Why Trauma & Early Life Stress Often Lead to Derealization

Why Trauma & Early Life Stress Often Lead to Derealization

The Hidden Link Between Trauma and Feeling Unreal

Sometimes, the world feels like it’s behind a pane of glass. Colors fade. Sounds become distant. People seem like actors in a play. This strange, unsettling sensation—like reality itself has become a movie—is known as derealization. For many, it isn't just a fleeting moment. It can linger for hours, days, or even years, especially after trauma.

In over two decades of working with trauma survivors, I’ve heard countless stories that start with the same phrase: “I feel disconnected from everything.” These aren't rare cases. In fact, according to recent U.S. mental health data, dissociative symptoms like derealization are reported by nearly 50% of people who have experienced chronic childhood stress or abuse.

But what’s the link between trauma—especially early life stress—and this eerie sense of disconnection?

Derealization is not a mental illness on its own. It's a coping mechanism. When a child or adult faces something emotionally unbearable—neglect, violence, loss—the mind sometimes detaches from the present moment to protect itself. This psychological "numbing" can make reality feel far away.

Let’s consider a girl raised in a home where fights happened every night. She never felt safe. Her body stayed on high alert, her nervous system flooded with stress hormones. As she grew, her brain learned to protect her by tuning out—not just emotionally, but perceptually. She began spacing out in school, not remembering conversations, and eventually, feeling like nothing around her was real. This is not a weakness. It’s survival.

While many people associate trauma with dramatic events—like accidents or abuse—what often goes unnoticed is the slow erosion of safety from ongoing stress. Growing up in poverty, witnessing domestic violence, being shamed repeatedly—these chronic stressors are just as capable of inducing derealization. The key factor is helplessness.

Helplessness changes the brain. It tells the body, “There’s no escape.” And when escape isn’t possible, the mind finds its own route—by mentally checking out.

That’s why so many adults—especially in high-stress professions like nursing, social work, or tech—describe feeling emotionally numb or blank. Even if their current life looks successful, unresolved childhood trauma lingers beneath the surface. It doesn't always show as flashbacks or nightmares. Sometimes, it shows up as silence. As fog. As detachment from reality.

A woman in Ohio once told me, “It’s like the lights are on, but no one’s home. Even when I’m laughing with friends, I’m somewhere else inside.”

Her story is not unique.

From college students in California to veterans in Texas to single parents in New York, people across the country are quietly struggling with this same disconnection. But few recognize it as a trauma response. And fewer still know that healing is possible.

The good news? Once we understand how derealization works, we can begin to unlearn it.

And to do that, we need to talk about the brain.

What Happens in the Brain During Derealization

When someone experiences derealization, it's not just “in their head” in a figurative sense—it’s quite literally in their brain.

Scientific research over the past decade has helped us map what happens neurologically during episodes of dissociation. In particular, brain imaging has shown key areas of shutdown and hyperactivity in people dealing with trauma-related derealization.

Let’s break it down simply.

Under normal circumstances, the prefrontal cortex (responsible for reasoning, decision-making, and self-awareness) works together with the limbic system (which processes emotions) to interpret reality. But during trauma—or when the brain is reminded of trauma—this system goes offline.

The amygdala, the brain's alarm center, goes into overdrive. It starts flooding the body with stress chemicals like cortisol and adrenaline. Meanwhile, the hippocampus, which helps us understand time and context, begins to misfire. You lose track of whether something is happening now or happened then. The body prepares to fight or flee—but when it can’t, the mind switches to freeze or flee internally.

This is where the shutdown happens.

The default mode network (DMN), which helps us feel grounded in ourselves and our memories, becomes disconnected. Simultaneously, the temporal-parietal junction, which helps us understand perspective and place, may start to malfunction. That’s when things feel unreal. Flat. Like watching your life on a screen.

This is not imaginary. It’s neurological.

And it explains why people with unresolved trauma often say:

• “It’s like I’m floating outside my body.”

• “Time feels warped.”

• “I know I’m awake, but I feel like I’m dreaming.”

In one study with combat veterans who experienced derealization and depersonalization, scans revealed reduced activity in the insula, the part of the brain that helps us feel connected to our bodily experience. It’s as if the brain, overwhelmed by danger, temporarily turns off the sensory volume to cope.

Now imagine a child who grows up in a home where yelling and chaos are daily occurrences. That child’s brain learns early that the world is not safe. Over time, this rewiring becomes permanent. Even in adulthood, minor stress can trigger massive disconnection.

This is how trauma travels through time. It's stored not just in memory, but in the very circuits that shape our experience of reality.

What’s more, these disruptions often go unnoticed by traditional therapy or surface-level treatment. Someone might look “functional” from the outside—holding a job, raising a family—but feel emotionally hollow on the inside. They may be misdiagnosed with depression or anxiety when, in reality, their brain is still living in survival mode.

Understanding this biology is essential for compassion.

It shows us that derealization is not a personal failure. It’s not a weakness. It’s a brilliant, adaptive response by the brain trying to survive what once felt un-survivable.

But the same brain that learned to dissociate can also learn to reconnect.

How Early Life Stress Alters Perception of Reality

Trauma doesn’t always leave bruises. Sometimes, it leaves a fog—a deep disconnection that follows someone from childhood into adulthood. And in many cases, that fog begins with what researchers call Adverse Childhood Experiences (ACEs).

Across the United States, studies have shown that children exposed to repeated stress—abuse, neglect, unstable homes—are far more likely to experience symptoms of dissociation, including derealization, later in life. According to the CDC-Kaiser Permanente ACE Study, about 61% of U.S. adults reported at least one type of adverse childhood experience. That’s more than 6 out of 10 people. And 1 in 6 reported four or more.

But the real question is: why does this early stress change how people perceive the world?

In the simplest terms, the brain of a child is still under construction. When a child faces repeated emotional or physical stress, their developing nervous system becomes wired for survival, not connection. Instead of learning to trust and explore the world, they learn to scan it for danger. This constant alertness can lead to what's called hypervigilance—always expecting something to go wrong.

Now, here's where things get complicated.

When a child's environment is unsafe but inescapable, their brain doesn't just go on high alert—it eventually starts shutting down. Over time, this numbing becomes the new normal. Emotional detachment, space-outs, and a distorted sense of reality begin to take root—not as conscious choices, but as protective strategies.

One adult client I worked with—a teacher in Pennsylvania—shared that she couldn’t remember most of her childhood before age 10. What she did recall were only flashes: hiding in closets during her parents' fights, the smell of alcohol, a constant feeling of tightness in her chest. As an adult, she found herself frequently zoning out during conversations or feeling like her classroom wasn’t real. These were classic signs of derealization rooted in developmental trauma.

What’s heartbreaking is that many people don’t realize how much their early environment shapes their adult perception. They blame themselves for being “too sensitive,” “too forgetful,” or “not present,” without ever connecting it to early stress.

In fact, a 2024 mental health report from West Virginia and New Mexico—two of the U.S. states with some of the highest ACE scores—showed a striking correlation between childhood trauma and adult dissociative symptoms. This is particularly relevant in underserved communities, where access to trauma-informed therapy remains limited.

Another overlooked factor? Emotional neglect.

Even without overt abuse, growing up in a home where feelings were ignored or invalidated can be deeply disorienting. A child who constantly hears “you’re too dramatic” or “stop crying” learns to suppress emotions—and eventually, to dissociate from them altogether.

And this emotional freeze doesn’t just go away with age. It sticks. It grows. It transforms into what many adults experience as derealization—a hazy, muted, emotionally flat version of the world.

These aren’t character flaws. They are survival skills that outlived their purpose.

The tragedy is that most of these individuals—now adults juggling jobs, parenting, or caregiving—never connect the dots. They feel “off” or “unreal,” but have no words for it. And when they do reach out for help, they’re often met with responses like “You’re just anxious,” or “Try to stay present.”

What they need instead is recognition.

Recognition that early life stress is not just a memory. It’s a blueprint—one that can be rewritten, but only once it's understood.

Derealization vs. Depersonalization: What’s the Difference?

The terms derealization and depersonalization are often used interchangeably, but they describe two distinct experiences. While both fall under the umbrella of dissociative symptoms, they affect different parts of the self.

Let’s break this down in plain language.

Derealization is when the world around you feels unreal.

Depersonalization is when you feel unreal to yourself.

In derealization, people may say things like:

• “It’s like I’m in a dream.”

• “Everything feels far away or fake.”

• “Sounds are muffled, and colors seem dull.”

In depersonalization, the phrases change:

• “I feel like I’m not in my body.”

• “It’s like I’m watching myself from outside.”

• “I can’t feel my emotions at all.”

Here’s an analogy I often use with clients:

If your mind were a camera, derealization would be like putting a blurry filter on the lens. Everything outside looks distant. But with depersonalization, it’s like the camera itself feels detached from your hands. You’re still recording, but you’re not fully there.

Now, here’s the important part: they often show up together.

A tech worker in San Francisco I once spoke to described an experience where both symptoms hit during a panic attack at work. She said, “I couldn’t feel my arms, and the office lights looked alien. My coworkers’ voices felt robotic, and I couldn’t tell if I was dreaming or dying.” That’s a textbook case of combined derealization and depersonalization—often triggered by unresolved trauma stored in the body.

In a recent national survey of mental health therapists in the U.S., nearly 1 in 4 clients with PTSD were reported to show signs of either derealization, depersonalization, or both. The issue is that many clients aren’t familiar with the terms. They say things like, “I feel weird,” or “I’m spaced out a lot,” and don’t realize it’s part of a larger trauma response.

What makes matters worse is misdiagnosis.

Because derealization can resemble anxiety or depression, it’s often misunderstood. Some doctors may even dismiss it as “just stress.” But these symptoms have a specific cause—and they require specific care. Not all grounding exercises or medications will work if the root trauma remains untreated.

The distinction matters for treatment, too.

People with depersonalization often benefit from body-based therapies that help reconnect with physical sensations. Those with derealization may respond better to sensory reactivation—like light, touch, or sound work—to bring the brain back to a sense of safety in the environment.

Both experiences are disorienting. Both are frightening. But understanding the difference can be a powerful first step toward healing.

And for those who are living through it every day, naming the experience is more than just labeling—it’s liberating.

Symptoms of Derealization Most People Miss

Derealization doesn’t always announce itself with drama. More often, it slips in quietly—so quietly that many people don’t even realize what they’re experiencing has a name.

While some signs are more recognizable—like feeling disconnected or dazed—many others go unnoticed or get mislabeled as “just stress.” That’s why this section is especially important: to help readers identify what derealization really looks and feels like in daily life.

Here’s what I’ve observed again and again in clients across the U.S.—from busy professionals in New York to college students in Oregon.

Visual distortion that doesn’t involve the eyes

Things may appear slightly off, like colors looking muted, light feeling too bright or too dim, or surroundings seeming flatter—almost two-dimensional. Many people first mistake this for eye strain or screen fatigue.

Feeling like time is speeding up or slowing down

Some describe it as hours passing in minutes, while others say everything feels frozen. A client in Arizona once told me, “I know five minutes went by, but it felt like I watched the whole day happen in slow motion.”

Sound becoming distorted or muffled

Voices may seem robotic, distant, or oddly echo-like. One woman from Chicago shared that she couldn’t focus on conversations because people’s voices felt like they were coming through a tunnel.

Loss of emotional depth

This symptom is subtle but deeply painful. People say things like:

“I laughed, but it didn’t feel real.”

“I knew I should be sad, but I just felt blank.”

It’s like watching life from behind thick glass—present but unreachable.

Difficulty recognizing familiar environments

Your own living room might feel like a hotel. A grocery store you visit weekly suddenly feels foreign. This symptom is unsettling but common in trauma-linked derealization.

Feeling ‘robotic’ or automatic

Some individuals say they go through their routines on autopilot. A healthcare worker in Florida shared, “I show up. I do the work. But it feels like someone else is doing it—not me.”

Trouble forming new memories

Because the brain isn’t fully registering the present moment, it may not store experiences well. People often forget parts of conversations or can’t recall how they spent their day.

Sensory fatigue or shutdown

Bright lights, loud noises, crowded spaces—things that once felt neutral can now feel overwhelming, triggering a retreat into fog or blankness.

The tragedy here is that many people experiencing these symptoms blame themselves. They say, “Maybe I’m lazy,” or “I’m just tired.” But in truth, these are signs that the mind is overwhelmed—and protecting itself by pulling away from full sensory engagement.

Here’s a small checklist (Google-optimized for snippet potential):

Do I Have Signs of Derealization?

If you answer “yes” to several of the following, it may be time to seek trauma-informed support:

• I often feel like my environment isn’t real or familiar.

• I space out and later can’t remember what just happened.

• I feel emotionally numb, even during big events.

• I have trouble connecting to sounds, sights, or people.

• I feel like I’m observing life from far away.

• I struggle to feel time passing normally.

Symptoms can be mild, brief, or deeply disruptive. But in any case, they’re not imaginary. They’re real, neurological responses to stress and trauma.

Recognizing these signs is the first—and often most powerful—step toward recovery.

Top Triggers of Derealization in the USA Today

While derealization is a deeply internal experience, it’s often sparked by very external forces. And in today’s fast-paced, overstimulating world—especially in the United States—the number of triggers is increasing.

Let’s explore the most common ones I’ve seen in clinical practice and national data, broken down by category and region.

Unresolved Childhood Trauma

Still the number one cause. Abuse, neglect, and growing up in emotionally unavailable households are long-term triggers that can activate derealization later in life. In states like Mississippi, New Mexico, and West Virginia, high ACE scores correlate strongly with adult dissociation.

Medical Trauma and Chronic Illness

Survivors of long-term medical conditions, surgeries, or ICU stays (especially post-COVID) often report derealization. A cancer survivor in Texas told me, “Chemo made me feel like I wasn’t in my body for weeks. I came back, but something changed.”

Burnout in High-Stress Jobs

ER nurses, therapists, teachers, and tech professionals are reporting rising levels of emotional disconnection. A mental health check-in program for healthcare workers in California found that over 40% reported at least one symptom of derealization during peak COVID response.

Narcissistic or Emotionally Abusive Relationships

When a person is gaslit or chronically invalidated, it leads to self-doubt and detachment from reality. This is common in controlling partnerships, but also in family systems. Survivors say things like:

 “I stopped trusting my own senses. I didn’t know what was real anymore.”

Sensory Overload and Digital Fatigue

Ironically, the hyperconnected world we live in contributes to disconnection. Constant screen use, notifications, and online chaos—especially among Gen Z and millennials—lead to “digital derealization.” A 2025 study from a university in Washington state found that students who spent more than 8 hours daily on screens reported 3x more dissociative symptoms.

Racial Trauma and Microaggressions

Black, Indigenous, and People of Color (BIPOC) communities in the U.S. face chronic exposure to microaggressions and systemic racism, which can result in trauma-induced detachment. A therapist in Georgia shared that many of her Black clients describe “emotional freezing” after public incidents of racial violence.

LGBTQ+ Discrimination and Rejection

Teens and adults facing rejection due to gender or sexuality—especially in conservative states—report high rates of trauma-related dissociation. A trans teen in Tennessee shared that school bullying led to years of emotional numbness and identity confusion. This isn’t just emotional—it’s neurological defense.

Panic Attacks and Anxiety Disorders

Even people without early trauma can develop derealization through repeated anxiety episodes. The brain, when overwhelmed, cuts off from reality as a protective reflex.

These triggers are growing—and so is awareness. As more people begin to name and recognize derealization, the hope is that we can respond not with shame or fear—but with support, validation, and trauma-informed care.

Because when someone says, “It all feels unreal,” what they really mean is: “I’m overwhelmed, and my brain is trying to protect me.”

Why Talk Therapy Isn’t Always Enough

Talk therapy has helped millions, and for many, it’s a critical first step in healing. But when it comes to derealization rooted in trauma, words alone often fall short. In fact, many of my clients over the years have come to therapy after trying CBT or traditional counselling, only to say, “I can talk about it—but I still don’t feel anything.”

That’s not because they’re resistant. It’s because their trauma lives deeper than language.

Let’s be clear: this isn’t about discrediting talk therapy. Modalities like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy (CBT) and Dialectical Behavior Therapy (DBT) can be life-changing for anxiety, depression, and emotional regulation. But for trauma survivors who experience derealization, especially those with a history of childhood neglect or emotional abuse, something more is often needed.

Why?

Because derealization isn’t just psychological—it’s somatic.

It’s rooted in the body’s survival systems: the freeze response, the shutdown mode, the years of learned numbness that words can’t always touch. These are not cognitive distortions. These are protective patterns built deep into the nervous system.

A 29-year-old nurse from Michigan once said during a session, “I can explain why I dissociate. I understand the theory. But I still leave my body the moment someone raises their voice.”

That’s the gap.

Traditional therapy often treats symptoms as thoughts to be challenged. But in trauma-induced derealization, the problem isn’t faulty thinking—it’s an overwhelmed nervous system that doesn’t feel safe.

Imagine telling someone whose body is frozen in fear to “just breathe through it” or “challenge your thoughts.” That’s like asking a locked-up engine to restart without fixing the wiring. The solution must begin where the problem lives—in the body.

In many rural areas of the U.S., or in culturally conservative regions, clients often face two obstacles:

• Lack of access to trauma-informed therapists.

• Societal stigma around somatic or alternative therapies.

This leaves many feeling stuck. They try traditional therapy. It helps a little. But the derealization remains, lurking just beneath the surface—especially under stress.

And then they begin to doubt themselves:

“Maybe this is just who I am now.”

“Maybe I can’t heal.”

But that’s not true.

What’s missing isn’t willpower. It’s the right kind of therapy.

This is where newer, body-based approaches come into play.

Healing Approaches That Actually Help

The good news is that healing from trauma-induced derealization is possible. But it often requires going beyond talk—and into the body, the nervous system, and the unspoken stories stored in the cells.

In my clinical experience, and based on emerging U.S. mental health research, the following approaches have shown the most consistent results with clients experiencing chronic derealization:

EMDR (Eye Movement Desensitization and Reprocessing)

This therapy doesn’t require detailed retelling of trauma. Instead, it uses bilateral stimulation (like eye movements or tapping) to help the brain reprocess traumatic memories safely. Clients often say they feel “more here” or “more real” after several sessions.

A young veteran in Colorado who had struggled with derealization for years shared, “EMDR felt weird at first—but after a few sessions, I could look at my wife and feel present again.”

Somatic Experiencing (SE)

Created by Dr. Peter Levine, SE focuses on releasing trauma stored in the body. It works by helping individuals notice subtle bodily sensations, track physical reactions, and gently move through them. For people who can’t “feel” their bodies during derealization, this is a powerful re-entry point.

A client from Oregon once told me, “I hadn’t felt my feet in years. Not really. After three sessions, I felt like I came back home into my body.”

Internal Family Systems (IFS)

IFS treats the mind as a collection of “parts”—some wounded, some protective. Derealization often occurs when certain parts of us try to keep us emotionally safe by disconnecting. IFS gently helps individuals reintegrate these parts without shame.

This model is especially helpful for LGBTQ+ clients, immigrants, or those raised in highly critical households where emotional parts were suppressed for survival.

Trauma-Informed Yoga and Breathwork

Sometimes, healing doesn’t come through a couch—it comes through movement. Slow, mindful yoga with breathwork (not fitness-based yoga) helps reawaken sensation in a safe, grounded way. In trauma-sensitive classes, even just lying on a mat and noticing the breath can begin to reverse years of numbness.

In New York City, many trauma survivors have reported significant decreases in dissociation symptoms after joining somatic yoga programs offered by non-profits like Exhale to Inhale or Liberation Prison Yoga.

Psychedelic-Assisted Therapy (Emerging in Oregon, Colorado)

Still under clinical trial or limited legal availability, therapies involving psilocybin or MDMA-assisted treatment are showing early promise for trauma-related dissociation. These therapies must be conducted in controlled, clinical settings, but they offer a glimpse into future possibilities—especially for treatment-resistant derealization.

Group Therapy with Trauma Focus

In some cases, healing begins with shared language. Trauma-focused group work offers validation, especially for those who’ve felt “crazy” or “broken.” Hearing others describe the exact same fog can be life-altering.

One client from Georgia said, “The moment someone else said, ‘I feel like I’m in a dream,’ I cried. I realized I wasn’t alone.”

Recovery Isn’t Linear—But It Is Real

Every nervous system is different. Some people respond to EMDR within weeks. Others need months of slow, somatic re-entry into their bodies before they begin to feel safe again. There’s no single path—and that’s okay.

But what matters most is this:

Derealization is not permanent.

It is not your identity.

It is not a life sentence.

It’s a sign that your brain did its job—it protected you. And now, with the right support, it can learn to let go of those protections and reconnect you to a life that feels vivid, grounded, and real.

When Derealization Becomes Chronic — What to Do

Everyone zones out occasionally. But when disconnection becomes a constant companion—when the world feels like a foggy simulation, even during everyday moments—derealization may no longer be a fleeting reaction. It may have become chronic.

Chronic derealization isn’t just frustrating—it’s frightening.

Many clients describe it as living half a life. They go to work, raise kids, attend social events—but feel like shadows of themselves. Some say they’ve stopped dreaming. Others report not recognizing their own reflection in the mirror.

So when does occasional dissociation cross into a chronic condition?

When the disconnection persists for weeks or months.

When it interferes with relationships, work, or safety.

When it feels like you’re losing grip on reality—even when everything looks “fine” from the outside.

This is especially common in individuals with long-term trauma histories. Survivors of childhood neglect, combat veterans, and victims of repeated emotional abuse often develop what's now classified as Depersonalization-Derealization Disorder (DDD)—a diagnosable condition recognized in the DSM-5.

It’s estimated that about 2% of the U.S. population experiences chronic depersonalization or derealization. That may sound small—but it translates to nearly 6.6 million Americans.

And many go undiagnosed.

Why? Because derealization often doesn’t present a “crisis.” People aren’t collapsing or lashing out. They’re just… not here. And they know it. But they don’t always have the words.

A software engineer in Washington told me, “I function at a high level. But I haven’t felt real in years. It’s like I’m performing life, not living it.”

If you—or someone you know—is stuck in this loop, here’s what to do:

Recognize It for What It Is

Derealization is a symptom, not a flaw. Understanding that your brain is trying to protect you is the first step. It’s doing what it was trained to do—stay safe by detaching.

Seek Trauma-Informed Support

General therapy can help, but chronic derealization often requires specialized care. Look for clinicians trained in EMDR, IFS, Somatic Experiencing, or trauma-informed CBT. Sites like Psychology Today and TherapyDen allow filters for these specialties.

Focus on Grounding Before Processing

When someone feels unreal, diving into trauma memories too soon can make things worse. Start with grounding techniques:

• Ice on the wrists

• Noticing five things you see, four you feel, three you hear

• Repetitive sensory input like tapping or textured objects

Stabilize Your Environment

Safety matters. If you're in a chaotic living situation or emotionally abusive relationship, derealization will keep being triggered. Work with a support system or therapist to create boundaries and a safe routine.

Track Patterns and Triggers

Keep a journal. Note when the fog sets in. Is it after talking to a certain person? During work meetings? After scrolling social media? Identifying patterns helps reduce fear—and gives you power back.

Many people also benefit from peer support, online communities, and psychoeducation about trauma. These provide connection in a space where you feel deeply disconnected.

If you're struggling with derealization symptoms and looking for accessible support, connecting with an online psychologist in India can be a helpful first step—especially for those in remote or underserved areas.

And if things feel unbearable—like you’re losing your mind or feeling suicidal—know that help is available. In the U.S., the 988 Suicide & Crisis Lifeline operates 24/7. Calling doesn't mean you're weak. It means you're fighting to stay present. That’s strength.

Derealization can be chronic. But it’s not forever.

It can improve.

The fog can lift.

And you can feel real again.

How to Talk to Your Therapist About Derealization

For many people experiencing derealization, seeking help is already hard enough. But talking about the fog—describing something that feels vague, strange, and hard to pin down—can feel nearly impossible.

Clients often say things like:

“I don’t know how to describe it.”

“I feel like my therapist won’t understand.”

“I’m afraid they’ll think I’m crazy.”

So let’s remove that fear. Let’s make this conversation easier.

First, derealization is a medically recognized experience. You are not imagining it. You are not being dramatic. You are describing a real psychological and neurological response to stress or trauma. And your therapist needs to hear it.

If you don’t know where to begin, try this script during your next session:

“Sometimes I feel like the world isn’t real, like I’m in a dream or behind glass. I know it sounds odd, but it’s been happening a lot. I think it might be connected to stress or trauma.”

That one statement can open a door.

A good therapist—especially one trained in trauma—will not be shocked or confused. They’ll likely recognize the symptom and begin asking helpful follow-up questions:

• When did it start?

• What tends to trigger it?

• What’s your body doing when it happens?

• What helps you feel more present?

But what if your therapist doesn’t respond well?

Unfortunately, not all therapists are trauma-informed. Some may misinterpret derealization as a psychotic symptom, or worse, dismiss it entirely. If that happens:

• Do not internalize it.

• Do not stop seeking help.

• Do consider switching providers.

You deserve a therapist who validates your experience and is trained to help.

In some regions of the U.S., especially rural areas, it can be hard to find specialized care. But telehealth has opened new doors. At Click2Pro, we’ve seen clients from all 50 states—people who previously thought no one would understand their “weird brain stuff”—finally find safety, language, and a plan.

Here are a few tips to guide your therapy conversations:

Before Your Session:

• Write down your symptoms. Be specific. Use phrases like:

“Everything feels unreal.”

“Sounds and light feel strange.”

“I can’t tell if time is moving normally.”

• Highlight when it started, how long it lasts, and what helps.

During Your Session:

• Speak openly. Use metaphors if that helps.
  (“It’s like I’m underwater.” / “Like I’m watching life on a screen.”)

• Mention past trauma if you’re comfortable. It helps your therapist connect the dots.

After Your Session:

• Reflect on how it felt to share. Did you feel heard? Safe?

• Track any emotional shifts after opening up.

Therapy is a relationship—and it’s okay to advocate for yourself in it. If your therapist isn’t familiar with derealization, ask if they’re open to learning. Many are. You can even suggest resources or articles that explain trauma-induced dissociation.

Most importantly, don’t give up.

Your story matters. Your experience is real.

And with the right support, you can find your way back to clarity, presence, and emotional connection.

Recovery Is Not Linear — Stories of Hope

Derealization recovery doesn’t follow a straight line. It isn’t about “getting back to normal” in a week or checking off symptoms like items on a list. It’s about learning to feel safe in your own skin—bit by bit—and rebuilding trust with reality after years of disconnection.

That process takes time. It also looks different for everyone.

But what unites most survivors is the moment they realize: “I’m not broken. I’m adapting.”

Let me share a few anonymous stories of individuals across the U.S. who’ve walked this path—slowly, imperfectly, and bravely.

Mia – Atlanta, Georgia – Teacher & Abuse Survivor

Mia grew up in a household with constant emotional abuse. As an adult, she described her world as “always gray.” Even during joyful events—weddings, holidays—she felt detached. She tried traditional therapy for two years with little change.

It wasn’t until she discovered Internal Family Systems (IFS) that something shifted. “I met parts of me I didn’t know existed,” she said. After nine months of IFS and somatic therapy, she began feeling joy again. Small things—like the sound of rain or her niece’s laughter—felt real.

Julian – Phoenix, Arizona – Combat Veteran

After returning from deployment, Julian experienced daily derealization episodes. “It felt like I was sleepwalking through life,” he said. His relationships suffered. He couldn’t hold a job.

Through a veterans’ program offering EMDR, he began reprocessing his trauma without re-living it. Slowly, the fog lifted. Today, he runs a small carpentry business and volunteers to mentor other veterans. “It’s not about erasing the past,” he says. “It’s about reconnecting to the present.”

Priya – San Francisco, California – Tech Professional

Working in a high-pressure startup, Priya began to feel like her days were scripted. She was achieving on paper but felt completely disconnected inside. “I thought I was going crazy,” she said.

After a friend introduced her to trauma-informed yoga, she started building body awareness for the first time in her life. Movement became her way back to presence. She now incorporates daily breathwork and has significantly reduced her derealization episodes.

Recovery doesn’t always look like a breakthrough. Sometimes it looks like brushing your teeth and noticing the temperature of the water.
Sometimes it’s making eye contact and actually feeling it.
Sometimes it’s just knowing: “I’m here.”

That alone is worth everything.

Final Takeaways — What People Need to Know

Derealization is more common than most people realize—and far more misunderstood.

It’s not attention-seeking.
It’s not laziness.
It’s not a weakness.
It’s the nervous system doing its best to protect you from what once felt unbearable.

Whether you’re a trauma survivor, a burned-out professional, or someone who’s been silently living in the fog—know this:

You’re not alone.

Across the U.S., thousands are quietly navigating this same disconnection. Some are just learning the name for it. Others are midway through healing. Many, like you, are searching for answers.

And the answer isn’t “just get over it.”
It’s not “just stay busy.”
It’s not even “just talk about it.”

The answer is deeper. It’s about slowing down. Rebuilding safety in your body. Being witnessed, not rushed.
And choosing to believe that healing is possible—even when it doesn’t feel real yet.

At Click2Pro, we’ve seen people return to themselves. It’s not a fantasy. It’s neuroscience. It's a community. It's a connection.

And it begins with a single step: naming the fog, and saying, “I want to come back.”

FAQs

1. Can childhood trauma cause derealization later in life?

Yes. Childhood trauma—especially emotional neglect, abuse, or chronic stress—can rewire the developing brain to dissociate in order to survive. This disconnection often continues into adulthood, especially during stress or conflict, and presents as derealization.

2. What does derealization feel like after trauma?

It can feel like watching life through a glass wall. The world looks faded, people seem distant, and emotions feel muted. Many trauma survivors describe it as a dream-like state where they’re physically present but emotionally and mentally “not there.”

3. Is derealization a symptom of PTSD?

Absolutely. Derealization is a common dissociative symptom of PTSD and complex trauma. The brain, overwhelmed by perceived threat, creates a detachment from reality as a way to reduce emotional overwhelm.

4. How long can derealization last?

It varies. Episodes can last minutes, hours, or persist for weeks and even years—especially if trauma remains untreated. Chronic derealization is more likely when dissociation becomes the brain’s default coping mechanism.

5. Can you recover from derealization?

Yes. With trauma-informed care—like EMDR, somatic therapy, and nervous-system healing—many people fully recover. Healing is possible, even if symptoms have lasted for years.

6. Does medication help with derealization?

Sometimes. While medications like SSRIs may reduce underlying anxiety or depression, they don’t treat the root cause of trauma-based derealization. Therapy that targets nervous system safety and body reconnection is usually more effective.

7. Is derealization dangerous or a sign of psychosis?

No. Derealization is not psychosis. People experiencing it are aware that something feels off—they don’t lose touch with reality completely. However, it can be distressing and isolating, so support is important.

8. What is the difference between derealization and depersonalization?

Derealization is when the world feels unreal. Depersonalization is when you feel unreal to yourself. They often co-occur but affect different parts of perception.

About the Author

Dr. Mansi Tanna is a licensed clinical psychologist (RCI-certified) at Click2Pro with extensive experience in trauma-informed care and evidence-based emotional support. She holds an MPhil in Clinical Psychology and blends her academic expertise with compassionate therapeutic practice, specializing in trauma recovery, stress management, emotional regulation, and grief.

With years of experience helping individuals across diverse cultural backgrounds, Mansi understands how early life stress and unresolved trauma can impact adult mental health—often manifesting as symptoms like derealization or emotional disconnection. Her work integrates scientifically validated approaches such as CBT, EMDR, and somatic techniques with a deeply empathetic, human-centered approach.

Through her writing, she aims to educate, validate, and empower readers—offering clear, accessible insights into complex psychological processes. Mansi believes that healing begins with understanding, and she is passionate about making mental health information relatable and actionable for everyone.