Dissociation The Miracle of Trauma

As a survivor of abuse and trauma, have you ever felt like your mind was working against you? For many of us who have experienced dissociation, that’s exactly what it can feel like. Dissociation is one of the most misunderstood experiences. Some see it as “spacing or zoning out,” while others define it as feeling disconnected from emotions, or even switching between parts of one’s personality. What if I told you dissociation isn’t a disorder at all, but rather the brain’s remarkable way of protecting a child from unbearable trauma?

For me, dissociation was never “the problem.” It was the solution to a life-threatening problem: surviving horrific abuse. My brain did exactly what it was designed to do—it shielded me from trauma that I couldn’t bear at the time. It stored those experiences in a way that allowed me to keep going so that a part of me could function. I didn't know that I had even had abuse and I didn’t understand this growing up, but as I’ve healed, I’ve come to see dissociation as a miraculous mechanism of survival, not that I was “broken” or needed fixing.

Understanding Dissociation
Carolyn Spring, a therapist and survivor of dissociative identities herself, captures this perfectly in her work. She writes:

"Dissociation isn’t ‘the brain gone wrong’. It’s doing exactly what the brain has evolved to do. It’s protecting us, and helping us to survive. Unless we understand that, we may try to ‘get rid of’ dissociation and stop it happening, rather than exploring what is causing it. Because dissociation isn’t the problem – dissociation is the brain’s solution. The question then is: what problem is dissociation trying to solve? If we start there, we have a much greater chance of lasting and meaningful change."

Spring’s words resonate deeply with my own experience. For years, I believed something was “wrong” with me because of the way I dissociated. The switching between identities, the feeling of being disconnected from myself, even the gaps in memory—all of which felt terrifying. But once I began to understand the “why” behind dissociation, everything changed.

Facing Flashbacks and Stigma
One of the scariest parts of my journey was experiencing flashbacks and memories of the trauma my mind had blocked out for years until after my dad died. These memories, often surfaced during nightmares or were triggered by unexpected reminders (sounds, smells, present day experiences that were similar to my abuse) and were overwhelming. They brought up intense emotions and events I had no conscious recollection of, and I often felt like I was losing control as I relived some of the horror I had endured as a child.

Being diagnosed with Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID) in 1993 initially helped me make sense of what I was experiencing—why I had nightmares, why I felt like there were “different versions” of myself, and why my memory felt like a patchwork quilt with missing pieces. But the diagnosis also came with a sense of shame. After all, DID is listed as a disorder, and the word “disorder” felt like a label that told me something was fundamentally wrong with me. It made me feel like I was crazy, unstable, and incapable of being "normal." The stigma of mental health only deepened that sense of shame. Being placed in mental health wards repeatedly reinforced the idea that I was broken. The experience of being institutionalized, surrounded by others struggling with various mental health challenges, often left me feeling isolated and misunderstood. I’ve since realized that diagnoses like DID exist not to define us as broken but to provide a framework for understanding and treating our experiences. Insurance systems and treatment plans require these labels to exist—but they do not define who we are or our worth. Now, I see the diagnosis differently. It’s a tool to describe what I was experiencing, not a judgment of my value. Dissociation isn’t a flaw—it’s the brain’s solution to overwhelming trauma. And while society might attach stigma to mental health, my journey has taught me that there is nothing shameful about surviving, healing, and growing. I now identify as an overcomer.

A New Perspective on Healing
Healing from trauma isn’t about fighting our brains or suppressing our survival mechanisms. It’s about understanding them and working with them. Dissociation isn’t a disorder—it’s a sign of resilience. When I began to see dissociation this way, I stopped feeling broken. Yes, there have been times when I’ve been so low-functioning—when just getting through the day felt impossible. But I’ve learned that even in those moments, I wasn’t broken. My brain and body were doing exactly what they were designed to do: keeping me alive and protecting me.

Part of healing has been learning to recognize the other natural stress responses that came with trauma—fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. Each response played a role in keeping me safe during moments of danger. Whether it was fighting back, fleeing a situation, freezing to avoid detection, or fawning to appease a threat, these were not weaknesses. They were survival strategies. PTSD, the lingering effect of trauma, often holds these responses in place, leaving us feeling stuck in survival mode even when the danger has passed.

What I’ve come to understand is that PTSD and dissociation are not the enemy—they are signals that parts of me still believe I’m unsafe. The work of recovery has been about helping those parts know they are safe now. I’ve learned to listen to them, to thank them for protecting me, and to help them understand that they don’t have to carry that weight anymore.

As I’ve done this work—reconnecting with the parts of myself that dissociated to survive—I’ve experienced something extraordinary: greater functionality and a sense of more wholeness. It’s like a team coming together after years of being scattered. Each part has its strengths, its unique contributions to who I am. The more I’ve learned to work with these parts this way, the more my life has transformed. I'm still on this journey but I have discovered the hope there is after abuse and trauma. At one point I didn't see hope as something that was available "for me".

Hope and Healing
One of the most empowering lessons I’ve learned is that dissociation isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning of understanding just how strong and remarkable we truly are. For anyone reading this who feels broken, who struggles with stigma or the burden of a diagnosis, know this: you are not broken. You are not crazy. You are a survivor. Your brain and body have done what they needed to do to protect you, and now you can begin the journey of healing.

Healing is a journey, and there are still hard days. But as I’ve learned to honor the survival mechanisms that kept me alive, I’ve found an inner strength and resilience I didn’t know was possible. Dissociation was never the problem—it was the solution. And now, by reconnecting with the parts of myself that carried me through, I am becoming more whole than I ever thought I could be. This is the beauty of healing: it’s not about perfection, but about progress. It’s about learning to live as a team, united and whole, and finding joy in the journey of becoming who we were always meant to be.

Dissociation as Survival
When a child is faced with trauma too overwhelming to endure, the brain steps in to protect them. Dissociation becomes the solution. It creates distance between the child and the pain. It compartmentalizes memories, emotions, and experiences so they can survive. Without dissociation, many of us wouldn’t have made it. It was a gift—one that shielded us until we were safe enough to begin to process the pain.

For me, healing hasn’t been about “getting rid of” dissociation. It’s been about reconnecting with those parts of myself that held the pain for so long. Each identity, each fragment of who I am, has carried a piece of my story. As I’ve worked through the trauma, I’ve experienced a deeper wholeness than I ever thought possible.

A New Perspective on Healing
Healing from trauma isn’t about fighting our brains or suppressing our survival mechanisms. It’s about understanding them and working with them. Dissociation isn’t a disorder—it’s a sign of resilience. When I began to see dissociation this way, I stopped feeling broken. I started seeing the remarkable strength my brain had shown in protecting me as a child.
Carolyn Spring’s work has been invaluable in my healing journey, and I encourage anyone curious about dissociation to explore her resources. She offers profound insight into what dissociation is and why it happens, making it easier to understand and navigate this often-misunderstood experience.

Hope and Healing
If you’ve struggled with dissociation, I want you to know there is hope. You are not broken. Your brain did what it had to do to protect you—and that is something worth marveling at. Healing is possible, not by rejecting dissociation, but by honoring the role it played and allowing yourself to reconnect with the parts of you that have waited so patiently for healing.

Dissociation isn’t the end of the story—it’s the beginning of understanding just how strong we truly are as human beings!