The Parts That Needed Me

In my previous post I discussed the book No Bad Parts by Schwartz. I explained Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy and what led me to read the book. When I started The Held Edge, I wrote about how I arrived at my Breaking Point and ultimately my healing journey. The losing control and crying in a heap on the floor. The soft, scared voice of my young son breaking through the storm of thoughts and emotions in my head. That moment is what led me to the conversation with my friend and into the world of IFS.

My first sessions were online, there were still precautions being followed from the pandemic. I logged in, not knowing what would be different. I had told my story to many therapists, talked about it over and over. I was sick of living in my past, of what happened to me. Of my failures. I was sick of the weight of the darkness that threatened every thought, that put a burden on my children for being my only reason to survive. And I was tired. I didn’t want to talk and reminisce on the same information again. I needed something to be different. I needed to be different.

The first few sessions were centered around information gathering and exploring. Of course, I had to give some information for context, but to my surprise, it was very general. My psychologist explained that she didn’t need to know all the details. Things would come up as they were processed, and I didn’t necessarily have to say them out loud. She explained that I would learn to identify and communicate with different parts of myself as if they were separate from me — and that the work might make things harder before it made them better. I thought it sounded insane, really. Like talking to myself was going to help anything. But I was relieved not to have to talk about and focus on the situations, everything all over again. And I was open. I participated because I had to do something — I was desperate. I was a skeptic, but the process proved itself.

At one point, I wanted to quit. I got worse before I got better. I thought, how can this help if I am worse? My psychologist gently urged me to hold on, reminding me that things do usually get worse before they get better. And I trusted her. What choice did I have? I could stay in this state, or I could face my fears and doubts and move forward. I made a commitment to myself that I would no longer stay stuck, being a victim of my own pain, but always do my part. So, I pushed on, building trust with that little girl, that I would not abandon her again.

The work was hard. I would be in sessions where it felt as if my parts were sitting on top of me. I was being suffocated by the judge and crushed by the seemingly mean spirit of my inner critic. Fear and overwhelm gripped tightly, begging me not to go on. Distraction would pull my thoughts elsewhere — the grocery list, the kids, my partner. Anything to avoid what was surfacing. The more they were ignored, the louder they would scream. But my psychologist would gently pull me back, pointing out to them that instead of helping, they are sitting on me. As they calmed, a new emotion came up. I would start sobbing, and she would ask me to describe what was happening. It felt like something was screaming inside, and like I would vomit. It was the little girl, the inner me. What No Bad Parts calls an exile. These parts that tried to manage that girl and keep her quiet thought I couldn’t handle what she had to say. The memories she would bring. But after many sessions, they first began to trust my psychologist. Then eventually me.

Because the sessions could be so intense, and as Dr. Schwartz recommends, I chose to keep doing the deep, hard work only in sessions. But after 4 years of hard work, I knew I was ready. I started my journey through No Bad Parts.

One day, sitting alone in my bedroom, I turned it on, sat back and listened. To the book and to my body. As his words began I started to feel it — the intense emotional wave, the crying, nausea, overwhelm. Instead of shutting it down or spiraling out of control, I stayed present. Orienting myself to time, space, and safety. Communicating with both my exiled part — the little girl I had already met in therapy — and the protective parts. The judge. Fear. Overwhelm. The critic. I showed them I was an adult. I was there to show up for them now. I could be trusted.

I regulated. I was okay.

And then, I went about my day.

When I was stuck in those places previously, it lasted days or weeks — a deep depression, all I wanted to do was escape any way I could. But now I was connected. Able to process my fears and ultimately the memories I was stuck in — and come back okay. This wasn’t about fixing anything. It was about being present with the experience and coming back from it safely.

IFS gave me something I never thought I would find. A true path to healing. Actual change. Accountability and agency that brought with them a calm I didn’t know existed. I started therapy as a woman afraid of life. Who felt stupid and had no idea what I wanted or that it even mattered. I felt no one could ever love me and had walls around my heart as big as the Great Wall of China. And now — now I am full of life, of hope. A woman who went back to school and got her bachelor’s degree. Joined a hiking group and started Salsa dancing. I have met a wonderful man, allowed for vulnerability, and have the most beautiful relationship I never thought could exist. And — The Held Edge. I created and designed a website and started a blog. Never could I have imagined that I could do any of this. And of course, I still have hard days. I’m not perfect or fixed. But through IFS, I have learned I can do hard things. I have done them. And I not only live but thrive. I enjoy my children and am present. And when the hard days come, I know they will pass, and they are but a glimpse of what used to paralyze me.

If you have tried everything and still want to heal — really want to — maybe give it a shot. It is not a quick fix. Nothing that lasts ever is.

If you’re looking for a place to begin your own reflection,
The Held Edge Journal is waiting for you.

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