I Didn’t Know I Was Still Leaving

For a long time, I thought dissociation was something I used to do. A survival tactic I’d outgrown. But healing has a way of revealing what’s still happening in the background. Quiet, subtle, persistent. I didn’t know I was still leaving until I started trying to stay.

I’d be mid-conversation and realize I hadn’t heard the last few sentences. I’d look at my kids and feel love, but not presence. I’d sit in silence and feel like I was floating just above my body, watching myself breathe. It wasn’t dramatic. It was ordinary. And that’s what scared me most.

I used to think healing would feel like progress. Like clarity. Like a clean break from the past. But it feels more like remembering how to be inside my own skin. It feels like noticing when I’ve left, and gently calling myself back.

There are days I still disappear. Not in the ways I used to, but in ways that are harder to name. I forget what I was doing. I lose time scrolling. I stare at walls and feel nothing. And then… I feel everything.

I’m learning to stay. Not perfectly. Not always. But more often than I used to. I’m learning that presence isn’t a switch; it’s a practice. And every time I catch myself leaving, I remind myself: it’s okay to come back.

This post isn’t a declaration. It’s a quiet noticing. A breadcrumb. A breath.