The frustrated part of my mind is the only one that feels fully awake.
It moves fast. It burns hot. It hates feeling small. It hates feeling misunderstood. It hates when I cannot find the right words.
This part shows up when someone talks down to me. When I try to explain myself, it comes out wrong. When I feel stuck between what I feel and what I can say.
Frustration says:
βWhy canβt I just say what I mean?β
βWhy does this feel so unfair?β
βWhy am I always the one who feels too much?β
It has sharp edges. It wants action. It wants change. It wants to break whatever is blocking me.
But underneath it, there is something softer. Frustration is often sadness that is tired of being quiet. It is confusion that has run out of patience.
It is the part of me that refuses to stay silent forever.
Even though it feels explosive, it also means I care. It means I want better. It means I know I deserve better.
All three parts live in me at the same time.
The confused one is searching.
The sad one remembers.
The frustrated one is demanding.
They argue. They overlap. They interrupt each other.
But they are all me.
And maybe instead of trying to silence them, I need to let them speak one at a time. π€
