by Francois Martin Hunter
There’s something that doesn’t get talked about enough.
Not anxiety.
Not overthinking.
Not even burnout.
Numbness.
Not the dramatic kind.
The quiet kind.
The kind where you’re still getting up in the morning.
Still replying to messages.
Still doing what you’re supposed to do.
But something feels… off.
Like you’re watching your life instead of living it.
You laugh, but it doesn’t quite land.
You rest, but you don’t feel recharged.
You go through the motions, but you’re not really in them.
And then comes the question:
“What’s wrong with me?”
Maybe nothing.
Because numbness doesn’t usually come out of nowhere.
It tends to show up after you’ve been holding too much for too long.
Grief you didn’t have space to feel.
Stress that never really stopped.
Emotions you had to push down just to keep going.
Or maybe you learned early on that feeling too much wasn’t safe.
So you adapted.
You shut it down.
Not because you’re broken.
Because it worked.
And that’s the part people don’t say enough:
Numbness is often a very intelligent response.
The problem is… it doesn’t know when to switch off.
So what once protected you
starts to disconnect you.
From other people.
From moments that should matter.
From yourself.
And now you’re stuck in this strange in-between.
Not overwhelmed.
But not okay either.
Here’s where it gets difficult.
Because the answer isn’t to suddenly “feel everything again.”
That can actually make things worse.
If your system has spent months—or years—keeping things contained,
you don’t just rip the lid off.
You don’t force it.
You earn your way back.
Slowly.
Sometimes it starts with really small things:
Noticing that your chest feels tight.
Realising you’re more tired than you thought.
Catching a moment where something almost feels like sadness… or relief… or something you can’t quite name.
That’s it.
That’s the work.
Not breakthroughs.
Not big emotional releases.
Just… noticing.
Because underneath numbness, there is usually something waiting.
Not to overwhelm you.
Just to be acknowledged.
And this is the part I want to be honest about.
You don’t have to do this on your own.
Not because you can’t.
But because doing it alone often means staying in your head.
And this isn’t something you think your way out of.
It’s something you slowly feel your way back into.
At your pace.
With someone who isn’t trying to rush you.
Fix you.
Or tell you how you should be feeling.
Just someone who sits with you in it.
If any part of this felt familiar…then whatever you’re experiencing isn’t random.
It makes sense.
Even if it doesn’t feel like it yet, and if you need space to make sense of this....get in touch