We’re Numbing When We Should Be Healing
I’m guilty of this too. We have to talk about it if we want to break free.
here are times I tell other people exactly what they need to hear—and then fail to apply it to myself.
“Slow down.”
“Don’t avoid the emotion.”
“Stay present.”
“Feel it so you can heal it.”
And yet, I’ll catch myself doing the very thing I coach others not to do:
Scrolling mindlessly.
Reaching for stimulation when I’m overwhelmed.
Numbing instead of feeling.
Pretending I’m okay when my nervous system is screaming otherwise.
This isn’t an admission of hypocrisy.
It’s an admission of humanity.
Because the truth is—we’re all swimming in a culture that teaches us to numb faster than it teaches us to feel.
Numbness Is a Coping Mechanism. But It’s Not Healing.
We live in a world where pain is everywhere but rarely processed.
We consume trauma like content.
We normalize burnout like it’s a badge of honor.
And when emotions start to rise—grief, sadness, rage, despair—we silence them.
Sometimes with distraction.
Sometimes with productivity.
Sometimes with medication.
Sometimes with a smile we don’t mean.
We’re numbing.
All of us.
And while numbing might buy us time, it doesn't buy us peace.
We’re Conditioned to Shut Down
Let’s be honest: feeling is inconvenient.
It slows things down. It makes things messy. It gets in the way of “getting shit done.”
So we suppress. We disconnect. We self-medicate with caffeine, tech, Netflix, alcohol, endless “content.”
We were raised in a system that told us to "pull it together" rather than break down.
We got praise for performing under pressure, not for being honest about the pressure itself.
And as adults, we continue that pattern—because it’s all we know.
But beneath the surface, we’re carrying stress, heartbreak, and nervous system dysregulation that’s piling up like debt with interest.
Eventually, something gives.
I’ve Done It Too—Even While Preaching the Opposite
I’ve given talks about emotional regulation while secretly drinking matcha after matcha to keep my head above water.
I’ve coached people through their stimulant tapering journeys while white-knuckling my own overwhelm.
I’ve built tools to help people reconnect with their nervous systems while sometimes completely ignoring mine.
Not because I don’t believe in the work.
But because even as someone who teaches this, I still get caught in the storm.
It’s hard to sit with your feelings when the world rewards your ability to outrun them.
But if there’s one thing I’ve learned—through my own ADHD, through stimulant crashes, through emotional spirals—it’s this:
You can’t outsmart your nervous system.
You can’t out-hustle your trauma.
And you can’t numb your way to wholeness.
Why We Must Talk About This (Even When It’s Uncomfortable)
The silence around emotional shutdown is one of the biggest obstacles to healing.
We don’t talk about how hard it is to feel when your brain is wired to avoid discomfort.
We don’t talk about how easy it is to judge others for numbing—until you see your own escape strategies in the mirror.
We don’t talk about how healing isn't always beautiful. Sometimes it’s sobbing on the floor with no idea why.
But we have to talk about it.
Because conversations create connection.
And connection is what pulls us out of emotional isolation.
When we share our struggles, we give others permission to do the same.
That’s when the shame begins to lift.
That’s when healing can begin.
What Does Numbing Look Like? (It’s Not Just the Obvious Stuff)
You might think of numbing as substance use or bingeing—but it’s often more subtle than that.
Numbing can look like:
Overplanning and overworking
“Toxic positivity” or refusing to acknowledge struggle
Escaping into Instagram stories or ADHD TikTok loops
Being so busy you never stop long enough to feel
It’s sneaky. And in many cases, it's celebrated.
But here’s the deal:
If your nervous system never gets to slow down, it can never regulate.
And if it can’t regulate, you’ll stay in a loop of crash, panic, shame, repeat.
What Healing Can Look Like (It’s Simpler Than You Think)
Healing doesn’t require a 3-day retreat in the mountains or some perfect routine.
It starts with small, honest moments.
Like:
Naming the emotion you’re avoiding
Choosing to sit in silence for 2 minutes instead of scrolling
Going for a walk without your phone
Saying “I’m not okay” and letting that be enough
Letting someone else hold space for you
Taking one deep breath and actually noticing it
These aren’t massive life changes. But they’re pattern interruptions.
And that’s how regulation starts to return.
The Practice of Coming Back
I’m not writing this from the other side.
I’m writing this from the middle.
From the practice.
From the reset.
Because I still catch myself numbing.
But now, I also catch myself coming back.
Back into my body.
Back into the present.
Back into the conversation I almost avoided.
Back into the quiet where the truth lives.
And every time I come back, I feel a little more like myself.
Final Thought: Admission Is the Beginning
We can’t shame ourselves into healing.
And we can’t numb our way to regulation.
But we can admit where we are.
We can say, “I’ve been escaping” without collapsing in guilt.
We can say, “I want to feel again,” even if we don’t know how yet.
That admission is not weakness.
It’s the beginning of strength.
So if you’ve been numbing—know that you’re not alone.
I’ve done it too.
I still do.
But I’m here, choosing to talk about it.
Choosing to come back.
And if you're ready to do the same, we can walk it together.
—PKJ
