This memoir belongs to

Dear Reader

This guide exists because the pattern makes more sense when you can see the story behind it.

You do not need to write your whole story.
You do not need to start at the beginning.
You do not need to explain everything.

What is here is a structured space to explore your own experience - through prompts, reflections, and guided writing.

The prompts in Part 7 are the same as those in Part 1. They appear again at the end by design. What you notice the second time may be different from what you noticed the first.

There are no right answers.
There is no correct amount to write.
One word is a place to begin.

- Darcy Dawe

Contents

Tap any section to go there directly.

● Teal dot means you have written in that section

Before you begin

This section captures where you are today. Before looking more closely at the checking pattern, take a moment to record where things stand.

The prompts in this section will appear again near the end of the guide. They are intentionally the same.

Clarity and compassion

The urge as a tree

An urge does not arrive all at once. It moves through you in layers. You may notice the surface first. That is normal.

The urge is pictured here like a tree: leaves, branches, trunk, roots.

You do not need to fill every layer. One is enough to begin.

Example: a tightening in my chest. My phone already in my hand before I realised.

Example: a friend mentioning their name. Seeing a place we used to go. The quiet of the evening settling in.

Example: maybe they have moved on. Maybe I still matter to them. Maybe the ending wasn't real.

Example: a need to know I still matter. A fear of being forgotten. Something older than this situation.

What you saw and hoped for

Example: a photo. A comment. A profile update. Something small that did not feel small at all.

Example: a sign that I still mattered. Something to explain the ending. Proof that they were thinking of me too.

Example: heat in my chest. A drop in my stomach. A strange flat feeling. Relief that lasted about four minutes.

Example: they are fine without me. I was easy to move on from. This confirms what I already feared.

Example: I felt worse after but I couldn't stop. I went back three more times. The story got louder, not quieter.

Example: I felt smaller. Less steady. Less sure of myself. Something settled, even if only for a moment.

Example: it took focus. Steadiness. Perspective. Thirty minutes I didn't have. A morning that could have been different.

Example: my worth was not on that screen.

Free write

Use this space to write anything else about the fallout that hasn't had room to land yet. There is no prompt here - just space.

One moment in detail

Choose one specific moment of checking. Not the pattern in general - just one moment. Stay with it here.

Example: I was standing in my kitchen. I picked up my phone. I went to their profile. I don't remember deciding to.

Naming resentments

Resentment brings you back to the same moments. What felt unfair. What felt unfinished. It returns without warning. Not because you are weak, but because something did not settle.

This section is not about blame. It is a place to let what has been carried quietly be seen.

Resentment 1: Your ex or former partner

What happened? What did they do, or not do, that still sits unresolved?

Example: they moved on publicly before I felt ready. They posted things that made the ending feel final in a way I hadn't prepared for.

Resentment 2: Someone else

A friend, family member, or anyone else involved in what happened.

Example: a friend posted something light and cheerful involving my ex. It felt careless, even if it wasn't meant to be.

Resentment 3: Yourself

What happened? What do you resent about your own role in this?

Example: I stayed longer than I wanted to. I ignored the signals that told me something wasn't right.

Bringing the pieces together

You may copy words directly from earlier pages. You may rewrite them, expand them, shorten them, or leave them exactly as they are.

There is no right order.
There is no need to explain everything.
There is no need to create a perfect story.

Simply begin gathering the pieces that belong together.

One memory may lead to another.
One feeling may explain a reaction.
One moment may help another make sense.

Your memoir does not need to be built all at once. It takes shape one piece at a time.

Your story, part one

Your story, continued

What this section is for

These pages are for the moments when something catches hold.

An urge to check.
A conversation replaying in your mind.
A feeling that keeps returning.

The prompts are short by design. You do not need to write much. A few words may be enough. You do not need to explain the whole situation.

You are only writing about what is happening in that moment.

Example: the urge to check their profile. A thought that keeps circling. A feeling in my chest I can't name yet.

Example: anxiety. Longing. Dread. Something that feels like grief.

Example: reassurance. To know I still mattered. To feel less alone. To close something that felt unfinished.

Example: make a cup of tea. Put the phone down for ten minutes. Text a friend. Step outside for fresh air. Return to the task I was doing before the urge arrived.

Return here whenever you need to

This page is for any moment. Use it as often as you need. There is no prompt here - just space to write what is present.

Your check-in, revisited

The same four questions from Part 1. You are not comparing. You are simply noticing where things are now.

The Scroll Collection

Each resource supports a different stage of the same journey.

Recognise → Understand → Observe → Interrupt → Regulate → Reflect → Carry

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When I look back, the first word that comes to mind is unsettled.

The pull to check was strong. I would tell myself I wasn't going to look, and then feel the urge rising before I had properly decided.

Inside, there was tension. My chest felt tight. My thoughts were loud. Everything felt slightly foggy. Underneath that fog was a quieter question: Did I matter?

Before I reached for my phone, something would shift in my body. A twist in my stomach. Restlessness. Sometimes it was the quiet of the evening. Sometimes it was seeing their name. Sometimes it was simply the space where they used to be.

The trigger would land, and my mind would fill in the rest.

Maybe they've moved on.
Maybe they're happier.
Maybe I didn't matter.

What this touched was deeper than the moment. The fear of not being chosen. The fear of being replaceable. The belief that people can leave and continue without looking back.

When I checked, I usually saw something small. A photo. A comment. An update. It did not feel small inside. Heat in my chest. A drop in my stomach.

What I told myself was rarely kind:
They're fine without me.
I was easy to move on from.

What I hoped to see was simple. A sign I still mattered. Underneath that hope was a quieter desire. To feel chosen. To feel certain.

The part of me reaching wanted closeness. What formed instead was a story that made everything heavier. I would predict a future in which I would be forgotten.

The hurt would pull me back again later.

Checking took more than a few minutes. It took focus. Steadiness. Perspective. Afterwards, I felt smaller. Less grounded.

There were resentments. I resented my ex for moving on publicly before I felt ready. Seeing it made the ending feel final in a way I hadn't prepared for.

I resented moments when others posted casually around my pain. It felt like my experience was invisible.

Most of all, I resented myself. I stayed longer than I wanted to. I ignored signals that something wasn't right. Afterwards, I blamed myself. My self-trust thinned.

Over time, something small shifted.

Not a transformation. Just recognition.

I began to see the loop: urge, meaning, checking, aftermath. The screen was not holding my worth. The intensity was not proof of truth.

What I wanted was not information. It was reassurance. Connection.

The pull did not disappear. But sometimes I could pause. Sometimes I could name what was happening. Sometimes I could offer myself a little more kindness. Instead of calling myself weak, I could see that I was trying to feel close. Trying to feel safe.

The pull is still there at times. I understand it differently now.

If I hold this story in one sentence:

I was not chasing information. I was trying to feel chosen.

And slowly, I began to see myself differently.

Closing Reflection

Writing about something painful is rarely straightforward.

Some memories arrive easily. Others take longer.

You do not need to have answered every question.
You do not need to have reached a conclusion.

What matters is that you have given your experience a place to exist outside your head.

These pages will still be here if you choose to return to them.

For now, simply leave this chapter where it is.

Copyright

All rights reserved. This publication is part of The Super Glue Healing Library.

No part of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without prior written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.

For permissions, contact:
hello@darcydawe.com

All content, exercises, frameworks, and original writing in this publication are the intellectual property of Darcy Dawe.

Disclaimer

This memoir guide is intended solely for personal reflection and emotional education. It is not a substitute for professional mental health care, therapy, medical advice, or crisis intervention.

All practices, prompts, and reflections are offered as general guidance informed by lived experience and trauma-aware principles.

Every reader's situation is different. Use what feels supportive and disregard anything that does not fit your circumstances.

If you are experiencing significant distress, persistent emotional difficulty, or thoughts of harming yourself, seek support from a qualified mental health professional or contact your local emergency services.

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