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Alexithymia and the Audit: From the bricks of clinical labour to the wind of the birch trees

Phased
I’ve been sitting with a specific kind of silence lately, and I wanted to see if it resonates with others. I am 61 now, and since being diagnosed at 58, my audit of the last few years has led me back to a word that feels like a bit of a riddle: Alexithymia.
It’s a strange thing to say you’re beginning to feel a lack of feeling—it’s an oxymoron, I know—but it’s the only way I can describe the quiet weight I’ve carried since childhood.
I spent the weekend just gone working quite hard to architect a different post here, but this time round, I feel the need to try a different approach—one of doing by not doing. I want to start this conversation and then simply leave it running for people to make their own way with it.
For 25 years, I worked as a physiotherapist in high-pressure wards—ICU, stroke rehab, and chronic pain clinics. Looking back, I realise I was absorbing the bricks of other people’s pain and fear every single day while maintaining a professional Windows mask. I used to feel like I was behind a glass sheet—protected, but muted.
I realise now that my Alexithymia wasn’t a lack of feeling; it was a necessary survival strategy. My internal switchboard turned the volume down so far that I stopped feeling the breezes of subtle emotion just to survive the gale of everyone else's dysregulation. I’ve spent decades only noticing the bricks when they hit.
But lately, in this audit, I’m learning to lower that threshold. I had a moment this weekend where I just sat and watched the thin branches of a birch tree moving in the wind. I realised that my best life isn't about being fixed—it’s about thinning the canopy of that old emotional labour so I can finally start living authentically in the moment and feel the wind again.
I intend to use the experiences you share here to help me explore my own healing. If I can join in with the force of six ounces I will, but otherwise, I will let the thread find its own path.
The Question for the Group:

Has anyone else realized their numbness wasn't a flaw, but actually a long-term protection against a world that was just too loud to process? How are you learning to sense the subtle signals of your own life again?
  • I’m sitting by a water in my mind as i type this as a break from work.  I am simply imagining a kingfisher flying over a gentle, babbling brook.
    I find that just the act of holding this scene—this process of imagination alone—is enough to calm the gale and still the water. It is my way of thinning the canopy. I’m just watching the ripples for a while.

  • I think that my natural state is one of very mild depression. Nothing unpleasant, just not naturally cheerful. When I do experience happiness it is very intense. My wife finds me irritating when I am overtly happy as I bounce around like a puppy.

  • My whole life has been behind an invisible shield of protection. I do not know if it is alexithymia or just plain old masking. I struggle to know my emotions apart from hurt and pain.

    So it is kind of a chicken an egg scenario, what came first?

    I need my shield although it seems to be getting less able to absorb the bricks that are constantly flying in my direction. I hope that my 'deflector' shield can remain operational until I get my employment tribunal out of the way. I may be kidding myself that I will be able to let go of that shield and open that damn locked door (the key being my tribunal) and walk through into the light.

    What we tell ourselves just to get through day to day.

  • I’ve been sitting with the stories shared here, and it is striking how many of us seem to have built a similar kind of internal sea wall. Whether it was university halls, emergency wards, or just the everyday gales of other people’s dysregulation, it feels like we didn't just mute the sound; we braced our whole bodies against the impact of those incoming bricks.
    Reading about your experiences with early retirement, long walks, and the relief of a quiet office makes me realise that our alexithymia often wasn't an absence—it was a constant, physical holding. When you spend decades braced like that, the nerves eventually forget how to register anything but the pressure.
    For those of you just watching the thread who might feel a bit stuck or "braced" yourself, there is no pressure to find the big words yet. I’m finding that the best loosener isn't a thought, but just noticing one small, steady thing that isn't a brick. For me this afternoon, it was just watching aeroplanes as they flew over where I live—a small, rhythmic signal getting through the wall.
    I’m going to leave the fire going here for a few days to see what else the wind brings in. Thank you for helping me find the edges of my own silence.

  • I took early retirement during the first Covid lockdown, my whole university had shut. The weather was unusually sunny and dry, day after day, and I went on long walks in the countryside. I came to the realisation that I just could not face the idea of going back to work. At work I was dealing with lots of people and solving their scientific problems, or trying to. I had been in that role for 9 years. I found that solving other people's problems was immensely more draining than solving my own experimental problems when I was a researcher (for 25 years). The only reason I could cope at all was that I had my own office to retreat to. Luckily, the university, spooked by Covid, set up a voluntary redundancy scheme, offering me a year's take-home pay to go away. I took this up with some relief and also took my pension early. The lack of pressure was and is wonderful, I cannot now imagine how I worked full time for so many years.

  • I can resonate with this, from childhood to a degree but increasingly so through adolescence into adulthood. I'm now 57. Absorbing the bricks of other peoples pain, I like that description, although on reflection I didnt know what to do with it or how it should affect me. In respect of myself putting up a barrier of protection to block the hurt I didnt know how to deal with when caught up in situations effectively causing me to shutdown. Also spending 10 years as an EMT being exposed to lots of traumatic situations it may be survival mode that kicks in, or maybe I havent processed the situations properly especially if I process differently from your average joe.

    So I guess the numbness can be seen as long term protection but not yet sure how to change from shutting down to cope and prevent being overwhelmed.

  • Your post really hit me.

    I see the birch tree moving in the wind, I can almost feel that moment.

    Since my diagnosis and therapy I’ve been noticing something similar. I think I spent a lot of my life shutting down emotionally to cope without reliable people around, I turned to nature and animals as my quiet place.

    Now I’m starting to feel care and connection there, but it can be overwhelming and hard to accept. I think it’s part of slowly reconnecting with my emotions, like the volume is being turned back up after being muted for so long.

    It’s strange and intense, but also kind of beautiful. Your post helped me put words to what I’ve been feeling, so thank you for sharing

  • This is really interesting to think about. I think alexithymia has always been there for me. My only two emotions as a child were hungry and bored! But it's hard to tell how much I've blocked out emotions as a survival thing, as you mentioned.

    I did read a book a while ago which feels relevant to this: Deep Clearing by John Ruskan. It's probably not for everyone, as it's kind of spiritual, but I found it helpful. I also read Living Untethered by Michael Singer, so I might be mixing them up.

    The book kind of guides you through a process to be able to feel emotions, that you'd usually ignore/miss/block, as physical sensations (predominantly through meditation, but also in general living). It uses the chakra system to help you identify the nature of the emotions. From memory, it also talks about how your suppressed emotions lead you to subconsciously attract similar experiences, as a way to encourage you to process the suppressed emotions.

    I found this framework helpful as you don't necessarily have to name an emotion, just focus on tuning into the physical sensation of it, and let it run it's natural course, so it's no longer trapped in your body/subconscious.