For a long time, I didn’t recognise distraction as a form of dissociation. It was so ingrained in my daily life that I couldn’t see it for what it was. I would distract myself with anything that kept me from being fully present—scrolling endlessly on my phone, overloading my schedule with work or studies, feeding into irrational drama, or procrastinating until I froze, only to beat myself up about it later. Social commitments were another way; I would say yes to too much, overwhelm myself, let people down, and spiral into guilt and shame.
When I finally began to notice these patterns, it was like stepping back and seeing the forest for the trees. Suddenly, I could see it everywhere—not just in myself, but in the world around me. It felt like distraction had become a societal norm. Scrolling, overcommitting, overthinking, staying perpetually busy—it’s so common that we often don’t recognise it as avoidance.
The moments when I did manage to slow down and let my mind clear brought this into sharper focus. When I wasn’t distracting myself, one of two things would happen: either an overwhelming wave of gratitude or compassion that felt so intense I didn’t think I could hold it, or a deep, suppressed grief or anger that felt equally unmanageable. Both ends of the spectrum were too big, too much, and I would often shut down again.
It wasn’t until I began learning how to resource my nervous system—through somatic practices, nervous system support tools, and therapy—that I started to build the capacity to sit with these emotions. I learned how to feel them without being consumed by them, how to let them move through me instead of running from or shutting them down.
And something remarkable happened: the more I built the capacity to be with my emotions, the less intense they became. Those overwhelming highs and crushing lows started to soften. My baseline shifted into a more balanced and easeful state. Life didn’t stop ebbing and flowing—because that’s life. It’s the inhale and exhale, the expansion and contraction, the rise and fall. But what changed was how I moved through those ebbs and flows.
These tools and techniques aren’t about creating some mythical zen state where you’re always neutral or unaffected by life. That’s not realistic, nor is it the goal. Life is dynamic, and emotions are part of the richness of being human. But it is so revitalising to experience those ups and downs in a more grounded, resourced, appreciative, and present space.
What’s been even more profound is noticing how universal this struggle is. It’s so normalised in our culture to stay busy, to distract, to avoid. But I’ve learned that the moments of stillness, the ones that feel the hardest to face, often hold the greatest potential for healing and growth.
So, I invite you to pause and reflect: Can you relate to any of this? When in your life do you use busyness, drama, or self-sabotaging patterns to distract yourself from fully being with your emotions?
And also, know this: distraction, dissociation, and self-soothing are incredible survival mechanisms. They’re ways our bodies protect us, ways we stay safe when things feel overwhelming. Sometimes we need to distract. Sometimes we need to dissociate. And that’s okay.
These patterns have served me well in the past, and I know they will continue to serve me when needed. The difference now is that I can approach them more deliberately. I can recognise when I’m avoiding something, sit with that awareness, and decide how to proceed with greater intention. And that, for me, has made all the difference.
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