Reflections: Birthday and a Half

A few years ago I decided I’d make more of an effort to celebrate myself now and again, and one of the ways I do that is actually telling people when it’s my birthday.

It’s my birthday! August 24th, for folks in the past or future.

Coincidentally August also marks six months since I opened my practice (AKA its half birthday), so I thought I would share a few learnings and reflections — just for funsies.

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Couple quick notes:

1. I’ve moved (back to the Nashville area) and am more-or-less settled in. As promised, I’ve opened more time-slots for those interested in working with me.

2. I have an empty YouTube channel and am considering doing something with it¹. If there’s something you’d like to know about me or my work, submit your question(s) and I’ll maybe record a video responding to a bunch of ‘em – assuming I get over the awkwardness of talking to a camera.

3. A warm thanks to Susan Spies, Mark Journigan, and one anonymous person for donating, and to the anonymous person who bought something from my wishlist!

4. I’m considering opening a P.O. Box so people can send me mail – is anyone interested in that?

Onward!

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I first spoke to Richard Schwartz in the middle of 2021 at an online trauma seminar, a few months into being debilitated by severe symptoms of what we call Complex PTSD. From a Parts Work perspective, you could say that an ocean of Exiles had burst out of me and most of my Protectors had either given up or were exiled themselves. What few Protectors I had left were doing an enormous amount of heavy lifting, but now doesn’t feel like the time to describe it in detail.

I was doing everything I could to stay out of the hospital and away from pharmaceuticals, which had put me in the ER two years earlier. Every waking moment was spent obsessively researching and writing and leaning on new friends when I was in enough pain that I couldn’t not ask for help. One of those friends told me about that seminar, and I had reached a point of desperation that had me grabbing at anything and everything I could find on the off chance it might help me. I don’t like being on camera, or even photographed; there were hundreds of people in the seminar and it was being recorded and I didn’t care.

After our exchange, Dick offered me a free session and insisted I record it. It may have saved my life, it likely at least kept me out of the hospital. At the end of it he told me, “Well, the good news is you’re good at this. We got a lot done in an hour.”

IFS felt more or less like doing what I’d always done. I’d been a writer since I was a child, so by then I had already spent probably thousands of hours talking to people in my head, essentially doing Parts Work. Though I still wondered whether Dick was being sincere or just offering me a bit of hope. Or both.

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I could have opened my practice much sooner than I did, but I stalled for months. I had no formal training and part of me was frightened at the damage they knew was possible if I made a mistake. It didn’t matter how much encouragement I got from the all the people I’d met (some of whom were therapists) in the past year - the idea of charging for my time felt unethical and dangerous because I understood (at least to some degree) how explosive things could become.

I would explain that a person’s inner world can be dense with clustered webs of tripwires and that one misstep could set off a chain reaction and that could leave them re-traumatized or worse – that for some people 50 minutes is a joke compared to the other 6 days and 23 hours (or more) they have to spend holding out for the next 50 minutes². And then my friends would use those same reasons to argue that I was uniquely equipped to navigate and untangle those webs than the overwhelming majority of therapists, and that I was teaching them more than the books or courses did. There were times when I took issue with something small in an IFS (or other) book and explained what could happen if taken to its natural conclusion. Now and then someone would light up and say, “That’s exactly what happened to me/my client!”

The case studies in popular IFS books are meant to be illustrative and clear, and many are. But they’re often too simple and too clean to be of use when working with much wounding or polarization – they don’t read like real sessions. When people who’ve never navigated this safely with a “good enough” practitioner then try to do it themselves or with a client, they will inevitably find themselves in a web. This is almost guaranteed to trigger Parts who try to remember all the steps and theory their way out. This often triggers other parts, creating a vicious cycle, and then people come out the other end feeling exhausted and confused and like they’ve failed.

I could see parts and tripwires that other people couldn’t and I offered what I could to help folks recognize them in themselves and in their clients. But with the awareness came the fear that I might miss one and have to live with the consequences. I just also recognized that I needed to support myself, that not everything I learned could go into the Guide, and that not using what I’d learned felt somehow wrong and also had consequences. Meanwhile I kept getting the same message: “You’re good at this.”

So I contemplated my options for a while. My teachers and friends were supportive. Parts spoke up in protest as others warmed up to it. After months of inner-work, compromises were made and boundaries were set around who I would and wouldn’t work with and how I would make my offering(s) more accessible to more people. It’s an ongoing thing.

One of my earliest fears was that all the positive feedback I was given might be a fluke — or that being knowledgeable and compelling to listen to wouldn’t translate to skill or capacity in the practitioner’s chair. Teaching something and practicing it are separate skills. But I wouldn’t find out until I tried.

The second piece was asking people to pay for my time when my intention was to give away as much as I could for free. The thought set off what I affectionately call my “ick-ometer.” Sometimes stuff makes my Parts feel icky, and they don’t like it. The thought of opening a practice hadn’t even crossed my mind when I published the Guide, and I don’t sell ad space. Even mentioning my practice in it felt like a massive and unforeseen violation against the soul of the thing, like committing the exact sin that spurred the outrage that contributed to the Guide’s publication: capitalizing on suffering.

After weeks of back-and-forth with friends one of them asked, “Does not opening a practice, not offering your gift, and staying broke do anything to help the people who won’t be able to afford your fee?” A part added: “And we could help way more if we were rich than we could if we stay poor.”

The parts who make up my ick-ometer contemplated and softened a bit, and then told me they might be okay with it so long as I promise not to forget why I’m doing what I’m doing and to never allow anyone (including other parts) to turn my work into a vanity project. This too is an ongoing thing.

I felt a third thorn as I began guiding people in Aletheia, who’d never done Parts Work before. Up to that point, I was only ever the client. All the action of Parts Work took place in my mind’s eye; I could see everything, I always knew exactly what was happening.

But a practitioner is blind to everything clients don’t voice aloud or express in their body language, and my Parts hadn’t prepared for or even considered that at all until I had my first practice client in front of me, swimming around their inner world – no floaties or anything.

A part of me worried that an inexperienced client would see some precious jewel or a signal flair or a trip wire and think nothing of it because they don’t have the imaginal literacy to recognize them as such. They may miss or reflexively dismiss soft voices or subtle emotions, and that could very easily lead to missed opportunities or Protector backlash or worse.

One of my primary parts is one who finds an enormous amount of safety in knowing things, and I noticed them panic when they realized that being a skilled diver is only so useful when you can’t enter or even look into the water yourself. Others hadn’t emotionally prepared to trust my clients to swim, or considered whether occasionally taking gulps of water might be an unavoidable part of the process and not my failure as a guide. The first few times I guided clients, those parts felt the way I imagine it must feel to talk someone through a bomb defusal over the phone.

But hey, no gulps and no booms! That first practice client smiled and laughed through the whole thing, tickled at how weird and how interesting it was to relate to themself this way. And then the first time I helped someone unburden a part, some of my own were awestruck.

Every time I took someone soul spelunking, fewer Parts felt the need to come along. It took surprisingly little time for them to trust that I knew what I was doing, even if I do still have things to learn, even if I’ll never know everything, even if I do still have wounds to mend. They realized my clients’ inner-ecosystems are as diverse and as vibrant as mine, and that their protectors would tell us before we made a big mistake so long as I remain present and ask good questions. They even learned that the Presence in my clients could be trusted too.

Before working with other people, there was a mild concern that I would be blended with my Knowing Things parts or get triggered. Instead, my parts just learned to trust me more. I found myself unblended in a matter of seconds. It’s like they would back up, sit behind me, and watch. When they did get triggered (which is normal) I’d check in with them later and it often led to some kind of growth or an opportunity to earn their trust.

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When it comes to my clients, the rules of confidentiality say that I can share what I like so long as I remove all identifying information. But anonymity doesn’t necessarily make being written about on the internet feel any less strange or vulnerable, so I want to have that conversation with them before I share more than vague descriptions.

Watching someone open up to themselves and discover how vast and how kaleidoscopic their inner-world is, or meet a part they’ve sort of known since they were little but never saw face-to-face, is a delight. That alone is satisfying, it’s like pulling off a magic trick.

I’ve seen clients make progress in ways neither of us anticipated, even between one session and another. An issue one client was convinced would take years to resolve took about ten sessions. Another came into a session convinced they were beyond help and then came out of it feeling more centered and more like themselves than they had in years. Aletheia calls this “quickening,” I call it beautiful and hilarious and kind of adorable.

One person, who had done many years of Parts Work both on their own and with therapists asked for a single session. Afterward they told me I navigated parts more skillfully than anyone they’d ever worked with, besides one therapist with decades of experience.³

One client came to me complaining about a somatic issue they had for many years, having never done Parts Work before. At the end of their first session they were bewildered as the issue seemed to have vanished. They looked at me, smiling and wide-eyed, thanked me, and then I never saw them again. 🤷‍♂️

Others needed much less than anticipated. They had parts who only wanted to be seen and understood by another person — to be told they are, in fact, not crazy or broken or valueless. I could say it and mean it and they knew I meant it and they found that healing. My Thing Knowing parts got real insecure about it because they were oh-so-convinced that I needed to use all those neat things we’ve learned in order to make the offering worthy of the fee.

Another told me they didn’t even want to do Parts Work, they just felt safe with me and wanted to talk through things from time to time. This was also difficult, and led to me discovering a part who feels I’m not worth knowing or spending time with if I’m not offering something (besides my presence) that no one else can. “What do you mean they just like us? That can’t be right.”

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I’ve mentioned elsewhere, I had no intention to open any kind of practice when I published the Guide – it still feels a bit odd, even if it does makes sense. Because the alternative was to get an irrelevant job which would have been exhausting, and maybe even (in one part’s opinion) irresponsible. There was a time when working even part time felt completely out of the question, but being able to set my own schedule and go at my own pace was the pendulation and titration I really needed.

When the friends who’ve seen my life change since publishing ask me how it feels to be here now, I bite down on the word “rewarding” before it escapes my mouth. It isn’t untrue – I get to meet lovely people from all over the world, and the elaborate income-based sliding scale I use means I have clients with wildly different backgrounds. I get to experience how different everyone’s parts are, and to see them meet themselves for the first time. I’ve met writers, meditation teachers, practitioners, therapists, clients, enthusiasts, and curious folks the world over, and the overwhelming majority of them have been astonishingly kind and supportive – people have shown up for me. Part of me is actually too shy to admit some of the kind things people have said.

Some of you even made me cry, which is very rude. 😤

But “rewarding” doesn’t quite land. Parts say, “We don’t do rewards – rewards is icky.” Doing something because it’s rewarding feels icky compared to doing something for its own sake. Something rewarding can still be a not-so-great fit. We can be rewarded for what we don’t even want and then struggle to say no to it, like being what others want us to be or working hard at something we don’t like just because we’re good at it and we’re being encouraged (rewarded).

Instead I would call it nourishing, which is not icky.

Whether something is rewarding is secondary to whether it’s nourishing, and this work, at least for now, is nourishing.

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I don’t know if I’ll do this forever. It definitely isn’t the only thing I’m going to do, but it may well be a part of my life for the foreseeable future.

I still occasionally consider what Dick said to me. I still from time to time notice Parts debating how sincere it may have been. But as I notice meaningful changes in my clients, and in myself, they argue less. Even if this isn’t the “this” Dick meant, it seems to be at least kind of true.

I am forever grateful for all the nudges and votes of confidence from friends, fellow travelers, and supportive folks. I may never have given this a go otherwise. Every so often I’ll hear their voices and see their messages and in my mind’s eye, and some of those fearful young parts of me feel better knowing that other people believe in and feel safe with me. It’s nurturing, restorative, healing all on its own.

In other words: if this goes poorly, you can blame them. 🥰

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Oh yeah. I’ve been reading and enjoying Bob Falconer’s book on Unattached Burdens, and I’ll be participating in a small consultation group with him starting mid September. I’m also confident I’ve found an Unattached Burden (or maybe three) in myself.

That’ll be fun.

♥️

1. In part because my friend Jude regularly encourages me to and because my friend Raissa will continue to lovingly bully me if I don’t.

2. Guess how I know!

3. And I absolutely do not have a small child part who feels slightly envious.