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Gathering the parts of ourselves
As the holiday season approaches, there's no shortage of advice on managing family dynamics. Social media posts and articles offer tips and tricks for navigating dinner-table tensions, and surviving the chaos that so often accompanies family gatherings. While there’s plenty of guidance for handling what happens around us, what about what’s happening within us?
The truth is, we can’t control how Grandpa responds to our life choices or whether Aunt Jackie will dive into her political views before the meal even starts. What we can do is decide how we show up. We can tend to our inner world, caring for the parts of ourselves that experience fear, anger, overwhelm or uncertainty in those bigger situations. The Internal Family Systems (IFS) model offers us a roadmap for this work, inviting us to gather the many “parts” of ourselves so we can approach the season not with perfection, but with a bit more presence and peace.
An introduction to Internal Family Systems
Dr. Richard Schwartz developed Internal Family Systems (IFS) in the 1980s while working as a family therapist. Initially focused on helping clients navigate external family dynamics, Schwartz noticed that when describing internal conflicts, clients often described them as if they had various “parts” or subpersonalities. He heard patients use intuitive language many of us (unintentionally) already use:
“Part of me wants to see him again, but I know it wouldn’t be for the right reasons.”
“It’s not black and white!”
“I’m so torn!”
Schwartz avoided the conclusion that these individuals were all living with Dissociative Identity Disorder (formerly called Multiple Personality Disorder) - though some with this diagnosis did find their way into his caseload. Rather, he lingered with these fragmented perspectives long enough to hear what they had to say.
Schwartz began to explore how these parts interacted and how by working with them as a kind of "internal family," clients could experience greater self-understanding and healing.
Many, he noted, were varied perspectives on the same topic or decision. Some parts were intense and passionate. Some were self-destructive. Others carried deep childhood pain. Schwartz began to explore how these parts interacted and how by working with them as a kind of "internal family," clients could experience greater self-understanding and healing.
Think of a time you’ve experienced a sense of inner conflict. I’ll use a simple illustration - imagine you’re deciding what shoes to wear to an event. You consider the type of event, who will be present, the image you want to exude, and decide on the flashy shoes. You could argue you chose the flashy ones out of vanity, but what if we stay with that choice a little longer?
Before you made your decision, your stomach was churning with a low level of anx-ticipation (a feeling of anticipation that leans into feeling anxious). A familiar feeling, not unlike the one you may have felt on the first day of junior high. That universal sense of wanting to be cool; to stand out, but not too much, and also to fit in. An IFS lens helps us understand that a younger “part” of you may have been in the driver’s seat when you chose your shoes for the event.
That example was pretty low-stakes. but the same dynamics often play out in other situations, like when we experience conflict with a loved one. Relational triggers often send our parts into a flurry. And different parts have different functions, emotionally speaking.
Meet the family
Within IFS, Schwartz describes three main types of parts: “firefighters” or “first responders,” “managers,” and “exiles.”
The “firefighter” or “first responder” part is one we commonly see in therapy. This is the part that acts quickly without regard for long-term consequences. Picture a part of you that gets in the driver’s seat and says, “That loneliness doesn’t feel very nice, how about I crack open another bottle of wine and take that sting away?” Or an impulsive part of you that fires first in conflict and asks questions later.
“But while we have no control over time itself, we do have a choice in how we orient to it, how we inhabit the moment, how we own the past and open to the future - a choice that shapes our entire experience of life, that ossuary of time. And just as it bears remembering that there are infinitely many kinds of beautiful lives, it bears remembering that there are infinitely many ways of being in time.” - Maria Popova, The Marginalian
Change of environment
I put on my ski gear, and pull my boot bag up on my back. Covered head to toe, I step outside. My skis are perched on my left shoulder, and my poles are in my right hand. I walk carefully down the snowy path and up through the village to the lift. It’s a sacred ten minutes of meditative rhythmic walking to warm me up for the day ahead.
New snow has fallen – about twenty centimetres. The snow cats have groomed the mountain during the night. It’s early and I'll be on the first lift up to the slopes.
This is the change of environment I crave the most at this time in my life. The movement from posed stability to energetic vulnerability, from the familiar to the serendipitous unknown, from the routine to the spontaneous. Here on the mountain I feel like I live life to its fullest. I feel more alive here than anywhere else. Curiosity is my catalyst — I could rest today, I could contemplate other days gone by, but I'm curious: What will the snow be like? What will my balance and form be like? What shapes of clouds will appear? What breeze will freeze my nose? Where will the trail take me? It is ski season; adventurous, mysterious and invigorating. It provides another form of lifestyle filled with the sort of vulnerability I love.
Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain.
This magic mountain that I've skied for years and years changes all the time. It's ironic really, as it is made of stone and rock, ice and dirt - elements so strong and stable, so unmoving and unbudgeable, so unforgiving and invincible, yet it is forever changing. Of course everyone knows that change is constant, but there is nowhere else in the world where I see, feel, hear, touch and taste this truth more clearly than here on the side of my favourite mountain. Such a curious phenomenon — this alpine environment that moves and changes constantly, just like me. The weather forecast looks good today, colder than yesterday, but mostly sunny in the morning with the wind rising in the afternoon. Of course, this could change too.
Letting change flow
Arriving at the base of the mountain, I put on my ski boots, tuck my shoes away for the day, and once again perch my skis on my shoulder. I use my poles to help me navigate the steps up to the gates; it’s the beginning of the season and this morning routine of getting to the lifts still has me feeling a bit winded as I get used to the altitude. My friend is waiting for me. She and I smile brightly at each other and, seconds later, the buzzer goes off and the gates are activated. We are the first ones through, proud of ourselves for our early rising and excited to experience the thrill of another ski day together. We banter about the beautiful day ahead, our slight aches and pains and need for some stretching.
My friend is confident and bold — an expert skier. Me, I am not as confident and I am no expert. But I am bold, and she inspires me. Most of all, I am grateful for the change of scenery, communing with nature and the joy of being together again on the mountain.
Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
As we descend each run at our own pace, our skis pushing us beyond our unique comfort zones, we each experience individualized moments in the quiet rhythm of skiing. Every day on the slope is different, every turn of every carve into the snow is different, at times smooth and other times choppy. At all times, our minds must stay connected to our bodies. It is invigorating and mystifying, as we must disconnect from all worries and all other actions and stay absolutely present. Tensing up in anticipation of a coming bump or turn will surely cause a fall. The key to serenity on skis is letting change flow, becoming one with the change, and then being the change.
After a few hours of skiing our favourite trails, I tell my friend I want to stop at a lookout spot, not because I’m tired but because I want to breathe in my surroundings. She says she’ll let me have a bit of alone time and we decide she’ll do another run and meet me back here. The sky is vast and filled with a multitude of blue hues, the clouds are fantastical and bright white. The fresh cold air is thinner up here; it smells minty as it passes through my nostrils and it tastes minerally as it drips down my throat. The steam rises from my scarf as I breathe in and out, feeling the warmth of my body. This change of environment is essential to my well-being. It’s not just any change of environment though.
Chrono-diversity
It’s being up at altitude that thrills me most. The physicist Carlo Rovelli in his book “The Order of Time” captures the essence of my pause at the lookout spot. He writes,
“I stop and do nothing. Nothing happens. I am thinking about nothing. I listen to the passing of time. This is time, familiar and intimate. We are taken by it…. Our being is being in time.”
I lived and worked in this village just below the slopes for ten years, all through my thirties, and now that I am retired, I return here as much as possible. Initially when I moved away, down to sea level and no longer at altitude, it took me a long time to adjust and to adapt to being in a different time zone, but not just a different chronometric time zone, but a different “chrono-atmospheric” time zone.
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level…
I am fascinated by the way Rovelli explains how altitude changes time. He writes, “Let’s begin with a simple fact: time passes faster in the mountains than it does at sea level… This slowing down can be detected between levels just a few centimetres apart: a clock placed on the floor runs a little more slowly than one on a table. It is not just the clocks that slow down: lower down, all processes are slower.”
When I read this, I started to understand and accept why I had found it so challenging to transition from life up on the mountain to life in the valley. All of my processes had to become slower; my mental and physical, even spiritual relationships towards time had to change in order for me to adapt and to adjust to my new surroundings. It was a very unnerving time at first, and I found myself longing to return to the mountains. Despite the fact that I enjoyed my new job, raising my children and making new friends in a different culture, my personal processes, like my coping mechanisms, had slowed down and I needed to give myself time to accept the newness of this “chrono-diversity” at sea level.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months.
During those years, my friend stayed in the mountains; she never returned to life in the valley. And I believe this makes us different in the way we now measure time. Maybe her time does actually pass more quickly than mine? She is a speed queen and can get a million things done in one day. She thinks faster than I think, and certainly skis faster than I ski.
Some consider winter a time to slow down and rest, imitating elements of nature that hibernate and tuck in to escape the cold. But for me, it is this change of environment, this other way of being in time, this speeding up and expanding of time, that I long for in the winter months. It’s the rigour and rhythm of mountain time. Rovelli writes,
“Two friends separate, with one of them living in the plains and the other going to live in the mountains. They meet up again years later: the one who has stayed down has lived less, aged less, the mechanism of his cuckoo clock has oscillated fewer times. He has had less time to do things, his plants have grown less, his thoughts have had less time to unfold ... Lower down, there is simply less time than at altitude.”
I guess the proof is “in the physics.” As I’ve learned, it is the changeability of time in the mountains that keeps me skiing through life. Even if it seems a bit ironic and mysterious to me, I imagine I will always feel this type of change to be constant in my life. Though I suppose, that could change too.
The firefighter’s partner is the “manager” - another part primarily concerned with avoiding emotional pain (in the present or in unprocessed trauma), but with very different tactics. Where the first responder uses impulsive actions (e.g. sex, drugs, rock’n’roll), the manager uses more socially desirable, conscientious, image-managing tactics.
The pain that firefighters and managers are avoiding typically comes from parts that are holding onto wounds from earlier in life - the “exiles.” Recall again those first-day-of-middleschool jitters: imagine if your shoes of choice had resulted in bullying and incessant name-calling. That child part of you felt so much emotional pain that it went into hiding. The firefighter and manager parts formed in order to keep those parts in exile - preventing those painful emotions from coming to the surface.
In therapy, an IFS perspective has one specific goal: to validate the parts of ourselves while accessing their inherent wisdom.
How it helps
In therapy, an IFS perspective has one specific goal: to validate the parts of ourselves while accessing their inherent wisdom. Not every part’s recommendation will be a viable option at any given moment (e.g. “sell everything and move to the woods next tax season”). But every perspective has something of value to share and is worth listening to. When parts of you, especially those desperately afraid of letting their guard down, are given safe space to be understood and heard, they tend to reduce in their intensity. Like a sentry finally relieved of its duty, we get access to clarity.
What comes to the surface after this kind of acceptance and validation is what Schwartz calls the “Self,” or the oldest, wisest part of you. It is calm, confident, and open. It is a leader you can count on with a lifetime of experiences to draw from.
Clients often report experiencing more self-compassion when they finally understand why their manager part has been working so hard to keep them on the straight-and-narrow, even at the expense of being able to access child-like joy. One client habitually rejected by friends and family and labelled an “addict” reported feeling overwhelming kindness towards his inner child who has been soothing deep hurt with substances.
What comes to the surface after this kind of acceptance and validation is what Schwartz calls the “Self,” or the oldest, wisest part of you. It is calm, confident, and open. It is a leader you can count on with a lifetime of experiences to draw from. In growth and healing, the Self is at the helm of the system, a core, compassionate presence that can lead all these parts to find their place in the whole, leading to greater harmony and healing.
Try it out
The next time you have a decision to make, big or small, try out this simple exercise:
Pause long enough to notice how you feel about it. Tense, flowing, big, small. Use language that feels natural to you.
Try personifying those feelings. Do you see a fireball? A soldier? A younger version of yourself? Perhaps your kids or grandkids love the film Inside Out — do you see one of the characters inside you?
Next, look for any conflicting or polarized perspectives within yourself. Is there any black-and-white language showing up around the decision? Impulsive options? Ask yourself: what is this part of me afraid would happen if it didn’t do its job?
Listen first, validate second, choose your path third.
Clients have reported back finding their internal “family dinners” are much calmer when everyone gets a chance to speak. The more you practice, the more you’ll find clarity and understanding when faced with decisions. And who knows, maybe you’ll choose the shoes that the kid in you loves to see you wear.
