This morning I woke up at 6:47a and made myself a matcha. I sat at the kitchen table, which has the best view of the blooming sunrise. It changes so quickly from the buttery salmon explosion to the more subtle blues and sparkling golds, post-rain. I never want it to end, yet it always shifts and moves, becoming something else.
There are things I want to avoid thinking about or feeling this morning; things I am holding in my body that I want to get rid of. For some reason, sitting on the couch and playing NYT games doesn’t get rid of any of it. It just makes me feel dull.
The feelings feel so big sometimes. My protectors* try to subdue them, but then they just seem to go deep into hiding in my chest, suppressing my breathing, until if I breathe too deeply, up they’ll rise…I try to get rid of them by analyzing them, talking to other people about them, trying to shush them or calm them down. All of these tactics work momentarily, but in the long run, there they are, waiting for me: grief, heartache, frustration, helplessness.
”There are no perfect answers to painful feelings. There is nothing to do but feel them, be with them, acknowledge them. They aren’t going anywhere: they are a part of being alive, of being a human.
We are energetic fields, with waves of feelings that move through those fields. The more our parts try to stop that energy, the more stuck it becomes. The more fearful our parts become, the harder it gets to catch, feel, and release those feelings.
So I notice the fearful part, and say hello to it. I acknowledge that it does feel scary to feel these things, and it’s understandable that my parts want to avoid feeling them. And I remind them that we’ve been trying that method for a long time, and it doesn’t work–so let’s try something new.
I remind my parts that I am here with them, and let them feel how wide and caring my presence is. I let them feel my generosity and openness, my lack of judgment towards them. I let them feel the loving part of me that feels fearless, that trusts that it really will be ok, no matter what happens.
I remind them that how other people feel and what they do is not mine to manage, control, or influence, that it’s enough to make space for others in their process, just as I want others to make space for me in mine.
I let them know that I won’t judge them for having big feelings, and if they need to feel upset, angry, lost, or heartbroken, it’s ok. Those are understandable feelings in response to difficult news. I allow myself to feel their tenderness, and my own; to feel their brokenness, and my own. There is so much relief in not having to keep it all together, to not have to present to the world as having it all figured out: I don’t have it figured out, and neither do these young parts of me, and that’s ok. We can feel what we feel, hold and be held, love and be loving in the messiness and chaos of our lives and relationships. We can hold ourselves and the world with tenderness and care, with compassion for all that it is and will be.
I am so glad you are here.
– Elke
*Internal Family Systems, or IFS, uses the language of “parts” (Protectors, Exiles, and the Self) as a way of conceptualizing our feelings, thoughts, and behaviors, and explaining aspects of us that are inherent but also capable of learning, growing, and evolving. In response to difficult interpersonal experiences, the protective parts we learned were most adaptive as kids may “take over” (called “blending”) in present-day interactions to try to prevent further harm. This can look like suppressing or “exiling” painful feelings, or other internal gymnastics to try to keep our young, wounded parts safe. Instead, it usually ends up shutting them down, and making it difficult for us to access and build trust with those parts of ourselves. You can learn more about IFS here.
