I Survived By Splitting Myself Apart. Now I’m Learning To Integrate.

May 1
6 min read

I committed to using my words and embracing this experience of dissociative integration nearly three orbits ago. Since then, I have circled myself like a hawke. I now notice every time I hold my breath, stand frozen, feel dysregulated, withhold, withdraw, or become unable to tolerate connection altogether.

These are not random behaviors. I developed these physiological skills in environments where I had little or no autonomy. At the time, they functioned as control. Now, outside of those environments, they show up as stress responses that no longer serve me.

I am learning that control is a physiological trap house, not my potential.

I am also becoming aware of how unfamiliar it feels to be seen or heard, and how my body still reads being noticed as something threatening, eliciting a freeze response.

When Safety And Threat Come From The Same Place

Disorganized attachment feels like convincing myself that people are inherently good, but never being able to fully believe it.

Research supports this contradiction.

When harm comes from a caregiver, especially in extreme cases, it can disrupt development in lasting ways. Betrayal trauma theory explains that individuals may suppress awareness of harm to preserve necessary attachment relationships (Freyd, 1996). Attachment research shows that when a caregiver is both a source of safety and threat, it can lead to disorganized attachment, which is associated in adulthood with emotional dysregulation, relationship instability, and conflicting desires for closeness and distance (Main and Solomon 1990). Chronic exposure to threat also impacts the nervous system, increasing the likelihood of hypervigilance, dissociation, and trauma-related symptoms (van der Kolk 2014).

I feel this in real time. I want a connection, but I cannot fully settle into it.

Losing Autonomy, Losing Awareness

Without autonomy, you lose a lot. The first thing you lose is the freedom to say, “This is not ok.” Then you lose awareness that something is not ok at all.

This is where internalization begins.

Psychological research shows that when individuals depend on caregivers for survival, harmful dynamics can become internalized in ways that obscure distress. Children are biologically driven to maintain attachment, even at the cost of their own perceptions (Bowlby 1969). When it is unsafe to express discomfort, people often engage in self-silencing, gradually losing both language and awareness of their experience (Jack 1991). Over time, external pressures become internal beliefs, shaping identity and behavior (Deci and Ryan 2000).

I did not just lose my voice; I became fearful of it before losing the awareness that I had one at all.

Love, Control, And Settling

To be loved is to be seen, but also to be changed. One root of my compartmentalization has been the fear of being seen. Not being seen kept me safe. Now, it just keeps me the same.

Being loved by the unavailable has been equivalent to life as an animal outside on a leash. The animal's capacity is reliant on the owner, who keeps it on a leash so they do not lose it. The animal is neglected in the distance of its owner because no one is present to respond to the animal's needs. When the animal attempts to meet its own needs, even by protest or escape, the owner reinforces restraints. Owning the animal, not caring for it, is enough to satisfy the owner's image of themselves. Rather than release the animal to a more satisfying life, the owner insists the leash is love.

I only know ambiguous love. Love that requires me to stay small, manageable, and non-threatening.

By the age of five, I had already been abandoned multiple times by my mother. I had undergone three major organ and reconstructive surgeries. I experienced homelessness and was exposed to sex work, drug trafficking, and criminal behavior. My primary caregiver was incarcerated. I was separated from both of my birth parents and siblings, moved between states, and changed schools multiple times in kindergarten.

No one asked me how I felt about any of it or helped me process what was happening, so I never developed the language to define my experiences. Over time, that absence shaped the way I see myself.

When Your Story Is Written For You

Instead, I was fed narratives about my experiences to recite. The consequences of innocent childhood behavior were severe enough that my reality became something I could not safely define on my own.

There is science behind this, too.

Research shows that children’s memories and narratives can be shaped by adult influence, especially in high-stakes environments. Children often look to trusted adults for cues about what is correct, and repeated pressure can alter both their responses and their recollection of events (Ceci and Bruck; Melnyk et al.). Memory is not fixed. It is reconstructive. Over time, suggested narratives can become internalized and feel personally true (Melnyk et al.).

I did not develop language for my experiences. I developed scripts.

When Survival Becomes Personality

When I was developing from a tadpole into a girl frog, I learned to compartmentalize so deeply that disconnection became my baseline.

Now, as I pay attention, I see how much of me has been operating through patterns rather than choice. The expectations placed on me were so strict that my personality became my nervous system, cycling through once necessary survival responses.

I was reacting, not expressing.

Even now, naming what I feel is something I am still learning.

Wanting Connection And Fearing It At The Same Time

I am exhausted by being alone. At the same time, my body inflames around people. It does not trust them.

Building a support system feels difficult because I struggle to stay in connection long enough to form bonds. I bond most easily with animals. I have two dogs and two cats, and lately I have caught myself wondering if bringing home another dog is unreasonable, or if it is simply an attempt to meet a very real need for connection.

Research shows that connection is not optional in trauma recovery. Social support is one of the strongest protective factors against long-term psychological harm. A major meta-analysis found that lack of social support is one of the strongest predictors of PTSD (Brewin, Andrews, and Valentine 2000). The buffering hypothesis explains that supportive relationships reduce the impact of stress (Cohen and Wills 1985). Trauma research consistently emphasizes that healing happens in connection, not isolation (Herman 1992; van der Kolk 2014).

I understand this intellectually. My body is still catching up.

Learning A New Way to Exist

I recently started somatic therapy to build language through my body instead of forcing it through my mind.

I am sitting with the discomfort of being seen. I am letting that discomfort reshape how I hold my anger and my sadness. I am learning to respond differently when I feel the urge to withdraw, especially after moments of courage.

Support has not made this process comfortable. It has made it possible.

Where I Am Now

I have been severely compartmentalized. I am attempting to understand it without abandoning myself. I want to be seen. I want a connection. I want to heal. All of that is still painful, but I am here, sober, paying attention, and that is different.

My next celestial intention is to explore primary and secondary emotions with somatic therapeutic support so I can begin organizing my experiences into feelings and rebuild the language I lost. I also want to become someone who can recognize safe people when I encounter them, and learn to trust others deeply enough to both love them and receive love in return.

Sources

Bowlby, John. Attachment and Loss: Vol. 1. Attachment. Basic Books, 1969.
Brewin, Chris R., Bernice Andrews, and John D. Valentine. “Meta-Analysis of Risk Factors for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder in Trauma-Exposed Adults.” Journal of Consulting and Clinical Psychology, vol. 68, no. 5, 2000, pp. 748–766.
Ceci, Stephen J., and Maggie Bruck. Jeopardy in the Courtroom: A Scientific Analysis of Children’s Testimony. American Psychological Association, 1995.
Cohen, Sheldon, and Thomas A. Wills. “Stress, Social Support, and the Buffering Hypothesis.” Psychological Bulletin, vol. 98, no. 2, 1985, pp. 310–357.
Deci, Edward L., and Richard M. Ryan. “The ‘What’ and ‘Why’ of Goal Pursuits: Human Needs and the Self-Determination of Behavior.” Psychological Inquiry, vol. 11, no. 4, 2000, pp. 227–268.
Freyd, Jennifer J. Betrayal Trauma: The Logic of Forgetting Childhood Abuse. Harvard University Press, 1996.
Herman, Judith Lewis. Trauma and Recovery: The Aftermath of Violence—From Domestic Abuse to Political Terror. Basic Books, 1992.
Jack, Dana Crowley. Silencing the Self: Women and Depression. Harvard University Press, 1991.
Lamb, Michael E., et al. “A Structured Forensic Interview Protocol Improves the Quality and Informativeness of Investigative Interviews with Children: A Review of Research Using the NICHD Investigative Interview Protocol.” Child Abuse & Neglect, vol. 31, no. 11–12, 2007, pp. 1201–1231.
Main, Mary, and Judith Solomon. “Procedures for Identifying Infants as Disorganized/Disoriented during the Ainsworth Strange Situation.” Attachment in the Preschool Years: Theory, Research, and Intervention, edited by Mark T. Greenberg et al., University of Chicago Press, 1990, pp. 121–160.
Melnyk, Laura, et al. “The Misinformation Effect and False Memories in Children and Adults.” Psychology, Crime & Law, vol. 16, no. 1–2, 2010, pp. 1–14.
Van der Kolk, Bessel A. The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking, 2014.

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