Gentle Connection

For a long time, my nervous system has been locked in a dorsal vagal shutdown—a profound, biological state of self-preservation where the body's only perceived route to safety is complete disconnection. This isn't simply a matter of needing quiet time or feeling introverted; it is a literal, neurological freeze. When the dorsal vagus nerve takes over, the biological systems required for social engagement go entirely offline.

The world feels muted and distant, and the emotional energy required to reach out, hold a conversation, or even allow myself to be perceived by another person becomes an impossible mountain to climb. My body, desperately trying to protect me from chronic overwhelm, built a fortress of numbness so thick that no one could get in, and I couldn't get out. Having Alexithymia meant I couldn't identify the emotions I that could feel, relegating me to life without emotional context. It's tough living with happiness or sadness, love or anger, you name it, I have no context into those emotions. My only knowledge about those emotions is what I have read in textbooks.

In this state of profound withdrawal, sustaining genuine relationships becomes fundamentally impossible. You cannot build intimacy, vulnerability, or trust when your nervous system is constantly broadcasting that the environment is inherently dangerous. Connections faded not because I didn't want them, but because the biological bridge needed to reach other people had collapsed under the weight of sheer survival mode. Recognizing this shutdown for what it is—a protective mechanism rather than a personal failure—has been deeply clarifying. It has shown me that before I can expect myself to meaningfully connect with others, I must first focus on gently coaxing my own nervous system out of hiding, proving to my body that it is finally safe enough to thaw.

After some occupational and physical therapy, I might regain an appetite for food, and companionship. Having neurodivergent friends rocks, and they are definitely my clan. Having sensory issues, I will never be going to a music festival, but perhaps I would spend some time with any new friends that I meet randomly, as I usually do. My long-term plan is underway with the creation of a land trust, and in time, a working farm/ranch in the BC interior where I can live and help out as a volunteer.

One of the things I would like to do in the future is have more parallel play days with ND(neurodivergent) friends, and maybe have someone special to hold hands with and cuddle with at night. Although I have always craved a relationship that works for me, a neurodivergent relationship, but only the gods know what is in my future. Hopeless romantic... 😆