The Octopus and the System: What Dissociation Can Teach Us About Adaptation and Brilliance

Octopuses are strange and wondrous beings—alien, complex, and astonishingly adaptive. In trauma work, we don’t usually talk about sea creatures. But maybe we should.

Because for those who live with dissociative identities, the octopus is more than a metaphor. It’s a mirror.

More Than Survival: The Intelligence of Adaptation

Octopuses survive by changing. Their bodies are soft, shapeless, and fluid—designed to slip through the smallest cracks, blend into their environment, or vanish altogether. They can regrow limbs, change skin texture and color, and escape predators with an intelligence that is both reactive and strategic.

They have three hearts, and their brain wraps around their throat.

When they swim, two of their hearts stop beating—a reminder that even survival has its costs.

This isn’t random. It’s design. It’s adaptation.

And this kind of brilliance lives in dissociative systems, too.

Dissociation Isn’t a Disorder. It’s a Design.

When people hear the word “dissociation,” they often think of it as a broken thing—a glitch in the system. But dissociative identities form for the same reason an octopus shifts color or detaches a limb: to survive.

Parts are not pathology. They are responses—each one shaped by a need, a threat, or a role that helped someone make it through.

Some protect. Some numb. Some hide. Some connect. Each part carries its own wisdom.

To view a system through the lens of adaptation is to move away from shame and toward reverence.

Healing Isn’t About Erasing the Adaptation

We don’t help systems heal by undoing what kept them alive. We help them heal by creating enough safety that the system doesn’t have to adapt anymore. We teach communication, trust, internal collaboration. We make space for grief and curiosity.

And we remember:

Healing doesn’t mean losing what helped you survive. It means becoming safe enough to no longer need it all the time.

Reflection for Therapists and Clients Alike

Whether you’re a therapist working with dissociative systems or someone navigating your own, ask yourself:

What survival strategies still live in me? What would it mean to see them as brilliant—rather than broken?