Self-Abandonment Through a Somatic Lens: Reconnecting With the Self We Learned to Leave Behind
Those of us that have acclimated to living by standards that others have set, or have learned to attune to the feelings and opinions of those around us, can find ourselves lost and confused when it comes time to focus on ourselves. When we spend so much of our life adapting, caretaking, and making room for those around us, it can feel difficult to know who we are without the roles that we have learned to inherit. At some point, the disconnection can feel overwhelming and unbearable. But as we learn to acknowledge our feelings, we begin to connect with ourselves with greater understanding and compassion. This is self-abandonment — and from a somatic, nervous-system lens, it's a pattern the body learns, not a flaw in who we are. Self-abandonment often originates from environments that never provided space for us to explore and discover what makes us innately unique. Healing begins as we create space for parts of ourselves to exist in ways they never learned how to.
What self-abandonment actually is
Self-abandonment is the habit of leaving our own needs, feelings, or instincts behind in order to preserve connection, avoid conflict, or stay emotionally safe. It can look like:
Saying, "I'm fine," when we're not, because we don't want to burden anyone with how we truly feel
Agreeing to plans, jobs, or relationships that leave us feeling depleted, because it feels easier to brush aside our feelings than let down someone else
Feeling guilty for resting, taking up space, or having needs of our own
Noticing discomfort in our body but still saying "yes" to things anyways
Externally, these behaviors are often perceived as generous, adaptable, dependable, or easy-going. Internally, every yes we say when our bodies say no only furthers the disconnection we feel from ourselves. It can feel as though we exist as a shell of ourselves.
Why self-abandonment lives in the body, not just the mind
From a somatic lens, self-abandonment is a pattern that our bodies have learned through repeated experiences over time. If we grew up in spaces that were more emotionally or physically volatile, staying attuned and vigilant of our surroundings (i.e. others' needs, feelings, beliefs) likely played an essential part of maintaining a sense of stability and safety. Practices that begin unconsciously often develop into habituated patterns where we find ourselves hyper-fixated on the outside world, and disconnected from our internal self. It's not that our internal worlds aren't responsive, it's more that we haven't learned to listen in.
Things we might start to notice in the body:
moments when our chest tightens and our breath constricts, when feelings of uncertainty start to flare up
feeling our body shrivel up then get heavy, after agreeing to something we didn't want to say yes to
a change in our intonation and pace of speech, when someone asks us, "what do you think?"
The ways our bodies communicate is often subtle and quiet. The more space we create to hear these small shifts, the greater our trust and safety within self becomes.
Why it's easier to blame ourselves than to see the whole picture
When we finally start connecting with the frustration that shows up in these spaces, what often bubbles up is anger directed internally. It's as though our inability to say no when we most need reflects something inherently wrong about us. We may find ourselves becoming our own worst critic — blaming ourselves for getting into sticky situations, and feeling angry at feelings of guilt and shame that follow.
If you find yourself relating to this, know that self-abandonment isn't always as linear as we believe — it's rarely just about the moment we said yes when we meant no, but about everything that taught us saying no wasn't safe in the first place.
That's especially true when there's a cultural layer underneath it. For children of immigrants, or those who grow up multiculturally, intergenerational trauma is often passed down through acts of sacrifice. Maintaining our lineage has often required prioritizing the needs of the collective rather than the individual. Qualities like determination and perseverance are praised and respected. When this happens, we don't always recognize parts of ourselves exist outside of this mold. What about the parts of ourselves that have learned to remain silent all these years? At what point is it safe enough to offload ourselves from a state of survival and discover what lies beyond it? Acknowledging ourselves in a new way doesn't mean erasure of the past. It simply means creating space for us to connect with our whole self.
When we don't actually know what we want anymore
One of the most difficult pieces of self-abandonment can be the struggle to know who we are. When we've spent years focused in on what others are experiencing, zooming out and back into ourselves can feel confusing. As much as we want to connect, there can be this overwhelming disconnect from ourselves.
Often, this is felt through the questioning and doubt that follows the decisions we make. Where do we want to go? What do we want to do? How do we feel about this? It can be a jarring feeling, to sit with the blankness that comes when we take pause on the inclination to be agreeable at every turn.
Coming back to ourselves, somatically
The more we learn to tune in with the ways our bodies communicate, the more we start to notice what it says. Sometimes, it's the halt of the breath when we want to say no. Other times, it's the way our gut drops when there's a boundary we need to set in one of our relationships. Or even, the tingling and energy spike that occurs after we've done something courageous and outside of our comfort zone.
These moments aren't always obvious. But the more tuned in we are, the deeper our understanding and trust within ourselves become.
We don't have to do this alone
Coming back to ourselves is often slow, deeply relational work. Sometimes it can feel difficult to endeavor alone. If these patterns feel familiar, especially if they're intertwined with family history, culture, or inherited survival strategies, somatic therapy can help us build a different relationship with our own body's signals — one where our "no" is something we can actually feel and trust again.
If you're a second-generation or multicultural adult in California or DC exploring this in your own life, I'd love to connect. Reach out here to learn more about working together.
About Me:
Hi, I’m Stephanie Shao (she/her), Licensed Clinical Social Worker (CA 127453; LICSW DC LC200003288). I am a somatic trauma therapist and specialize in intergenerational trauma, bicultural identities, relational attachment & security, and grief & loss. I enjoy integrating both mind and body in my work, alongside practices of mindfulness and self-compassion.
As a human, I identify as a second-generation Taiwanese American. I was born and raised in the D.C. Metropolitan area, and am currently based in San Diego, California. I’m passionate about collective healing and am a big believer that healing takes place in community!
If you are looking for individual counseling, please message me. I’d love to chat more about your individual needs and to explore if we’d be a good fit. I also publish a monthly newsletter, Kindred Collective, if you’d like to stay in touch about upcoming events and all things identity-related. In the meantime, don’t forget to check out some other blogs here. Stay in touch!