“The Hidden Ways We Escape Trauma — And Why Disappearing Feels Safer Than Facing It”

Trigger Warning: The following content includes personal experiences and discussions around difficult topics such as trauma, emotional challenges, childhood maltreatment, or abusive relationships. While my intent is to educate and share personal insights, some readers may find certain content emotionally distressing. This article is for informational purposes only.

I remember standing in the middle of Costco years ago, watching a young mother trying to manage her two restless children. They were squirming in the cart, desperately trying to climb out and reach for everything in sight. Her exhaustion was palpable — the kind of fatigue that seeps into your bones after hours of trying to keep things together. I noticed another young woman with them, holding a thick binder, calmly giving gentle cues and offering assistance.

Having worked with neurodivergent children in the past, I quickly recognized what was happening. This wasn’t just a chaotic shopping trip — it was likely a structured outing where the woman was supporting the family, perhaps helping the children develop socialization skills in a real-world environment.

Anyone familiar with neurodivergence knows that places like Costco or Walmart are sensory minefields for kids who are overstimulated. The bright lights, constant noise, and bustling crowd can be overwhelming. For children who feel trapped in a cart or tethered to their parent’s hand, every instinct tells them to break free and escape the chaos.

What I didn’t realize in that moment was how deeply this scene would resonate with me. I was witnessing a family working hard to nurture their children’s independence. But underneath that, I was also watching a reflection of my own trauma play out — a reminder of the ways I, too, had learned to navigate an unpredictable world by disappearing.

Disappearing to Survive

When we talk about trauma responses, most people are familiar with fight, flight, or freeze. But there’s another response that often goes unnoticed — fawn or, as I prefer to think of it, disappearing. It’s the instinct to become invisible, to blend into the background, to make yourself so small that you can’t be hurt.

As a child, I learned to disappear without even realizing it. In moments of conflict, chaos, or emotional distress, I shrank into myself. I learned that if I stayed quiet enough, still enough, compliant enough, I could avoid triggering someone else’s anger or disappointment. I could slip through the cracks unnoticed, and in doing so, I felt safer.

Disappearing became my armor. I was the kid who never spoke up in class, who avoided eye contact, who found comfort in solitude. I became an expert at reading the emotional temperature of a room and adjusting myself to fit into the smallest possible space. In doing so, I avoided conflict — but I also lost touch with who I was.

Why Disappearing Feels Safer Than Facing Trauma

When you’ve experienced trauma, especially relational or childhood trauma, disappearing feels like the safest option. It’s a way of saying, “If I’m not here, you can’t hurt me.” But disappearing doesn’t just mean physically withdrawing. It can look like:

• Emotional Numbing: Detaching from your own feelings because they’re too overwhelming to process.
• People-Pleasing: Always prioritizing others’ needs over your own to maintain peace and avoid rejection.
• Perfectionism: Striving for flawlessness to gain approval and prevent criticism.
• Dissociation: Mentally checking out, disconnecting from reality when things become too painful.

For me, disappearing often looked like retreating into books or immersing myself in imaginary worlds where I could be anyone but myself. I didn’t realize it at the time, but I was creating a safe space where I didn’t have to feel the sting of rejection, abandonment, or fear.

The Cost of Disappearing

While disappearing may have protected me as a child, it came at a steep price. Over time, I lost the ability to connect with myself and others in meaningful ways. I became so accustomed to hiding that I forgot how to show up fully — in relationships, in conversations, and even in my own thoughts.

Disappearing doesn’t actually make the pain go away; it just delays it. It buries the hurt so deep that it festers in silence, surfacing later as anxiety, depression, or an overwhelming sense of disconnection.

I didn’t understand how much I had been disappearing until I began unpacking my own trauma. I had built walls so high that even I couldn’t see over them. And while those walls kept me safe, they also kept me isolated.

Relearning How to Show Up

Healing from trauma means learning how to reappear — to take up space, to express your needs, to feel your emotions fully without fear of consequence. But reappearing doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a slow, often painful process of unlearning the patterns that once kept you safe.

Here’s what that journey has looked like for me:

1. Recognizing My Patterns: I had to become aware of the ways I was disappearing in real time. Noticing when I was holding back, swallowing my feelings, or avoiding confrontation was the first step.
2. Naming My Fear: I had to acknowledge that disappearing was rooted in fear — fear of rejection, abandonment, or failure. Naming that fear helped me begin to confront it.
3. Practicing Small Acts of Visibility: Reappearing doesn’t mean jumping straight into vulnerability. It starts with small acts — sharing an opinion, asking for help, setting boundaries. Each step is a reminder that it’s safe to be seen.
4. Reconnecting with My Body: Trauma often disconnects us from our physical selves. For me, learning to listen to my body — through yoga, grounding exercises, and mindfulness — helped me feel present again.
5. Allowing Myself to Be Imperfect: One of the hardest lessons was learning that I didn’t have to be perfect to be loved. I had to unlearn the idea that making mistakes or expressing my needs would lead to rejection.

Why Disappearing No Longer Feels Like Safety

As I continue this journey, I’m learning that disappearing isn’t the only way to feel safe. True safety comes from building trust with myself — from knowing that I can handle difficult emotions, set boundaries, and still be worthy of love and belonging.

I’ve come to realize that the real strength isn’t in disappearing — it’s in staying. Staying present, staying connected, and staying true to myself even when it feels uncomfortable.

For anyone who’s spent a lifetime disappearing, I want you to know this: You deserve to be seen. Your presence matters. And while disappearing may have kept you safe once, you don’t have to stay hidden anymore.

Reappearing takes time, but every step you take toward being fully present is a step toward reclaiming the life that trauma tried to steal from you.

You’re not invisible. You never were. And now, it’s safe to be seen.