21 Apr 2025 2 min read Numbness

Why Do I Feel Numb All the Time?

You don’t get condolences for this kind of loss. No one brings flowers. They’re still alive. But not in your life. This is what it means to grieve someone without a funeral...quietly, privately, and for longer than you expected.

Why Do I Feel Numb All the Time?

(And What You’re Not Letting Yourself Name)

If you typed this into Google, it probably wasn’t curiosity.

It was quiet desperation.

You didn’t want a listicle.
You wanted language.
For the blankness. For the fog.
For the part of you that used to feel everything, and now… doesn’t.

What Emotional Numbness Feels Like

It’s not silence.
Not really.

It’s brushing your teeth and forgetting you’re in the mirror.
It’s being in the room but not in the moment.
It’s watching the world in colour and only seeing beige.
It’s hearing someone say they love you and nodding, like a transaction.
It’s not sadness.
Not pain.
Just... nothing.

You’re Not Broken. You’re Protecting Something.

I used to wonder what was wrong with me.
Everyone else cried. Reacted. Lit up.
I copied the script, said the right lines, laughed when I was meant to.
But inside, there was nothing to pull from.

And I told myself that meant I was broken.

But here’s the part no one tells you—

Numbness isn’t failure. It’s defence.

Your body didn’t shut down because you’re damaged.
It shut down because it was trying to save you.

When feeling became too much, your system pulled the emergency brake.
Not out of weakness.
Out of loyalty.
Because somewhere along the way, it learned that silence was safer than the noise.

Why It Happens

You were overwhelmed, and no one noticed
You had to keep going when you should’ve fallen apart
You learned that your feelings were inconvenient
You wore strength like armour, until even you couldn’t feel what was underneath

It doesn’t happen overnight.
It’s a slow erasing.
A quiet decision repeated across months, years.
Until not-feeling becomes a kind of safety.

What To Do When You Feel Nothing

Don’t panic. Don’t force it.
The goal isn’t to feel everything.

Try this instead:

Move without a reason. Walk. Stretch. Feel your feet in your socks. You don’t need a breakthrough. Just motion.
Say one thing out loud. Anything. “I’m here.” “I feel tired.” “I want a cup of tea.” It doesn’t need to be profound. It just needs to be you.
Listen to your voice. Record a short note, even if you delete it. Even if you say nothing. Let your own voice echo in the room.
Touch the world. Wrap your hands around a mug. Run water over your fingers. Pet your sleeve. Texture reminds the body it’s real.

These aren’t fixes.
They’re reminders.
That the world is still here. That you are still here.

You don’t have to go deep. You just have to touch the surface.

You’re Not Alone in This

You’re not missing something.
You didn’t get left behind while everyone else figured out how to live.
You’re just tired. Your system is tired. And it did what it knew to keep you from breaking.

But numbness isn’t the end. It’s the intermission.
It’s the body saying, “Let me pause before we try to feel again.”

And if you’re reading this—if you’ve searched this, if you’ve made it this far—

Then some part of you still wants to feel.

That’s not nothing.

That’s the beginning.