Somayya U.
Photography by Emma Kraus
If you’re reading this, your existence is resistance.
I want you to know that whatever you’re feeling—whether it’s overwhelming, muted, or something beyond description—doesn’t make you any less whole.
When I think about my own struggles, dissociation used to feel like both my strength and my failure. Growing up, it was how I coped. When things around me got too loud, too unpredictable, or too confusing, dissociation became a shield. It helped me focus, study, and push through despite the noise. It stopped me from catastrophizing after trauma and let me keep going, one day at a time. Back then, I thought it made me strong, and honestly it did provide resilience. For that season of my life, it gave me what I needed to survive.
But surviving isn’t the same as living, and over time, I started to feel like the very thing that protected me had turned into a wall I couldn’t break through. I felt disconnected from myself, distant from the world around me, and numb to the moments that should have brought joy or even that kind of pain that heals. It felt like I’d lost my autonomy somewhere along the way, and what was my “superpower” became a weight. I felt like I didn’t know myself separate from those cognitive patterns built in childhood.
What’s changed isn’t that I’ve banished those feelings or sensations. It’s that I’ve learned to judge that mental-sensory space differently.
When I dance entranced,
when I draw without purpose,
when I let my mind wander, untethered by expectation and invigorated by whimsy,
I inhabit the space that once felt like absence and find it full.
And instead of fighting that perceived space, I use it. It’s no longer about survival; it’s about Creation.
In those moments, I’m in a place I once lost autonomy in, where I would try to forcefully break out. To return to the “real world”: of structure, of certainty. But now, that place feels alive, dynamic, and mine. It’s where I create, where I explore, where I remind myself of the larger story.
If you feel far from yourself, I want you to know there’s no shame in that. There’s nothing wrong with the ways you’ve learned to survive. And even if it feels like you’ve unraveled too much, remember: threads can be rewoven. Sometimes, that distance you feel isn’t only emptiness; it’s potential waiting to be filled with something created.
Let yourself take small steps toward curiosity and connection, however that looks for you. And let others meet you where you are—they can sit beside you in the quiet or dance alongside without explanation. Together, we’ll create a tapestry, illustrated by our resistant existence and parallel joys.
With quiet hope and unmasked curiosity,
Somayya U., Boston University
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