There’s a place beyond exhaustion, beyond sadness, beyond fear. A place where the weight of everything drags you down so completely that movement feels impossible. Where the black cloud of doom doesn’t just hover—it swallows.This is dorsal collapse.
It’s not just being “stuck.” It’s being buried. The slippery slope leads straight down to a cell in the ground—darkness, dirt, doom. You sit there, still, waiting. Because moving is too frightening, too impossible. Better to wait for the last flicker of light—the one that belongs to a world above you—to blow out. Then, at least, the waiting ends – ease comes.
In that stillness, there’s a battle. A fight in your mind with those who claim to understand but don’t. People who see you, but not really. They underestimate -, assuming you are weaker than you are. Or they overestimate -, assuming you can just push through, that you’re capable of more than you are in that moment. Either way, they don’t truly see you. Judgments & assumptions—whether wrapped in criticism or false encouragement—don’t help. They push & when you’re teetering on the edge, that push can be the final one.
Dorsal is not just a state of mind; it’s a lens that distorts everything. Every thought & emotion is covered in dirt. If snapping out of it were an option, it would have already happened. Because this place is a painful hell, not a choice.
Yet, decisions that shape the lives of people in this state—our most vulnerable—are made by those who have never been here. Politicians, policymakers, systems built on theory, not lived experience. The result? More panic. More despair.
This has to change.
We need lived experience insight at the heart of decisions that affect real people. Before it’s too late for the next person who finds themselves here.
Climbing out of this place isn’t about ‘thinking positive’ or ‘trying harder.’ It starts with something much smaller, something that barely feels like movement at all. A breath. A sound. The smallest shift in weight. A moment of noticing that you are still here.
Reconnection begins in tiny moments, often ones that don’t even feel like progress. The feel of your feet on the ground. The warmth of sunlight through a window. The vibration of your own voice, even if it’s just a hum. These are the threads that begin to reattach you to life.
The world above, the one that once felt impossibly far away—doesn’t have to be climbed in one leap. It’s a slow re-emergence. A remembering of self. And perhaps most importantly, it’s not meant to be done alone.
Because when someone truly sees you—without judgment, without expectation—something shifts. The cell in the ground starts to feel less like a prison & more like a place you passed through on your way back to yourself.
#TraumaInformedTRUST