Some mornings, the world feels like it’s softened at the edges. The sunlight spills across the floor, warm but unreal. My bunnies hop and thump, each movement deliberate, each sound a tiny anchor pulling me back. I can see, I can hear, I can touch… but it all feels distant, like I’m half-watching a life that isn’t entirely mine.

It’s a strange, quiet kind of unreality. Time stretches or compresses, minutes feel heavy or slippery, and even my own body can feel like it belongs to someone else.

🔹 Finding Tiny Anchors

I reach for one of my bunnies. Fur warm and solid in my hands. Their soft weight against my leg reminds me: yes, this is real. My hands, this living creature, the little thump of their feet — it’s all real.

Other things help, too:

• Lighting a classic vanilla scented candle 🕯️
• Playing my favourite songs 🎶
• Sunlight through the window hitting a light catcher in the corner of the room ☀️
• The soft feeling of my blanket as I wrap it around myself

Even small, everyday things can tether me back from the fog of unreality.

🔹 A Gentle Reminder

Derealization can be unsettling, but it doesn’t mean something is wrong with you. It’s your brain’s way of protecting itself, of stepping back when life feels overwhelming. And the little threads — pets, objects, routines — are enough to remind you that the world is still here, and so are you.

✍️ Writing Prompt

Describe a moment when life felt distant or dreamlike. What small thing, no matter how tiny, reminded you it was real again?

-Em (borderlinewithwifi)