Understanding Dissociation: When Your Mind Says "I Can't Be Here Right Now"

Have you ever felt like you're watching your life from behind glass? Like you're floating above your body, observing yourself from a distance? Or perhaps you've suddenly "come to" and realised you have no memory of the last ten minutes, the drive home, or how you got where you are?

If so, you've experienced dissociation — and you're far from alone.

In my practice, I see dissociation regularly. It's one of those experiences that people struggle to put into words, partly because it feels so strange, and partly because they worry it means something is fundamentally wrong with them. Let me tell you straight away: dissociation isn't a sign that you're broken or losing your mind. It's actually evidence that your nervous system once worked brilliantly to protect you.

In this post, I'll explain what dissociation actually is, why it happens during overwhelming experiences, how it continues to affect you afterwards, and most importantly — practical strategies for managing it.

What Is Dissociation, Really?

Dissociation is your brain's emergency protocol — a survival mechanism that kicks in when life becomes unbearable. It's what happens when your mind decides that the best way to survive right now is to create distance between your conscious awareness and what's happening to you.

Think of it as your brain saying: "This is too much. I'm going to turn down the volume on what you're feeling right now, because if you feel the full force of this, you might not survive it."

When Survival Requires Checking Out

Here's something that might surprise you: dissociation is actually an evolutionary adaptation, like a cheetah's speed or a bird's ability to fly. Over millennia, humans who could "disconnect" during inescapable threat had better survival odds than those who couldn't.

Let me explain with a story.

Emma's Story

Emma came to see me months after a serious car accident. She described the collision itself in oddly detached terms: "It's strange," she said. "I remember seeing the other car coming straight at me. I remember thinking 'this is it.' But I don't remember feeling anything. It's like I was watching it happen to someone else on a screen."

Then, almost apologetically: "Shouldn't I have been terrified? What's wrong with me that I just… went blank?"

Nothing was wrong with Emma. Her brain made a split-second calculation: There's nothing you can do to stop this. Panicking will only make the next few seconds worse. Let me handle this.

And it did — by creating distance between Emma's conscious awareness and the trauma unfolding around her.

The Body's Sequence of Survival: The Defence Cascade

Your nervous system has a built-in sequence of responses when faced with threat. Understanding this sequence helps make sense of why dissociation happens and — crucially — why it's not your fault.

When You Can Still Act: Freeze, Flight, Fight

Freeze is your body's first response — that moment of sudden alertness when you sense danger. Your heart might slow, your body stills. You're gathering information: How bad is this? What are my options?

If danger is confirmed, you move to Flight — your body gears up to run. Heart pounding, breath quickening, every system saying get away, get away, get away. This is your most efficient survival strategy when escape is possible.

If you can't flee, you shift to Fight — confronting the threat head-on. Your body floods with adrenaline, pain awareness decreases (so injuries won't stop you), and you're ready to battle for your life.

During these first three responses, most people remain relatively aware of what's happening. This makes sense — you need that awareness to find escape routes or fight effectively.

Dissociation is unlikely during these stages (unless you've experienced previous trauma that's sensitised your system).

When All Options Are Gone: Fright, Flag, Faint

But what happens when you can't freeze safely, can't flee, and can't fight? When the threat is inescapable — when you're pinned, trapped, overpowered, or the danger is coming from someone you depend on?

Your nervous system has three more strategies, and this is where dissociation becomes likely.

Fright is that frozen, paralysed state. You can't move, can't scream, your body locked in place. You're still highly physically activated (heart racing, breathing fast), but your anger is suppressed, your ability to resist switches off.

Why? Because submission might reduce violence. Holding still might prevent further injury. "Playing dead" might make a threat lose interest.

Flag and Faint represent the deepest levels of shutdown. Your body becomes unresponsive. The world might fade or feel unreal. Emotions disappear. You might lose consciousness entirely.

This protects you from cardiac failure during an inescapable attack. It's your body's last-ditch effort to keep you alive when nothing else has worked.

These responses are automatic. They are not under your conscious control. If you dissociated during trauma, it was not a choice, not a weakness, and not your fault. It was your nervous system doing everything it could to help you survive.

Why Your Brain Needs You Not to Feel Everything

During extreme inescapable threat, your brain makes strategic decisions about what you can and cannot afford to feel:

Pain might make you move — and moving could worsen your injuries or provoke more violence. Solution? Turn down pain perception.

Anger might make you fight back — and fighting back against a stronger opponent could get you killed. Solution? Suppress anger, induce feelings of submission and defeat.

Fear might make you panic — and panic could lead to rash decisions that jeopardise survival. Solution? Create emotional distance, make you feel "not really here."

Movement might cause harm — if you're injured or the threat responds to resistance. Solution? Induce immobility, make your body feel frozen or unable to respond.

It sounds cold when I describe it this way, but there's actually something remarkable about this: your body is fighting for your survival with every tool it has, right up until the very last moment.

What Dissociation Feels Like

People describe dissociation in various ways:

"Like I was watching myself from the ceiling"

"Everything felt muffled and far away"

"I knew it was happening but I couldn't feel anything"

"My body felt like it belonged to someone else"

"I went somewhere else in my mind"

"Time seemed to stop or skip forward"

"I felt completely numb, like nothing was real"

James's Experience

James described being bullied severely in secondary school. "I learned to just… leave," he told me. "I'd be standing there while they were shoving me, calling me names, and I'd picture myself somewhere else entirely. The park near my house. My bedroom. Anywhere but there. I could see what was happening to my body, but I didn't feel like it was happening to me."

That dissociation — that ability to "leave" — got James through years of torment. It was brilliant, protective, necessary.

The problem? His brain never learned to switch it off when he became an adult and was finally safe.

Beyond Life-or-Death: When Does Dissociation Happen?

Here's what I want you to understand: whilst dissociation is often discussed in the context of dramatic, life-threatening events, it occurs in a much wider range of circumstances than most people realise.

There is no hierarchy of trauma. What matters isn't whether others would judge your situation as "traumatic enough" — it's how your nervous system experienced it.

In my practice, I've worked with people who dissociate in response to:

Entrapment of any kind — not just physical. Being financially dependent on someone who harms you. Being trapped by cultural or religious expectations. Being a child with no power to leave. Being in a role where you must endure (the only carer for an ill parent, a job you cannot afford to lose).

Powerlessness — having no voice in decisions affecting your life. Being gaslit until you no longer trust your own perceptions. Living with such unpredictability that you can never relax. Being in situations where nothing you do makes any difference.

Overwhelming emotions — chronic anxiety or fear with no relief. Profound isolation. Grief too large to hold. Loving someone who hurts you — conflicting emotions your mind cannot reconcile.

Betrayal — harm from people you trusted. Discovering that your "safe" place was never safe. Being let down by systems meant to protect you. Losing faith in your own judgement about who is trustworthy.

Cumulative stress — this is crucial. Years of emotional neglect often cause more dissociation than a single dramatic incident. Growing up with chronic criticism. Constant conflict. "Death by a thousand cuts" — many smaller wounds that accumulate over time.

Developmental trauma — having caregivers who were physically present but emotionally absent. Never knowing which version of your parent you'd get. Being told your perceptions were wrong. Role reversal — being the adult when you were the child.

Identity threats — forced to hide essential parts of yourself. Experiencing discrimination that makes your very existence feel unsafe. Situations where being yourself is dangerous.

Life overwhelm — juggling multiple demanding roles without support. Chronic exhaustion. Being the "strong one" everyone depends on with nowhere to put your own distress. Sustained pressure with no opportunity to recover.

Medical experiences — chronic pain or illness. Difficult childbirth. Invasive procedures, especially when dismissed or disbelieved by professionals. Loss of bodily autonomy.

Loss and grief — particularly sudden or traumatic loss. Miscarriage or infant loss. Loss of functioning, independence, or the future you imagined.

"But Other People Have Been Through Worse"

If you're thinking this right now, please pause for a moment.

Mira's Story

Mira came to therapy feeling ashamed. "I know my childhood wasn't that bad," she said. "My parents didn't hit me. We had enough money. But I space out constantly, and I don't understand why."

As we explored her history, a picture emerged: parents who were physically present but emotionally absent. No overt abuse, but no attunement either — no one seeing her, responding to her needs, validating her feelings. Criticism for any emotional expression. Conditional love based entirely on achievement.

"Other people had it so much worse," she kept saying. "I have no right to be affected like this."

But here's the thing: Mira's nervous system doesn't compare her experiences to others' and decide whether to respond. It simply responds to whether she felt safe or unsafe, seen or unseen, able to cope or overwhelmed.

And by those measures? Mira's childhood was profoundly unsafe.

Your experience is valid because:

• Context is everything - Age, resources, support, and previous experiences all determine what feels overwhelming

• Cumulative effects matter - Repeated "smaller" stressors can cause more damage than single dramatic events

• Developmental timing matters - Childhood experiences shape your developing nervous system, regardless of how "serious" they seem from an adult perspective

• Your nervous system doesn't judge - It responds to what feels threatening to you

• Invisible wounds are real wounds - Emotional and relational trauma are genuine trauma, even without physical evidence

If you dissociate, something overwhelmed you. Full stop. You don't need to justify it, prove it, or compare it to others' experiences.

Your symptoms are telling you that you endured something difficult, and that deserves acknowledgement and care.

How Dissociation Continues After Trauma

Understanding why dissociation happens is important, but many people want to know: why does it keep happening now, when I'm finally safe?

After trauma, dissociation can show up in several ways — and recognising these patterns is the first step toward managing them.

Flashbacks: When the Past Feels Present

Sarah's Experience

Sarah wakes from the same nightmare for the third time this week. In the dream, she's in the car again — metal screeching, glass shattering, that sickening lurch as the world turns sideways. But when she jolts awake, her bedroom feels wrong. Too quiet. Too dark.

For several long minutes, she can't remember where she is. Her heart is pounding as if she's still in the crash. Her hands grip the duvet as if it's a steering wheel. The terror is as fresh as it was six months ago, and she can't convince her body that it's over.

During trauma, your brain's memory system (the hippocampus) doesn't function normally. Instead of weaving experiences into a coherent narrative with a clear beginning, middle, and end, it stores them as disconnected fragments — raw sensory data without proper context.

These fragments — a sound, a smell, a body position, a time of day — are easily triggered by present-day experiences. When triggered, they can trick your mind into believing the trauma is happening right now rather than being safely in the past.

That's dissociation — being pulled out of the present moment and into the past.

Body Replays: When Your Body Remembers

David's Story

David came to therapy two years after being assaulted. "I thought I was doing better," he said. "But last week, someone accidentally bumped into me from behind in the supermarket, and I just… froze. Completely frozen. Couldn't move, couldn't speak. I felt exactly like I did during the attack — that same paralysis, that same sense of watching myself from somewhere else. It lasted maybe thirty seconds, but it felt like forever. And I felt so stupid afterwards."

If you dissociated during trauma — felt numb, frozen, or outside your body — your brain recorded those sensations alongside all the other sensory details. Later, certain triggers can replay not just the visual or auditory memories, but the dissociative state itself.

You might suddenly feel:

• Emotionally numb when you weren't moments before

• Cut off from physical pain or sensation

• Separate from your body

• Like you're watching yourself from outside

This isn't you "doing it wrong" or "not healing properly." It's your brain replaying an old protective pattern because something in the present moment resembled something from the traumatic past.

The Spacey Feeling: When Protection Becomes a Problem

Your brain has a remarkable ability to "turn down the volume" on sensory input during stress — which is why soldiers sometimes don't feel pain until they're safe, or why people in accidents sometimes report everything seeming to happen in slow motion.

This sensory dampening usually helps us stay focused during emergencies. But sometimes, especially after trauma, this mechanism becomes oversensitive — activating during everyday stress rather than just genuine threats.

Paula's Experience

Paula never experienced a single dramatic trauma, but she grew up in a household of constant, low-level tension. Unpredictable anger. Criticism. Never quite safe enough to relax.

As an adult, whenever she feels even mildly stressed — a difficult conversation at work, a crowded tube, running late — she "spaces out." Everything feels distant and unreal. She describes it as "living behind a pane of glass" or "being underwater." It's disturbing and exhausting, and she can't understand why her nervous system treats ordinary life stress as if it's a five-alarm emergency.

The answer? Her nervous system learned long ago that the world wasn't safe. So it stays hypervigilant, ready to deploy its protective mechanisms at the first sign of trouble — even when there's no real danger.

The Window of Tolerance: Why Small Things Feel Overwhelming

Picture a zone where you feel okay — able to think clearly, connect with others, handle normal life challenges without falling apart. This is your "window of tolerance."

Above the window sits hyper-arousal: anxious, panicky, racing thoughts, heart pounding, desperate to escape. Everything feels too much, too fast, too intense.

Below the window sits hypo-arousal: numb, shut down, foggy, exhausted, disconnected. Nothing feels real. You're moving through life like you're wading through treacle.

For people without trauma history, this window is relatively wide. They can experience a reasonable range of stress and challenge before they tip into hyper or hypo-arousal. And when they do tip out, they recover relatively quickly.

After trauma, your window often narrows dramatically.

Things that wouldn't have bothered you before now push you out of your window. You tip into panic or shutdown more easily. You swing between the two extremes more rapidly. You have far fewer situations where you genuinely feel comfortable and safe.

And here's the crucial part: when your window is narrow, you're more likely to dissociate. Because dissociation is what happens when you're pushed out of your window and your nervous system can't find another way to cope.

But Here's the Hope

Your window isn't fixed. One of the primary goals in trauma recovery is gradually widening it — building your capacity to tolerate a broader range of feelings and experiences without tipping into panic or shutdown.

As your window widens, you'll find that you:

• Dissociate less frequently

• Can handle more challenging situations

• Recover more quickly when you do become overwhelmed

• Have more places and situations where you feel genuinely comfortable

• Feel more in control of your responses

Recovery isn't about never leaving your window — it's about making it bigger and learning reliable ways to find your way back when you do step outside.

What You Can Do: Practical Strategies for Managing Dissociation

Understanding dissociation is powerful, but you also need practical tools. Here are strategies that work.

Strategy 1: Knowledge Is Power

Simply understanding that dissociation is a normal survival response — not a sign of weakness or "going crazy" — reduces shame and fear. Many people I work with say that learning about the defence cascade was transformative: "Finally, I understand why I reacted that way. It makes sense now."

Remember:

• Dissociation is automatic, not a choice

• It may have helped you survive

• It's common after trauma

• It can be managed

Strategy 2: Know Your Triggers

You can't manage what you don't understand. Keep a simple dissociation log for a week or two. After each episode, note:

What was happening? (situation, people present, time of day, what you were doing)

What sensory details did you notice? (particular sounds, smells, sights, touches that preceded the dissociation)

What type of dissociation? (memory, body replay, spacing out, disconnection)

How did you feel? (emotionally and physically, before, during, and after)

What helped? (even slightly — what brought you back?)

After a week or two, patterns often emerge. You might notice that you dissociate more when tired, or in crowded places, or when you hear raised voices, or on Sunday evenings.

Short-term, you can sometimes avoid triggers. Long-term, the goal is retraining your brain to recognise that these triggers no longer signal danger — they're just reminders of a past that's over.

Strategy 3: Grounding Techniques

Grounding brings your awareness back to the present moment where you're safe. Think of it as your emergency toolkit for dissociation.

The key is practice. Grounding works best when it becomes automatic — which only happens through repetition. Try these techniques when you're calm first, so they're familiar when you need them during dissociation.

Sensory Grounding (using your five senses to anchor in the present):

• Splash cold water on your face or run your hands under the tap. Cold is particularly effective because it's hard to ignore.

• 5-4-3-2-1 technique: Name 5 things you can see, 4 you can hear, 3 you can touch, 2 you can smell, 1 you can taste. This engages your verbal brain and interrupts the dissociative state.

• Name what you see: Describing your environment out loud ("I see a blue mug, a wooden desk, three books, a window...") engages your verbal processing and grounds you in the present.

• Carry a grounding object: Something with strong sensory properties—a textured stone, a stress ball, a small vial of essential oil. When you feel yourself dissociating, engage with it intensely. Feel every ridge, every texture.

• Strong scents: Lavender oil, peppermint, or even just scented hand cream. Smell is powerfully grounding because it connects directly to your limbic system.

• Physical grounding: Press your feet firmly into the floor. Feel the weight of your body in the chair. Stretch your arms above your head. These remind your body: I'm here. I'm solid. I'm present.

• Temperature: Hold ice cubes, take a hot or cold shower, wrap yourself in a soft blanket. Temperature sensations are immediate and grounding.

• Taste: Strong mints, sour sweets, ginger, or even just really notice the taste of water. Engage fully with the sensation.

• Movement: Walk slowly and deliberately, feeling each step. Or do vigorous exercise if that helps you feel back in your body.

Cognitive Grounding (using your mind):

• Orient in time and space: Say out loud (or write down): "My name is [name]. Today is [day, date, year]. I am [age] years old. I am in [location]. I am safe."

• Reality checking: "That was then. This is now. The trauma happened [when/where]. I am currently [when/where]. It is over. I survived."

• Self-compassion: Speak to yourself as you would a frightened child: "It's no wonder you feel unsafe right now—something reminded you of a terrible time. But you're safe now. I've got you. You're going to be okay."

• Safe place visualisation: Picture somewhere you feel completely safe (real or imagined). Describe it in detail—what you see, hear, feel, smell. Make it as vivid as possible.

• Coping statements: Create short phrases you can repeat: "This will pass," "I can handle this," "I am safe right now," "It's over. I survived."

Creating Your Personal Grounding Plan

Not every technique works for everyone. Experiment to find what helps you. Then create a personalised grounding plan:

1. Three quick techniques you can do anywhere (like 5-4-3-2-1, pressing feet into floor, naming what you see)

2. Three longer techniques for when you're somewhere private (cold shower, vigorous exercise, safe place visualisation)

3. Your specific grounding objects/scents that you keep with you

Write these down. Keep a copy in your phone, your wallet, your bag. When you're dissociating, clear thinking is hard — having it written down helps.

A Note on Practice

Please don't wait until you're in the middle of dissociation to try these for the first time. Practice them daily when you're calm. This serves two purposes: you learn which techniques work best for you, and you build the neural pathways that make them automatic when you need them.

Think of it like learning to swim. You don't learn during a flood — you practice in calm water first.

When to Seek Professional Support

Some dissociation can be managed with self-help strategies. But sometimes, you need more support. Consider reaching out to a trauma-informed therapist if:

• Dissociation significantly impacts your daily functioning (you're missing work, struggling with relationships, can't complete basic tasks)

• You experience frequent flashbacks or intrusive memories

• You feel unsafe or have thoughts of harming yourself

• Self-help strategies aren't providing sufficient relief

• You'd like support in processing traumatic memories safely

A therapist experienced in trauma can offer:

• A safe, confidential space to explore your experiences

• Guidance in using grounding and other techniques effectively

• Evidence-based trauma therapies (like EMDR, trauma-focused CBT, or somatic approaches)

• Support in gradually widening your window of tolerance

• Help in safely processing trauma memories so they stop intruding into your present

Final Thoughts

If you're reading this and recognising yourself in these descriptions, I want you to know something: you're not broken. Your nervous system was trying desperately to help you survive overwhelming circumstances. It did the best it could with the resources it had.

Dissociation isn't a flaw — it's evidence that you endured something difficult and your body fought for you in the only way it knew how.

And here's the really important part: with understanding, practice, and sometimes professional support, you can absolutely learn to feel more present, more connected, and more yourself. You can widen that window of tolerance. You can retrain your nervous system to recognise that you're finally safe.

Recovery isn't about never dissociating again — it's about dissociating less often, recovering more quickly, and gradually reclaiming your life from the grip of the past.

You've already survived the worst of it. Now it's time to learn to live again.