Alright, look… Before we get into whatever this is—another blog post, another attempt to make sense of the noise in my head, another half-baked thought I’m slapping onto the internet like a band-aid on a bullet wound—let’s just acknowledge that we’re both here, okay? You, staring at your screen, probably avoiding something more important, and me, hunched over my keyboard, talking to myself like a guy who’s been locked in a basement with nothing but his own spiraling thoughts and a wordpress account and keyboard for company.

I don’t know where this is going. I never do. But I do know that if you stick around, there’s a decent chance we’ll stumble into something real—or at least something that feels real until the caffeine wears off and the self-doubt kicks in. So buckle up, or don’t. Either way, here we go.

I sometimes stop and wonder just who am I? I am many things, to many people: that is the extent of my inner compartmentalisation of my personality. My compartmentalisation is less smooth, clean lines, Ikea Billy bookcase and more Victorian apothecary shelving with hidden compartments for, y’know, the good stuff. The information you rarely pass on because most recipients can’t handle it. Those little compartments that contain book recommendations that most seekers didn’t know they needed but most won’t follow it up anyway. And I’m sure many people are similar.

I used to think compartmentalisation of the self was a bad thing. At the time it felt that I wasn’t particularly whole, or there were hidden parts of me that surely must be integrated at some point in the future to make me a “Better Person”. The reality as I see it is that you have no real choice but to compartmentalise. As long as you know your compartments, who has access to them and there are no nasty surprises, then surely compartmentalisation is the only way to function. Especially in this day and age, with all the craziness and chaos that seems to be constantly morphing and changing on a daily basis.

To some people I am a writer. To some people I’m a corporate freelancer in a specialised subject area. To some I am that guy they knew in University. I am all those things. Yet, I am not just that particular compartment. That one compartment lives in their head, possibly never getting an update.

Is this healthy? Or are we just slowly turning into a bunch of fractured, half-formed versions of ourselves, handing out different pieces to different people like some kind of personality tapas?

I get it—life’s messy. Sometimes you need to keep the work stress from bleeding into date night, or the existential dread from creeping into your group chat with the guys. But at what point does compartmentalizing stop being self-preservation and start being… I don’t know, self-erasure? Like, how many boxes can you stuff into the closet of your psyche before the door bursts open and you’re left scrambling to explain why your therapist knows more about you than your partner does?

And let’s be real—some of us aren’t just compartmentalizing. We’re curating. We’re out here performing, man. You show up as “best friend you” or “responsible adult you” or “chill, totally not anxious you,” and after a while, you forget which one’s the real you. Or if there even is a real you underneath all the roles.

But here’s the thing: Maybe it’s not about good or bad. Maybe it’s about why you’re doing it. Are you compartmentalizing to survive? To protect people? To avoid facing something? Or just because you’ve convinced yourself that no single person could handle the full, unfiltered hurricane of you?

(Pause. Sip coffee. Stare into middle distance.)

I don’t know. Maybe we’re all just doing our best. But if you’re gonna live in pieces, at least make sure you still recognize the whole. That’s the important part. Still collect all those little boxes back into the whole.

Otherwise, what’s the point?

The reason I am thinking about this is my current, large, writing project is really putting me into unknown territory. I am floundering. A little. Purely because I don’t want to be exposed or come up short in the undertaking. That also indicates to me I am moving in the right direction because if I didn’t really care about looking exposed or looking foolish, then I would know the project has little value to me. Maybe I’m crafting a new compartment in my Victorian apothecary of the self. Who knows?

Anyway, every week I post some wise digital marketing advice over at digitalmarketingforcreatives.blog, and you’re welcome to pop over at anytime and feast on the free info. Otherwise, I’ll still be here chiselling away at the new project. Or new projects, plural, to be precise. There’s a lot going on. There are a lot of compartments getting codified.

But here’s what I’m sitting with: Maybe compartmentalization isn’t the enemy. Maybe the enemy is forgetting that, at some point, you’ve gotta open all those damn boxes and sort through the mess. Otherwise, you’re just a storage unit with a pulse.

So yeah. Do what you gotta do. Split yourself into pieces if it keeps you sane. Just don’t lose the receipt—you’ll wanna reassemble yourself eventually.

(Pause. Sigh. Take a long sip of coffee.)

Anyway. That’s my time. Go forth and fragment responsibly. Or don’t. What do I know? I’m just a guy who blogs to himself for many reasons.

Pushes keyboard away. Or, more accurately, keyboard awkwardly fumbled under the monitor while muttering, “We’re all works in progress, man.“

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