feel tired.

Maybe your attention moves upward into your thoughts.

Maybe you stop feeling an emotion that was very present thirty seconds earlier.

Maybe there’s an impulse to look away.

Maybe everything becomes very still.

Or maybe you don’t know yet.

That’s okay too.

We’re not collecting these cues so we can catch ourselves doing something “wrong.”

We’re learning the language of our own nervous system.

Over time, we might begin recognizing:

Oh. I’m getting close to an edge.

And instead of pushing farther because we think healing means staying present with everything, perhaps we become curious about what would help us stay connected without overwhelming our capacity.

Sometimes that means moving closer.

Sometimes it means moving away.

Both can be attunement.

We Don’t Always Learn to Stay Present by Ourselves

This is another piece of dissociation I think we sometimes miss.

Presence is relational.

Sometimes we don’t learn that it’s safe to stay connected simply by practicing grounding exercises alone.

Sometimes we experience it first with another person.

Someone notices that we’ve gone a little far away and doesn’t panic.

They don’t demand:

Where did you go?

Come back.

Stay with me.

They slow down.

They remain present.

Maybe they help us notice the room.

Maybe they stop asking questions.

Maybe they remind us that there is no rush.

Maybe they simply stay.

And our nervous system gets to have a new experience:

I can create distance and the relationship doesn’t disappear.

Or:

Someone can notice me without demanding something from me.

Or even:

I don’t have to choose between protecting myself and staying connected.

Those experiences matter.

Because eventually, the way someone else relates to us can begin to influence the way we relate to ourselves.

What Is Dissociation Communicating?

I don’t think dissociation has one universal message.

I don’t think we can make a chart that says:

dissociation = this.

Human beings are more complicated than that.

But I do think we can become curious.

Perhaps:

This is too much.

This is too fast.

I need distance.

I don’t have access to this yet.

Something here feels familiar.

I need support.

I need another way into this.

Or maybe:

I don’t know.

And I don’t know is allowed.

The point isn’t to perfectly interpret every nervous system response.

The point is to develop a relationship in which we’re willing to listen.

Sitting With Dissociation

So what does it mean to sit with dissociation?

I don’t think it means letting ourselves disappear indefinitely.

And I don’t think it means immediately forcing ourselves back.

Maybe it means becoming interested in the space between those two responses.

Something is happening.

Can I notice it without immediately becoming afraid of it?

Is there anywhere I still feel connected?

Would looking outward feel better than looking inward?

Would movement help?

Would another person help?

Do I need to stop?

Do I need more distance?

Is there even 2% more presence available right now?

And if there isn’t?

Perhaps we can be curious about that too.

Because the goal isn’t perfect presence.

The goal isn’t never dissociating again.

And healing certainly isn’t proving that we no longer need protection.

Maybe healing looks more like:

I recognize this.

I’m less afraid of myself when it happens.

I understand some of the conditions that bring it forward.

I can notice when I’m nearing my capacity.

I have more choices about how I respond.

I know there are different ways back to connection.

And perhaps, most importantly:

I don’t have to abandon myself because some part of me needed to go away.

Dissociation created distance for a reason.

Healing doesn’t require us to rip that protection away.

It gives us opportunities, slowly and relationally, to experience that perhaps we don’t always need quite as much distance anymore.

And we let the nervous system discover that at its own pace.

If You Want to Explore This More

If you recognize yourself in some of what I’ve described here, you don’t need to immediately figure out how to stop dissociating.

Maybe the first step is simply beginning to notice it differently.

Throughout October, I’ll be exploring dissociation in more depth — the many ways it can show up, what might be happening in the nervous system, how protective parts can be involved, what dissociation can feel like in the body, and how we might begin responding with more curiosity and less fear.

I’ll be sharing more of these conversations and practices through Sitting With Lauren on Instagram, TikTok, and Threads, so you can continue exploring alongside me there.

And if you’re interested in going deeper into the relationship between protective parts, the nervous system, and the body, I have two Somatic Parts Work courses designed for exactly that exploration.

For your own healing:
Befriending What Feels Stuck: Somatic Parts Work for Self Exploration explores why we can feel stuck, conflicted, disconnected, or unable to change even when we intellectually understand our patterns. Through somatic awareness and parts work, we begin getting curious about what our protective responses may actually be trying to do for us.

Befriending What Feels Stuck

For clinicians:
Moving From Insight to Integration: Somatic Parts Work for Clinicians explores how to integrate the nervous system, body, relational work, and parts work into clinical practice — including recognizing protective responses, noticing somatic cues, pacing the work, and helping clients move beyond intellectual understanding toward embodied experience and integration.

Moving From Insight to Integration

But whether you take a course, follow along this month, bring this into your own therapy, or simply close this page and go about your day, perhaps there’s one thing worth carrying with you:

The next time you notice yourself going a little far away, you don’t necessarily have to begin with:

How do I make this stop?

Maybe you begin with:

Something in me needed some distance.

And get curious about what happens from there.