I watched Severance. Then I realized I was living it.

Apple TV’s Severance just dropped its second season, and the internet can’t stop talking about it. But while everyone’s busy analyzing the plot twists and speculating about season three, I can’t stop thinking about the premise itself: a world where you “sever” your work self from your real self.

Mark Scout (Adam Scott) in Severance, where employees sever their work and personal identities — a concept that’s starting to feel less like fiction and more like real life.

For those who haven’t seen the show, here’s a quick explanation: Severance is set in a world where people undergo a procedure to split their consciousness in two. Their “innie” only exists at work, while their “outie” lives their personal life — and neither version has access to the other’s memories. When you're at work, you don’t know who you are outside of it. When you leave, you forget everything that happened on the job. No baggage, no burnout, no blending between roles. Sounds kind of perfect, doesn’t it?

At first, the show just seemed like a fun Friday night watch with some friends. And that’s exactly what it was until I started noticing something unsettling. I don’t have a chip in my brain like the characters in Severance, but I’ve noticed myself splitting in a similar way, not by choice but out of necessity. The moment I walk into my office at university, something strange happens. It’s like I change. Not in a dramatic way, but enough that I notice it. The version of me who walks through those doors isn't the same one who was laughing outside five minutes earlier. At work, I stop thinking about anything else. My to-do list fades. My personal life dims.

And then, just as quickly, it reverses. When I step outside again and see a friend or feel the sun, something softens. I remember I have feelings. That I’m more than just a task-doer. It’s not that I’m faking anything — it’s just that each version of me feels... separate. As if one forgets the other.

I used to think I was just overworked and that zoning out was a personal flaw. Then I came across an article from BU Today asking, “Could Severance Ever Happen in Real Life?” The piece explores how the show’s concept of memory separation might not be as far-fetched as it seems. Neuroscientist Steve Ramirez explains that while we can’t literally split our brains, our minds are already capable of compartmentalizing in extreme ways — tuning out whole parts of life depending on where we are or what role we’re in.

We live in a culture that encourages mental separation. The versions of ourselves we bring to class, to work, or to a group chat are curated, rehearsed, and professionalized. In one space, we’re confident. In another, we’re uncertain. We hustle. We perform. We detach.

Sometimes that detachment feels helpful. It’s easier to get through long days when you don’t think too hard about the rest of your life. But there’s a strange emptiness that comes with it — a dulling of identity. In the same way Severance's “innies” don’t know their favorite color or whether they have siblings, we sometimes forget what we even enjoy — what makes us feel like us. Because we spend so much time being versions of ourselves built to function, not to feel.

We may not be living in Lumon Industries, but Severance resonates because it captures something we’ve internalized: that compartmentalization is easier than emotional wholeness. That splitting our identities — between student and friend, employee and child, social self and private self — is the only way to stay productive.

Severance may be science fiction, but the premise isn’t far from how we already live. It’s not a dystopia. It’s right now. We should be asking why we’ve built a world where splitting ourselves feels necessary, and what it would take to build one where it’s not.