Sometimes, numbness is the body’s only way of surviving what the mind can’t yet understand.
You’re not broken. You’re not failing.
This is a kind of intelligence; a survival response dressed up in silence.
You don’t need to force your way through it.
You can stay here for as long as you need.
You’re allowed to rest inside the in-between

Journal Prompt

If you want to write, here’s a gentle place to begin

If I could write a letter from my numbness, what would it say?
If I don’t want to write, could I just list five things I’m noticing around me right now?
(This table. That sound. My breath. The weight of my hand. A colour I can see.)

Gentle Ritual

If writing feels too much, try something with your hands

A Touchstone Practice (2 minutes)

1. Find something small and grounding: a stone, a ring, a photo, a leaf.

2. Hold it. Notice how it feels. Cold or warm? Smooth or rough?

3. Whisper:

“I am here. This is real. Even if I feel nothing, I am still real.”

Place it somewhere close. A reminder that numbness doesn’t erase your presence.

Optional: Try This

Or just walk with me for a minute. No pressure, just presence

The Noticing Walk
If you're able, step outside for 3 minutes.
You don’t need to feel anything; just notice.
One thing you can see.
One thing you can hear.
One thing you can touch.
One breath. Then another. That’s enough

Please Remember

You don’t have to move. You don’t have to fix. Just being here is enough.