A childhood icon, a legendary comedian, and a human being who—like all of us—poops. This realization, first a humorous thought experiment and later confirmed by a documentary, became an unlikely but profound grounding mechanism. When reality feels surreal, sometimes the most stabilizing truth is the most basic one: even the greats return to their bodies.

I’ve noticed that when I play music, my brain fixates on making sure the sound is balanced—not too heavy in my right ear, not too dominant in my left, but perfectly centered. It turns out, this isn’t just about sound. It’s about how my brain seeks equilibrium in all aspects of awareness, embodiment, and perception.

In the depths of depersonalization and derealization, I found myself recording conversations with my parents—without understanding why. Looking back, I now see it was my way of anchoring to reality, preserving proof of interactions that felt unreal. This piece unpacks the psychological layers behind that instinct and what it reveals about my past.

After years of searching for the origins of my disconnection, I’ve realized it wasn’t something that began suddenly—it was always there. My experiences of attraction, relationships, and embodiment have been shaped by dissociation from the start. This shift in understanding changes everything, and now, I’m learning how to integrate it into my present self.

After uncovering deep existential truths, waking up can feel like stepping into an unfamiliar reality. The struggle as you knew it has shifted, but your mind and body are still adjusting. This phase isn’t about more searching—it’s about letting new awareness settle and finding a way to live with it.

Not everyone is ready to question reality, and that’s okay. Some people naturally lean toward existential awareness, while others avoid it at all costs. Learning to recognize where someone is—and supporting them accordingly—can help you foster deeper connections without forcing awareness onto them.

Using sugar to manage existential distress creates a frustrating loop—short-term relief followed by mental spirals about the consequences. This cycle can feel impossible to break, but understanding its function in regulating stress and shifting how we engage with it can provide a way forward.

For most of my life, my body has felt heavy, like I was being pulled downward. I always hunched, curled inward, and unconsciously shrank into myself. Recently, I’ve started stretching and arching my back, and for the first time, I feel like my body is expanding—like I’m becoming three-dimensional. This shift feels profound, but also unfamiliar, as if I’m learning a new way to exist in my own skin.

I'm realizing that I don’t need perfect emotions—I just need to feel like I have some agency over them. This process of self-interpretation and response is exciting, but I’m wondering what comes next. How do I know if others around me are also managing their emotions?

Rituals aren’t just for special occasions—they can be simple, daily practices that help with emotional transitions. Instead of marking seasonal changes that feel performative, consider small, intentional rituals that support how you move through your day. From winding down at night to shifting into work mode, these rituals can bring presence and joy to everyday moments.