When Disappearing Feels Easier Than Staying: "Johatsu"

“There are days when I want to disappear. But still, I continue to live.”

– Anonymous Japanese saying.

We live in a world where being seen is often mistaken for being understood. Where silence can be mistaken for peace, and where vanishing, to many, feels like failure. But what if, sometimes, disappearing is the only way someone knows how to survive?

That question stayed with me after I stumbled upon the concept of Johatsu — a Japanese term that translates to "evaporated people." It refers to individuals who deliberately vanish from their lives, often leaving behind jobs, homes, families, and any trace of their past. They aren't missing in the criminal sense. They leave by choice — and quietly. Almost like a ghost taking their final walk through a world that no longer felt like theirs.

Some use secretive moving companies called Yonige-ya, literally meaning "night escape shops." These businesses help people vanish overnight, no questions asked. They pack up apartments, erase digital footprints, and assist in starting over — new city, new identity, new silence.

It’s not an act of drama. It’s an act of exhaustion.

What struck me wasn’t the mechanics of their disappearance, but the emotions behind it. What kind of pain pushes someone to walk away from everything they’ve built? What does it take to reach a point where you believe not existing in someone’s life anymore is better than staying in it?

In many cases, johatsu leave behind shame. For some, it's the shame of losing a job or being unable to repay debt. For others, it’s divorce, failure, or even just the suffocating expectations placed on them by a society that values perfection and conformity. Japan’s culture of saving face — of presenting a flawless exterior even when the inside is quietly crumbling — can make disappearing seem like the more dignified option.

But it's not just about shame. Sometimes it's about heartbreak. Or grief. Or simply feeling like you no longer belong in the life you've created.

And that’s what makes this phenomenon feel closer than we might think.

No, most of us don’t disappear in the literal sense. We don’t hire moving trucks at midnight or change our names. But haven’t we all, at some point, wanted to disappear emotionally? Haven’t we all pulled back from people, avoided messages, skipped conversations because we felt overwhelmed, unseen, or just… tired?

Most of us have felt this at some point in our lives. Some have had it linger longer than others. And some — even for years on end.And that’s where I feel we, as a society, have failed ourselves.

We built a world where asking for help feels like weakness. Where vulnerability feels like a risk. Where people find it easier to vanish than to say, “I’m not okay.” And so they disappear — quietly, politely — without a trace, hoping to find somewhere else to breathe.

Maybe you’ve had days where answering a simple “How are you?” felt like too much. Days where you imagined starting over somewhere far away, where no one knows your past or expects you to be strong all the time. Days where the idea of vanishing felt oddly comforting.

I’ve had those days too.

And maybe that’s why johatsu linger in my mind. Not because they’re mysterious, but because they’re familiar — not in action, but in emotion. Because disappearing, in whatever form it takes, often begins with a very simple, very human desire: to be free from pain. To feel safe. To exist on your own terms.

The idea of johatsu is haunting not just because of the people who go, but also because of the ones they leave behind. Families never get closure. Friends are left wondering. Questions hang in the air for years. But even in that ache, I find myself conflicted. Because if someone felt that disappearing was their only option, can we really blame them for choosing it?

What does it say about our world — about us — when someone would rather vanish than ask for help?

We talk a lot about checking in on people, but we rarely listen without rushing to fix. We often miss the subtle signs — the friend who goes quieter each week, the colleague who stops showing up to things, the sibling who brushes off everything with a smile. They’re still here, but something inside them has already started fading.

Sometimes, disappearance isn’t dramatic. It’s slow. It’s emotional. And it’s happening around us more than we know.

There’s something heartbreaking about people walking away not because they want to leave, but because they no longer know how to stay.

Maybe that’s the quiet truth behind johatsu — not that they disappeared from life, but that life disappeared from them first.

So this isn’t a blog about solutions. I’m not a therapist. I don’t have tips or tricks to “find yourself again.” But if you’ve ever felt like you wanted to disappear, or like you’re slowly fading from the people around you, I just want you to know: you’re not alone.

Not being okay is more common than we admit. Feeling tired, feeling lost, wanting a reset — it doesn’t make you weak. It makes you human.

And if someone you know has drifted away — physically or emotionally — maybe just hold a little space for them. Sometimes, people aren’t looking for someone to fix them. They’re just hoping someone will notice they’re gone.

Coffee of the Day

Cold coco.

Cool, simple, often forgotten. But once remembered, loved by all. Some people are like that too. You don’t need to be loud to be loved. You just need to be here.

~The Stressed Potato