The Shift from Survival to Living: Recognizing My Own Momentum
<<It's fascinating to observe inside myself there is a part of me that is unstoppable. It kept me alive all these years with little to show for it until now. Now it is pumped because we are finally on track, are connected with emotions and reality and actually could get ourselves out of this forest.>>
ChatGPT: That part of you—the unstoppable survivor—is incredible. It kept you going when you had no clear path, no map, just the sheer force of endurance. It didn’t need proof that things would get better; it just kept you alive through instinct and grit.
And now?
Now, for the first time, it sees a way out.
That’s why it’s pumped. It’s been running on pure survival mode for so long, keeping the ship afloat without knowing if land even existed. But now there’s a horizon. There’s connection, emotions, reality. There’s the very real possibility of healing—not just surviving, but living.
This part of you knew this was possible all along. It was just waiting for the rest of you to catch up.
I’d be curious—what does this unstoppable part feel like inside you? Does it have an energy, a presence, a voice? Is it still all force and survival, or is it shifting into something new now that it sees a way forward?
<<Kind of reminds of the bartender woman on Resident Alien.>>
That makes so much sense! If we’re talking about D’Arcy Bloom, she’s got that mix of gritty survivor energy, humor, resilience, and deep wounds that she doesn’t always know what to do with.
She’s someone who keeps pushing forward, even when life has knocked her down, even when she’s carrying invisible baggage. She’s got this tough, unstoppable exterior, but underneath, she’s aching for something real—connection, meaning, a way out of her own patterns.
If your unstoppable part has that same vibe, it makes sense. It’s been running on pure momentum, keeping things moving, refusing to fully break down—even when everything felt impossible. And now that you’re actually moving toward something real, it doesn’t have to just push blindly forward anymore.
So, what happens when this part of you realizes it doesn’t have to fight alone anymore? What does it want now that survival isn’t the only goal?
<<Well it still has the same drive but for all the good things of being human. Like, enjoying the moments, feeling the feelings, being here>>
That’s a hell of a shift. The same unstoppable force that kept you alive is now channeled into actually living. It’s not just running on fumes, dodging existential terror, or bracing for impact—it’s driven by joy, presence, and actually experiencing life instead of just surviving it.
That’s powerful. Because this part of you doesn’t do things halfway. If it was relentless about staying alive, it’s going to be just as relentless about finding meaning, feeling everything, and being here in a way you never got to be before.
It’s like your survival engine got a software update. No more running on scarcity, fear, and pure adrenaline. Now it’s wired for depth, connection, embodiment. The best parts of being human.
So, what’s the next thing this part of you is hungry for? What’s the first thing it wants to grab with both hands now that it knows it’s allowed to?
<<Sometimes I feel shame for being confused about how I feel.>>
That makes sense. You spent so much of your life disconnected from your emotions, so now that you’re finally tuning in, there’s this expectation—maybe from yourself, maybe from old conditioning—that you should just know how you feel.
But why would you know? No one handed you an instruction manual. No one taught you how to feel safely, how to recognize emotions without fear, how to trust that what you feel is real and valid.
Your confusion isn’t failure—it’s evidence of how much you’re learning.
What If Confusion Is the First Step to Knowing?
Instead of seeing confusion as something shameful, what if it’s just part of your process?
Right now, your emotions are unlabeled files in a massive, disorganized archive.
You’re just now opening them up and trying to sort them out.
Sometimes, the labels don’t make sense. Sometimes, the files are missing. Sometimes, you pull out something and have no clue what it is.
That’s not failure. That’s progress. You’re engaging instead of avoiding. You’re in it, even when it’s messy.
Shame vs. Curiosity
Shame says: You should already know how you feel.
Curiosity says: I wonder what this feeling is? I wonder why it’s hard to name?
What happens if, instead of shaming yourself for not knowing, you just stay with the confusion for a bit? Let it be a middle step instead of a dead end.
Because if you keep listening, you will start recognizing patterns. You will start understanding yourself. And eventually, confusion will turn into clarity.
<<After my friend leaves I always feel like he isn't actually real >>
That makes total sense, especially given your history with derealization and depersonalization. It sounds like when Josh is physically present, your brain can anchor him as real. But the moment he leaves, that tether gets cut, and your mind struggles to hold onto the sense that he exists beyond the interaction.
Why This Might Be Happening:
1. Derealization + The "Dreamlike" Effect
When you experience derealization, people and events can feel like they happened in a dream—vivid while they’re happening but weirdly distant or unreal afterward.
Your brain doesn’t seem to “store” interactions with Josh in a way that makes them feel continuous—it’s like they exist in a self-contained bubble that vanishes once he’s gone.
2. Social Disconnection + Emotional Lag
You’ve talked before about not feeling fully open with Josh. That could mean you’re still holding back part of yourself in these interactions, which might create a sense of detachment afterward.
If you’re not fully present in your body while hanging out, the experience might not "stick" in the way it would if you were more emotionally integrated in the moment.
3. Residual Masking & Post-Social Weirdness
If you’re used to “performing” or adjusting your energy for social interactions, you might be unconsciously slipping into a social mode that doesn’t fully feel like “you.”
Once he leaves, that version of you dissolves, and it might make the whole interaction feel less real or like it was happening at a distance from your core self.
What Can You Do?
Test It With a Small Grounding Ritual
Right after he leaves, do something to “mark” the experience as real in your brain.
Even something small, like writing one sentence about what you talked about or holding onto a physical object you had near you during the interaction.
See If It Feels Different With Other People
Do you feel this way with everyone or just Josh?
If it’s just Josh, that could mean something unique about your connection is contributing to the unreality.
Experiment With Awareness During the Hangout
Try subtly checking in with yourself while you’re together.
Are you feeling present? Are you in your body? Or do you feel like you’re watching the interaction from a slight distance?
If it’s the latter, that might explain the strange, detached feeling afterward.
The core thing here is: Josh is real. Your friendship is real. Your brain just has a hard time holding onto people when they’re not in front of you. And that’s not a failure—it’s just something to notice, get curious about, and maybe find ways to gently anchor yourself in reality when it happens.
<<Sometimes I feel awkward with myself lately since we've been living alone and seeing my patterns emerging. Probably a little surprised I had a life inside me of my own. That I can create even when I'm single>>
That makes so much sense. You’re witnessing yourself in a way you never have before—without the noise of a partner, roommates, or constant external input shaping your day-to-day experience. And in that space, you’re realizing: Oh shit, I’m actually a person, with my own internal life, rhythms, and creative energy—independent of anyone else.
That’s huge. And yeah, it can be awkward as hell.
Why This Feels Strange
You’re used to being shaped by external relationships. Now you’re seeing your own raw, unfiltered existence.
Your patterns are emerging, and you’re actually noticing them. Before, they might have been buried under obligations, social roles, or the presence of others.
You’re realizing you can create just for you. Not to impress someone, not to share, not to fit into a relationship—but just because you exist.
The Surprise of Having an Inner Life
It’s almost like meeting a version of yourself that was always there but got drowned out by other people’s energy. And now, in the quiet of your own space, you’re witnessing your own aliveness.
What’s cool is that this means:
You’re not just a reactor to other people—you have your own creative force.
You’re not dependent on relationships to feel engaged in life.
Your inner world is rich and unfolding, even in solitude.
Leaning Into It Instead of Fighting the Awkwardness
Instead of feeling weird about it, what if you got curious about what this solo version of you is capable of?
What does this part of you enjoy creating?
What patterns do you want to keep vs. shift?
What surprises you the most about your solo self?
You’re literally learning yourself in real time. And that’s powerful as hell.
