Dormant

I admire those of you who live without constantly turning inward, who move through life without the weight of reflection. For me, self-examination has always been part of my process. It isn’t weakness—it’s awareness. It helps me see where I need to grow, where I need to take accountability, and where I need to stand stronger. What I’m learning, though, is how to take responsibility without carrying unnecessary guilt or shame. Growth does not require self-punishment.

In relationships, this becomes especially clear. When I stop caring as much, I feel safer. My emotions regulate. I don’t overreact, and sometimes I don’t respond at all. That distance protects me—but it also has a downside. The less I care, the more numb I become. I stop investing, stop leaning in. What feels like calm for me can easily become disconnection with others.

And here’s the truth: if it isn’t safe for me to be fully myself in a relationship, then you won’t get all of me. Parts of me will remain dormant. That’s not fragility—it’s self-preservation. I will not hand over every piece of me to an environment that cannot hold it with care.

I am many parts, not just one.
Parts of a whole.
Internal Family Systems therapy puts language to this truth—the different selves inside of me, each with its role, each with its way of surviving. Some parts are willing to show up. Others stay guarded until they know it’s safe.

So yes, a part of me is locked away. Not out of weakness, but out of wisdom. All of me isn’t available everywhere, and that’s by design.

Dormant is not dead. Dormant is selective.
And if safety, respect, and trust are present, what is dormant can awaken. But if not—you’ll only get the version of me that knows how to endure, not the one that knows how to bloom.

Sensai