The inner work I bring to therapy

Training gives me knowledge and ways of working. My own inner work asks something deeply personal of me: to turn towards the parts of me that other parts fear or avoid, including those carrying shame, fear or pain.

When parts of me turn away from my own difficult places, that can affect how far I am able to stay present with someone in theirs. Parts of me may want to reassure too quickly, move towards a solution or steer the conversation somewhere more comfortable. The work asks me to notice those responses and be curious about what is happening inside me.

Therapists have parts too. There may be a part that wants to get it right, a part that feels helpless when someone is hurting, or one that wants to be seen as helpful. There may be caretaking parts that want to ease someone’s pain, make things better or take responsibility for how they are feeling. Those parts need attention and care too.

Through IFS, I can listen to what they fear and what they are trying to do. Caring for my caretaking parts helps me notice when an urge to help could move us away from what you need, or hurry something that needs time. It could also give your parts the impression that I do not trust them, reinforcing painful messages they may already carry about not being capable. I want to notice and care for my urge to take over, so there is room to trust your parts and listen to what they need from me. As I build a relationship with my parts, there can be more room to meet you with curiosity, compassion and clarity. My responsibility is to attend to my responses so that your experience can have the space it needs and deserves.

At an Oxford masterclass, I walked into a workshop and heard the presenter speak in a way that reached a part of me who had so often felt unseen and ashamed of her light, believing she was too much. What that part heard was, “You are not too much. Let your light shine.” We danced with thousands of other people. I cried tears of relief. I felt alive.

The next day, I went up to thank the presenter and share what the experience had meant to that part of me. She seemed exhausted after giving so much. Two things were happening within me: one part was excited to tell her, while another saw her and wanted to give something back, to offer her something of what she had given that little girl in me. Caught up in those wishes, I interrupted.

Her response landed painfully. A part of me felt rejected and went into despair. Other parts moved quickly to protect me from that despair and shame.

An angry part wanted to go back and tell her that I had only been trying to be nice. It was as though anger could hand the shame back, so I would not have to feel it or the despair. Another part jumped to judgement, saying she was fake, and joined forces with the anger. Another turned inward: “See, it was a lie. It is not okay to shine. You must hide. You are too much.”

It was all happening so fast. Then I remembered to take a breath, put my hand on my heart and make room for all the parts that had come forward. I did not have to choose one account of what had happened or make the other parts disappear. I could begin to hear them.

With that space came understanding. I could recognise the presenter’s limits and still care for the parts of me who were hurting. My parts no longer needed her to tell them they were not too much. I could offer that reassurance myself, and help them feel it deeply. There was relief, spaciousness and so much love.

The painful interaction became a gift to my system: an opportunity to stay with parts of me when they needed me. It did not make the moment easy. There was room for the hurt, the protection and the connection I could offer within.

I cannot do this all the time. Sometimes everything moves too quickly for me to remember to breathe. But spending time with my parts, in therapy and in my own space, has helped create more room between a painful moment and the responses that follow. Sometimes that happens in the silence of the night, the quiet of the morning, or small moments here and there when space opens. Things begin to slow down, and my parts trust me more. This is an ongoing relationship, with room for the moments when I remember and the moments when I need support to find my way back.

Shame can make us expect someone to pull away, judge us or want us to be different. Pain may have been met with minimising, silence or pressure to move on. Being able to stay alongside those feelings matters.

My own willingness to meet shame and pain helps me recognise how much courage it can take to let another person close. I want to be able to stay with you when something feels difficult to say, when words disappear, or when a protective part needs us to slow down.

There may also be parts that urgently want relief. They belong in the conversation alongside the parts that are frightened of being seen.

Facing our own inner world is ongoing. New relationships, losses and experiences can bring us into contact with parts we have not met before, or familiar ones that need our attention again.

I see this willingness to keep returning to myself as part of my responsibility as a therapist and healing facilitator. It helps me notice what belongs to me, stay open to what belongs to you, and meet the work with humility.

You bring your own meaning, history and pace. My hope is that the space between us can hold the tender, difficult and unfinished places with care.

IFS and the parts within us · Support with trauma and shame · More articles and reflections