Healing or Hiding: Recovered, Numb, or Disconnected?

So, you don’t flinch anymore.

The song that used to destroy you? Doesn’t even register now.
You can talk about what happened—maybe even crack a joke. No lump in your throat. No tears. No panic.

But here’s the thing: that doesn’t automatically mean you’re healed.

It could mean you are.
It could also mean you’ve gone emotionally offline.

And yeah, I know that’s a hard thing to admit—especially when your life finally looks “stable” on the outside.

When “Fine” Just Means Flat

In trauma recovery circles, people often assume that not reacting = being over it. That if you can speak about the trauma without falling apart, you’ve moved on.

That’s not always true.

Sometimes it means your nervous system tapped out. No more bandwidth. So it slammed the emotional circuit breaker to stop the surge. That might look like peace from the outside—but it’s often shutdown.

Clinically, we call this emotional numbing, and it’s one of the most misunderstood symptoms of PTSD and complex trauma. It falls under the “negative changes in cognition and mood” category in the DSM-5. Basically, it’s when the system says: we’re not doing this anymore, and shuts down your capacity to feel—not just the bad stuff, but the good stuff too. You stop crying, but you also stop feeling real joy, intimacy, awe, even curiosity. It’s not calm. It’s collapse.

Desensitized Doesn’t Mean Integrated

Some people get desensitized to their triggers. That can be progress—like when exposure therapy helps you walk through the world without constantly scanning for threats.

But other times, it’s just trauma fatigue. Your system didn’t adapt—it gave up.

Here’s the difference:

If you can feel the memory without shutting down—while still feeling your body, your breath, and some level of connection—that’s a sign of healing.
If you can talk about what happened and feel compassion for the version of you it happened to, not just disgust or detachment, you’re likely in recovery.
If your body doesn’t hijack you when the story comes up—and you have the choice of when to share it or not—you’re moving toward integration.

That’s the goal. Not emotional armor. Actual nervous system regulation.

My Own Personal Litmus Test

I knew I’d crossed a line in my healing when I heard that song—the one my abuser used to play—and nothing happened. No stomach drop. No urge to run. No internal shutdown. Same with the smell of the whiskey he drank. I tested it. Consciously. Nothing. No rise in pulse, no flashback, no cold sweat. Just… nothing. And not in a numb, checked-out way. I was fully there. Aware. Calm.

I didn’t freeze.
I didn’t skip it.
I didn’t have to ground myself afterward.

I just heard a random song. Smelled something familiar. And kept moving on with my life. Same thing with old photos. The ones that used to stop my breath. Now they’re just pictures. I don’t hide them, but I don’t stare at them either. They just exist. That’s all. And when I talk about what happened—which I do, often, in professional settings or face-to-face—I don’t dissociate mid-sentence. My voice doesn’t shake. I don’t feel like I’m about to cry or implode. My heart rate stays steady. My breath stays even.

That’s not masking.
That’s not shutdown.
That’s what it looks like when your nervous system finally catches up to your truth.
That’s being fully present in the moment.

But Let’s Be Honest—Masking Is Common

A lot of trauma survivors “perform” recovery long before they’ve actually gotten there. Not because they’re lying. Because the world makes survival look like functionality. So we do what we’ve been conditioned to do:

Smile while dissociating
Talk about our trauma like it happened to someone else
Say “I’m fine” because it’s easier than watching people flinch

It’s not fake. It’s adaptive.

But don’t confuse composure with closure.

Gut Check: Are You Recovered or Just Checked Out?

Here’s a short, uncomfortable checklist I used to give my clients before I retired:

Can you talk about your trauma without feeling hijacked—but with emotional connection?
Do you still avoid places, songs, people, or smells without knowing why?
Do you feel anything when you revisit the memory—or is it just blank space?
When you talk about it, do you feel grounded—or like you’re narrating from 30 feet above?
Are you still using control, perfectionism, isolation, or humor to keep people from getting too close to the pain?

If you’re checking more “numb” than “present,” that’s not a personal failure.

It’s just a sign there may still be unprocessed material.

Final Thoughts

Healing isn’t about deleting the memory. It’s about reclaiming your body, your emotions, and your ability to stay in the memory without losing yourself. If you’re not crying anymore, that’s progress. If the flashbacks have eased up, even better. But don’t confuse silence with resolution. Real recovery means your trauma doesn’t run the show anymore. Your symptoms might still show up—but they don’t get the final word. You do. And that only happens when you’re actually in the room—present, connected, not buried under coping strategies that once kept you safe but now keep you distant.

Because sure, emotional numbness can shield you from pain—but it also keeps you from joy, intimacy, meaning, and everything else that makes life feel worth showing up for. You definitely were not meant to live in survival mode forever.

You deserve more than that.

Photo by Baptista Ime James on Unsplash

References:

American Psychiatric Association. (2013). Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th ed. Arlington, VA: American Psychiatric Publishing.
Litz BT, Gray MJ. (2002). Emotional numbing in posttraumatic stress disorder: Current and future research directions. Australian and New Zealand Journal of Psychiatry, 36(2), 198–204.
van der Kolk B. (2014). The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma. Viking.

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Dr. Mozelle Martin

Dr. Mozelle Martin is a retired trauma therapist and former Clinical Director of a trauma center, with extensive experience in forensic psychology, criminology, and applied ethics. A survivor of childhood and young adulthood trauma, Dr. Martin has dedicated decades to understanding the psychological and ethical complexities of trauma, crime, and accountability. Her career began as a volunteer in a women’s domestic violence shelter as a hospital advocate, later becoming a Police Crisis Therapist working alongside law enforcement on the streets of Phoenix. She went on to earn an AS in Psychology, a BS in Forensic Psychology, an MA in Criminology, and a PhD in Applied Ethics, ultimately working extensively in forensic mental health—providing psychological assessments, crisis intervention, and rehabilitative support within prisons and jails. Dr. Martin is also pursuing advanced legal studies at ASU Law, focusing on internet/cyber-defamation and constitutional law to advocate for stronger protections against targeted professional attacks online. A published author and lifelong student of life, she continues to explore the intersections of forensic science, mental health, and ethical accountability in both historical and modern contexts.