I Did A Thing
Trigger Warnings. I Did a Thing
Yesterday, I did something I rarely allow myself to do—I looked at the news.
For months, I had permitted myself to step away, asking my partner to take in the emotional pain and filter it for me, letting me know only if there was something urgent. I recognize the privilege in that. The privilege of choosing when to engage with suffering, when to hold it, and when to set it down. The privilege of allowing someone else to carry the weight, even for a moment. But I also know that if I don’t regulate my own nervous system—if I don’t create space to breathe—then I have nothing to give when my love, power, and fierceness “are” needed.
Because we are at war. People have died, are dying, will die. And in the coldest places, where the illusion of time collapses and the sun no longer rises, we have all already died. If we surrender to that reality—if we let it steal our breath and our light—then we have given away our most vital resource.
And yet, here we are. Breathing. Moving. Existing in this moment, in this place, in this body.
That means something. It means we still have something to offer, something to build, something to create.
Which is why I believe in the right to step away.
We all dissociate. We numb ourselves with television, doomscrolling, alcohol, food, work, shopping, exercise, the curated chaos of social media. We binge-watch, pour another drink, refresh the feed, keep moving—anything to create distance between ourselves and the unrelenting noise of the world. We don’t question it when it comes in these forms, when it is neatly packaged and socially acceptable. But when someone uses substances to survive, to self-regulate, to find a moment of peace, suddenly the conversation shifts. Suddenly, it’s a moral failing.
But what if substance use is the modern-day psychological medicine?
Not just an escape, but a tool. A deeply human, ancient way of responding to an unbearable world.
Harm reduction exists to save lives, yes. It exists to treat people with dignity, to assert—without hesitation—that no one deserves to suffer, even when suffering is their reality. But what if harm reduction also acknowledges something deeper? That sometimes, stepping outside of reality isn’t just survival—it’s sanity. That the ability to dissociate, to medicate, to momentarily *not be* is not a weakness, but an act of self-preservation.
This is not abstract for me. This is the foundation of my work. I have spent years sitting with people in therapy, guiding them through trauma, addiction, grief, and healing. I have seen firsthand what happens when people are denied the space to regulate, when the only tools they have to endure their reality are stripped from them in the name of “help.”
We talk about dissociation as if it is a problem to be fixed, a pathology to be treated. But what if it’s an instinct? A biological, emotional, and spiritual response to a world that asks too much, too often?
What if the real harm isn’t in the act of using, but in a system that refuses to provide safe, compassionate ways for people to do what humans have always done—soften the edges of existence?
What if our job isn’t just to prevent harm, but to ensure that those seeking relief—seeking “breath”—have what they need to do so safely?
I don’t have the perfect answer. But I know this: We cannot shame people out of their pain. We cannot punish people into healing.
We are human. And humans have always found ways to survive. Maybe, just maybe, making space for that survival—honoring the right to step away, to pause, to regulate—is not an act of surrender, but an act of radical love.
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If you want to support harm reduction efforts in Portland and help provide life-saving resources to your community, consider supporting https://www.everlyproject.org