I love writing.  Many parts of me also love writing.  I use “many” because some of my parts are too young to be able to write – they draw and color instead.

Like talking with a safe person, journaling or writing a post and sharing it with guests allows me (as the representative for all of us) to break silence.  I express and make concrete what is asking to be acknowledged inside.

What is asking?  Memories, feelings, thoughts, experiences, information, sensations, and secrets.

Sometimes the need to share those secrets feels like a compulsion; it becomes an obsession that creates mental loops pushing and pushing me to do something (compulsion) to make the anxiety go away.

Other times, the need to share those secrets is overwhelmed by the feelings of fear and shame that the monsters/punishers (alters who are stuck in the past and trying to protect everyone from the inevitable punishment for disobeying).  Then the compulsion to hurt myself in some way becomes stronger as I struggle to decide whether or not to write down that specific experience or story.

Most often, though, the problem I have with journaling and writing posts when I feel overwhelmed with the compulsion to share is more comes out than what I intended to write.  And that “more” is triggering – brings up other memories, feelings, thoughts, and sensations no one in the system is ready or able to cope with.

So I’m sorry for the late post.  We are all sorry for the late post.  But no one was in a good mind state to write a post yesterday.  And even with this post, the anxiety is rising.

I’m off to make my favorite drink of hot water with honey.

Thanks for reading.

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