This is the third post in the bad reasons not to create a tulpa series, which aims to highlight some common concerns about tulpamancy that are missing the point while describing related concerns that are actually important considerations.

While a discussion of the meaning of “privacy” might be quite interesting, it would triple the length of this post and distract from the main point. So let’s say that by “privacy” I simply mean any need or desire to be “alone,” or separated from another person or people in some way – for any reason and in any manner. I don’t think it’s necessary to get more specific to address this concern.

It is unsurprising that many people are concerned that they’ll never be able to be properly alone again if they create a tulpa. Especially for those of us on the more introverted side of the spectrum, it’s easy to have nightmarish visions of our most extroverted and obnoxious friend following us around everywhere 24/7 chatting at us. That would, indeed, be dreadful, and that’s true pretty much no matter what portion of your time you like spending with other people; we all need some space now and then, and the obnoxious friend is unlikely to be the person you feel most comfortable with.

The most quoted response to this concern on most tulpamancy forums and FAQs is, “Oh, you can just ask your tulpa to go away for a while if you want them to.” While this may be true, and that might be a perfectly fine answer for some folks, there’s something more important to understand. The fact is, tulpas are not at all like the hypothetical obnoxious friend in another system. While many people all too easily conclude that tulpas aren’t “real” or don’t need to be considered separately from their hosts, we can also fall into the trap of treating systemmates exactly like people in separate bodies, and there’s just as much nonsense, if not more, in that view.

The difference between average friends and systemmates means that Greta and I simply don’t need privacy from each other in the conventional sense. Likewise, we have yet to hear a single legitimate complaint from any other plural system about being uncomfortable with their individual lack of privacy. Oh sure, there’s “my systemmate won’t stop singing this really annoying song” or “quit distracting me here.” Most often both the annoyance and the response are more playful banter than actual frustrations, but even when the argument is serious, it doesn’t amount to anything near the existential threat one could imagine would be posed by feeling trapped with a systemmate all the time. It’s something they can and will work out without a whole lot of pain.

It might be kind of puzzling that privacy doesn’t pose a problem, but as we’ve written about before, we think it makes pretty good sense in the end. We’re not, strictly, separate people in the same way that people in different bodies are. It would be a great overstatement to say we know each other perfectly, but we do know each other very well, and even more importantly, we don’t feel we have any secrets we need to keep from each other and we know any reasonable mistakes we make will be forgiven. Further, because our thoughts are joined together in some way or another, we can effortlessly pick up or leave off talking and interacting, or switch who’s thinking actively, to match our mood and energy. We don’t have to commit to spending time with each other until we can come up with an excuse to get away, like we usually have to with other friends.

That’s mental separation. I suppose physical separation and embarrassment about our bodies can be included in our definition of privacy too, but that gets kind of meaningless after a few weeks (and wouldn’t even be considered in some cultures). Besides, it’s not my body Greta’s seeing in supposedly awkward situations. It belongs to both of us, so nothing out of the ordinary is happening at all when you think about it this way.

Maybe we could consider emotional separation too: with many people in everyday life, we’d prefer to keep some of our emotions private. Everyone’s relationship with their systemmates is different, but for me, Greta is the only person I can share all my emotions with without fear of being judged or misunderstood, and it’s extremely relieving to have that outlet for things I just don’t feel ready to explain to anyone else. Plus, we never have that awkward moment where someone shares what they’re feeling and the other person clearly doesn’t quite get it; our understanding is always there. So I can’t really imagine a situation in which I would want this kind of privacy in the first place.

Now, this is not to claim that adding someone else to your head is a small matter. It most certainly is not. But instead of focusing on privacy, anyone considering creating a tulpa should move past that and imagine what comes next. The related consideration with lasting importance is loss of control. Just as traveling alone can be liberating because you never need to do anything you don’t actually want to do yourself, being the only one in charge of your life gives you great freedom. When someone else is with you in your head all the time, you have to share certain decisions (or else prevent someone from making their own decisions, which is problematic for other reasons), and you might end up wanting to share out the use of your body and your life in general. Singlets often have never thought about what a great freedom they have here, and giving it up permanently ought to be a hard sell.

Of course, you could also say you get to have a companion to help you live your life and make those decisions (indeed, we advocate framing challenges as things we “get to” do; it does great things for our morale). As with everything in life, there are two sides and both have some merit. I wouldn’t be writing in the first place without this other side, and I wouldn’t give Greta up for anything. But this side is not for everyone. Control is the crucial question, not privacy. If you’re wondering whether you should have a tulpa, start thinking on that.