What does a kid do when they can’t leave the room? Getting in the car and driving away isn’t an option. Neither is deciding the relationship isn’t working, booking a hotel for the night, going for a long walk or telling everyone they need some space. This is a kid who needs the people in that room. Their survival actually depends on staying connected to them.
So when something gets too close, too painful or too real and they can’t physically leave, there is another option available. They can leave themselves.
We call this dissociation and that word can make it sound like we must be talking about something enormous. Sometimes we are. And sometimes it’s a kid repeatedly having experiences with no one helping them make sense of what is going on inside. Fear gets brushed past. Overwhelm is met with “you’re fine.” Anger is too much for the adults around them. Something feels significant but is never spoken about. There is no reflection coming back that helps the kid recognize and understand their own experience.
Kids are learning themselves, through us. Before they have language for everything happening inside them, they are looking at our faces, listening to our voices and feeling our bodies respond to theirs. Fear brought to an adult who cannot tolerate fear teaches them something. So does anger received as disrespect, or pain that makes the adult need everything to be okay. The response becomes information about which parts of their experience can remain in the room and which ones threaten connection.
None of this requires a villain. The adults around us had nervous systems of their own, with limits and patterns running underneath. A child can be deeply loved and still not have enough attunement to what is happening inside them. And the body still has to do something with that.
If staying fully connected to what you feel over and over again gets too expensive, leaving becomes useful. You get really good at going somewhere else while technically staying right where you are. You stop feeling as much. You disappear into your head. You stare out the window. You become very busy. You read. You sleep. You perform. You become incredibly good at figuring out what everyone else needs while having very little idea what is happening inside you. Then you do it again. And again.