Parts are little inner beings who are trying their best to keep you safe.
– Richard Schwartz (Founder IFS)
I’m conducting this fundraiser for my Level 2 Internal Family Systems (IFS) course in October. IFS is a transformative therapeutic approach that views the mind as naturally multiple, with each of our inner parts having positive intentions for us. While the training is expensive, it is invaluable. IFS integrates my lifelong passions – spirituality and psychology – by treating the mind with the intelligence that lies beyond it.
What you’ll receive by contributing to my fund:
Option 1: Join the journaling challenge starting on September 4th. More info here.
Option 2: Receive a free 60-minute IFS session.
My Experience: I’ve been working with IFS for about three years. Before this, my background was in somatic therapy, focusing on family healing and working with ancestral patterns.
My goal is to raise $1,000. All contributions are greatly appreciated! Suggested contributions are between $25 – $100.
In Tibetan Buddhism, there’s a powerful concept that can transform how we view our inner struggles. Tibetan Buddhist teacher Tsoknyi Rinpoche speaks about shaking hands with what he calls our “beautiful monsters.”
“Beautiful monsters,” Rinpoche explains, “are like ice. Their nature is like water. We don’t have to destroy the ice but melt it, freeing it into its natural state of flow.” These monsters represent our frozen patterns of reacting and resisting. The medicine that melts this ice is the warmth of kindness toward these aspects of ourselves that we’ve often pushed out of awareness.
Rinpoche clarifies that these parts are neither purely beautiful nor solely monstrous. They can indeed be destructive in their ways, and it’s important to acknowledge the cost of these patterns without being naive. However, focusing only on their negative aspects without appreciating their beauty doesn’t allow for a true meeting. When we approach them with judgment, we fail to see their true nature. Even in the most challenging parts of ourselves, there is something of value.
This perspective aligns with the insights of Richard Schwartz, founder of the Internal Family Systems (IFS) method. From years in practice speaking to people from all walks of life, Schwartz has come to believe that there are no inherently bad parts within us. At the heart of any part of us is an origin story; they were shaped by experience and are the way they are for good reason. If we look deeply enough – or perhaps softly enough – we will find a positive intention and beauty in each part.
I believe our deepest yearning is to trust the unknown. One of my most profound experiences with the unknown and these “beautiful monsters” came through vision questing. I spent 13 days alone in the mountains, realizing that the vision I sought was always right in front of me. It’s a continuous journey to stay awake to that realization. We often get caught up in distractions, which Enneagram teacher Helen Palmer categorizes as past memories, future fantasies, imagination, sensations, and emotions. These distractions can cause us to miss what’s right before our eyes.
During my time on the mountain, I discovered that nothing needed to happen for me to get distracted. My schedule was clear, with no obligations other than simply being present. Yet, being present was the greatest challenge. I spent those 13 days in a struggle for presence. As time passed, I noticed an interesting shift: the beauty of the experience naturally came to the forefront. Without anyone or anything in the way, life revealed itself as truly miraculous – the sheer wonder of being alive, having this experience, whatever it may be.
This journey of self-discovery and presence is ongoing. By learning to approach our “beautiful monsters” with kindness and curiosity, we can begin to melt the ice of our rigid patterns. In doing so, we open ourselves to the flow of life and the beauty that exists in every moment, even in our struggles.
As you reflect on your own experiences, consider: What “beautiful monsters” might you be ready to shake hands with? How might a change in perspective transform your relationship with the challenging parts of yourself?
The Dalai Lama once said that he wasn’t aware of how much the western mind doubted itself. It wasn’t much of a feature in Tibetan culture. As if in the West, we had to learn to doubt ourselves.
A Personal Encounter with Doubt
The other day I met someone I didn’t know for possible collaboration. On the surface, it looked like we were getting along, but my body was telling me otherwise. There was an increasing strain as the conversation progressed. And it was only afterward that I detected a competitive dynamic between us. I wasn’t getting some of the vital non-verbals cues from her (like warmth in eye contact) signalling that we were on the same team. So much so that when we parted ways, I felt this terrible sense of doubt. Like I wasn’t sure I was the person I thought I was. It was only afterward that I could recognise that this wasn’t an affirming interaction. Well, I could say that all that was my doubt, but something in me suspects there is a lot more to the story.
The Culture of Doubt in Individualistic Societies
Some personality types are more prone to doubt, but on the whole, no one is immune, especially in individualistic societies that characterise much of the West. It’s like we’re born into an ocean of doubt. Even if you looked like someone who didn’t doubt, you would be crazy not to. To feel self-assured and confident means you need to be at the top, and even then, there is a world awaiting your fall. Anything underneath the top means you have someone above you that has likely been trained in the art of making you feel insecure. That’s the thinking, right? Insecure people work harder and hang on to their jobs for dear life. But in truth, insecure people, although hardworking, do not give their best work. How could they? All our creative facilities come online when we feel safe enough.
A range of studies supports the idea that self-doubt is more a feature of individualistic cultures. Maybe I’m not the person I think I am. Maybe I don’t deserve what I think I do. Maybe I am not worth what I think I am are the results of feeling too much like a separate self having to do it all on my own. Individualistic cultures emphasise personal achievement, autonomy, and self-reliance. This can lead to greater self-scrutiny and pressure to meet high personal standards. In contrast, collectivist cultures, which emphasise group harmony and interdependence, often provide stronger social support networks that can buffer against self-doubt.
Research has also shown that people in individualistic cultures often tie their self-esteem to personal success and independence. This can make them more vulnerable to self-doubt when they perceive themselves as failing to meet these standards. That’s how it goes, right? We tie our worth to these yardsticks, and we can feel terrible when we perceive ourselves as not measuring up in whatever way we think we should be. But those standards again emerge from a society that has a lot to say about what individuals should be doing in order to meet these expectations. It’s near impossible, but we keep going, thinking one day I’ll get that assurance that I am enough after all. But that one day never comes, and more often than not, the doubt keeps growing. While individualistic societies often foster self-doubt, there are alternative cultural perspectives that offer a different approach.
Collaborative Cultures: An Alternative Perspective
Take the Ubuntu philosophy in Southern Africa. Ubuntu is a Nguni Bantu term meaning “humanity.” It is often translated as “I am because we are,” emphasising community, interconnectedness, and mutual care. Decisions are made collectively, extended families share responsibilities such as child-rearing and elder care, and communal work systems ensure everyone has enough. In its truest expression, it means group needs over the individual. I am a part of the very fabric of the group, so I treat others as I would want to be treated because I see them as not separate from me.
Another example is in Māori culture, where the principle of Te Aroha encompasses values like unity, respect, and collective responsibility. The marae serves as a central gathering place for discussing important issues and making decisions. The concept of whānau involves extended family members in decision-making and support networks. It’s about how we function together as a unit and for that, people need to be connected to the needs of others.
In Korean culture, they have the concept of Jeong, which refers to deep emotional bonds and interconnectedness. Decisions in workplaces are made by considering group harmony and consensus, communities provide collective support during times of need, and hierarchical relationships foster mentorship and collaboration, creating an environment focused on mutual support rather than competition.
Many of these cultures have changed or are changing because of exposure to Western ideals, but in their essence, they’re collectively focused. Individuals are well when the group is well. Of course, self-doubt is more of a feature in individualist societies. Why wouldn’t you doubt if all you had to rely on is little old me? But when we feel our place in the eyes of another, we get this superpower, we remember we have something unique to give. They see something in us, and we’re better for it. There is no doubt in that moment, we know in our bones that we are part of something much bigger.
The Power of Connection
This is the same reason that in bombings of England in WW2 actually lowered psychiatric admissions. It sounds totally counterintuitive, but it’s true. As much as the British government was preparing for much worse psychological suffering, the reverse happened. People had to pull together, and because of that psychological suffering, on the whole, was alleviated. In Mark Freeman’s book, “Priority of the Other,” he recites examples where the other only comes into focus under extreme circumstances like war and all manner of calamity.
In one such story, a firefighter, during a dangerous rescue operation, makes a critical decision to save a child from a burning building. The firefighter does not exit the burning, and another goes in to rescue him. Another three followed, and none came out. The worst part about it was that there was no child to save. The town fell into terrible grief, but it was in that moment that they felt their unity, the priority of the other coming into focus. But he argues, do we need to wait for disaster to feel these positive effects of unity? So far, it’s an open question, and it just may be that we are the ones that answer the question in the way that we lead our lives.
Much like the underworld of mycelium, there are infinite networks connecting the underground world, all part of the same life-giving project. Being connected to that field, that is what we are, is the antidote to doubt. You couldn’t doubt life itself, could you? And yet we forget that same force of life is inside us and not at all personal to us. It’s the fabric that runs through everything. Would you doubt that a river would keep flowing downstream?
Practical Strategies for Dealing with Doubt
They see something in me that I may not be able to see is what makes it possible to embody that quality. Now, you might say, well, that puts me in a bind because I had none of that. No one saw any glimmer of who I was, I had no chance of coming into that. Does my life need to depend on other people seeing me? Strange and powerless as it may sound, I would argue yes. We do actually depend on other people giving us a sense of belief in ourselves. We only exist in relationship. We give each other our belonging, as much as we give it to ourselves.
Returning to my own story, what did I do with all that doubt? The first thing that occurred to me is just to recognise doubt is in the room and it may not be as personal as it feels. I said to myself, mine is mine and hers is hers, and there is a pretty big piece of it that is neither of ours.
Second and most important, I remembered the people in my life that know me well and affirm who I am and what I aspire to become. I remembered my grandfather and how he used to look at me, the belief his eyes conveyed. He knew my behaviour fell short sometimes, but he never stopped believing in me. These are the bonds that are the antidote to our doubt, including the most important of all – our own relationship with ourselves.
In our journey through self-doubt, we’ve explored its roots in individualistic cultures and contrasted them with more collaborative societies. We’ve seen how connection and community can be powerful antidotes to the isolation that breeds uncertainty. From the Ubuntu philosophy to the unexpected unity found in wartime London, we’ve discovered that our strength often lies in our bonds with others.
As we navigate our own seas of doubt, let’s remember that we’re not alone in this struggle. The very fabric of life, like the interconnected mycelium beneath our feet, reminds us of our inherent connection to something greater than ourselves. Perhaps the key to overcoming self-doubt isn’t found in striving for individual perfection, but in recognising our place within a larger whole.
So the next time doubt creeps in, remember this: seek out those who see the best in you, just as my grandfather did for me. Cultivate relationships that affirm your worth and potential. And most importantly, recognise that your doubts don’t define you – your connections do. In embracing our interdependence, we not only combat our own doubts but contribute to a culture where everyone can thrive.
After all, in the grand tapestry of life, we are all threads – unique, essential, and unbreakably linked. We can weave a world where doubt has less power, and where the strength of our connections serves the whole.
In movement, we engage in a kind of alchemy of the past. We come into relation with ourselves, not as we want to be but as we actually are. This can be a very sobering coming home because we become aware of things we weren’t so connected to before.
Way back when and all the way to now, we shut off those difficult experiences because they were too much, and no one was there to guide us. We had to learn to close off, to numb out, to disconnect in any way we could. Yet, those strategies did nothing to help the parts of us that got locked out.
In movement, though, we can safely enter those places that are undigested, unresolved, and calling out for the light of awareness. I have been taught that being alone in your pain is not the same as being witnessed in it. There is something in the witnessing that allows us to release in a different way, as if we are longing to be seen in our whole being. Arguably, allowing that kind of seeing in is what heals us. We get the message from the outside that we’re okay, even in the worst of it.
We really are okay even if we don’t feel that way. When we open to what we are a part of, there is no other option but to heal. Healing not as a deliberate act but rather a consequence of letting in that connectedness. Remembering a little at a time where we come from, what we are connected to, and what moves us. Not what we think should excite us, but what actually does. And it’s the body that tells us, that carries this truth to what author, Robert Greene calls our primal inclination—the thing that we don’t need to second guess; it just feels right.
I came to dance in my twenties, at a time in my life when I was very shut down. I had chronic fatigue that I could not shake no matter how much I tried. Nothing worked, and few doctors had anything sensible to tell me. Movement for me was probably the first medicine that actually started to work. Not that there were overnight changes, but slowly, over time, I began to get into the hard-to-reach places and thaw some of the numb, shut down, frozen parts in me. It was this quality of movement that invited me to move with how I actually was, and not how I wanted to be, that made it possible to be with myself in a kinder way. It was the discovery of this kindness that I think, more than anything else, allowed the illness to move.
How to Dance?
If it’s not something you do often, it’s easy to start. Take any music you like and match it with your mood. If you feel down, don’t go straight to the upbeat stuff. Start where you are, letting go of any expectation for it to be different. You can make as many “mistakes” as you like, only to see that the only real mistake is to stay still. Follow your body, include your whole body, and be curious. Start with just a few minutes, anywhere, anytime.
I’m often surprised how easy it is to slip into the drama triangle. The allure of the victim, the sudden pull of the villain or the griping impulse to be the hero. Each comes with it’s appeal, and gives a feeling of identity. I am this person who was wronged, or I am the one who has to save the situation. The problem isn’t that we play these characters, its when we don’t know we do.
We’ve all been there – stuck in a cycle of drama, finger-pointing and disempowerment. Whether it’s with a partner, coworker or friend, you may find yourself slipping into one of three toxic roles: the Victim, Persecutor (Villain) or Rescuer (Hero). This is the drama triangle (first described by Stephen Karpman in the 1960s), and it keeps us trapped in repeating patterns. We can become totally lost in these behaviours that ultimately drain vital life energy.
How it works: The Victim feels powerless, blameless and at the mercy of circumstances. “Poor me, nothing’s my fault”, or it can be a lot subtler than this. The Villain points fingers, blames, criticises and puts others down. “You did it!” And the Hero tries to “save the day” or fix the other two, while disempowering them further.
Even if you have an awareness of how these play out in you, to me it’s a never ending job that doesn’t not need to be fun or at the least entertaining. Even in the most serious moments we can still access some humour. Start by noticing when you slip into one of these roles. Is the helpless, helpless Victim voice taking over? “I just can’t do this, it’s impossible!” Or the bullying, blaming Persecutor? “This is a disaster because of your incompetence!” If so, pause. Breathe. Slow it down and bring some awareness to this part of you. Try be curious about it.
You’re also acknowledging that its just a part of you. Its not out there, we do a U-turn and and see it in ourselves. We can be interested in what’s actually happening. How are your actions (or inactions) contributing to the situation? Often there are valid fears, old wounds or unmet needs driving these roles.
Here’s an example: Sam erupted at his wife for leaving dishes in the sink. Villain, pointing fingers and making her wrong. But upon reflection, Sam realised he was defensive because he felt unappreciated and disrespected by her lack of effort (unmet need). His outburst was a cry for more consideration.
Once you have that self-awareness, you can communicate your experience more clearly. Sam could say: “Dear, I get triggered when I see dishes piling up because it makes me feel disrespected and like my efforts don’t matter..”
This is the antidote to the triangle: being vulnerable, sharing your perspective with “I” statements, and making requests for what you need. No Persecutors, no Victims. Just two humans working through life together.
Of course, old habits die hard. Sam may still slip into drama roles. But with practice, he can catch himself sooner. “Ah, there’s that blaming Persecutor voice again. What’s really going on here?” Staying present with your experience.
The triangle is seductive because it lets us think we’re justified in feeling powerless or lashing out. But it’s ultimately a distraction – an avoidance of taking responsibility or getting our real needs met. As we exit the triangle, we also see what changes are needed in us to create better outcomes ?
In addition to the story in the mind, each role also has a somatic pattern. Bringing attention to the body is key. We notice what happens in the body as we play different parts. Where do you feel contractions or tension ? What is it like to stay a few moments with those sensations? and keep noticing …
The Victim
Energetically, playing the archetypal Victim feels defeated, collapsed and hopeless. There’s a sunken chest, slumped shoulders and lack of vital life force. You may notice shallow breathing, lack of grounding and feeling cut off from your centre.
To work with this pattern somatically, start by consciously breathing into your body. Notice any held areas and breathe into them with curiosity. Gently engage your core by laying one hand on your belly.
As your breath deepens, you may feel a sense of being anchored in yourself, embodied rather than spaced out or overwhelmed. Stay present with physical sensations, letting the story in the mind fall away.
The Villain
When the Villain takes over, feel the tension and stuckness. There might be a tightness in the jaw, chest and shoulders as you prepare for battle. The body is braced, heart rate elevated and breath constricted. You’re flooded with stress hormones, ready to fight.
One way to shift this pattern, is to slow your breath down and exhale longer than you inhale. Let your belly fully release with each out-breath. Unclench your hands and relax your face and tongue. Feel your jaw softening. Shake out any residual muscular armouring. Alternatively, let it get stronger, exaggerate the sensations and allow yourself to explore what movement wants to come here.
As you stay present with the physical experience, you’ll notice in time things start to settle.
The Hero (rescuer)
Playing the Rescuer can keep one stuck in a kind of anxious overdrive. There’s a buzzing, hyper-aroused quality as you try to fix and save everyone else. You may be speaking quickly, mentally spinning and engaging in shallow chest breathing. Many of these sensations may also overlap with the other roles.
To ground and reorient, bring focus to the base of your spine and imagine sending roots deep into the earth below you. Breathe slowly into your low belly. Relax your shoulders and sense the earth beneath your feet. Peta Levine also suggests the “Voo” sound as way to regulate.
From this embodied state we can feel into and become aware of the right amount of help needed for the situation. Also noting that the hero can also show up as a distracting force, rescuing us from uncomfortable emotions. Like being on social media too long, or watching endless TV series etc.
The key is using the breath and body awareness as an anchor to what’s really happening, we begin to see through the drama to reality as it is.
The drama triangle is one of life’s most ubiquitous traps. But we all have the power to step out of the cycle into awareness. Its the game of being able to be in beginners mind, which always notices with curiosity as we’re in the patterns we don’t like to see.
