There is a multitude within me

She looks at me with eyes filled with a mixture of sadness, powerlessness, and bewilderment. ‘I feel so unstable, I'm really not normal.’  She already knows the metaphor of the inner bus, so I reply that there might be a lot of people on her inner bus at the moment and add: ‘See if you can manage to change the word labile into ‘There is multiplicity within me.’

She sighs for a moment. I see that she is calming down a bit. ‘I often forget to look at it that way. Sometimes it feels like one big chaos inside myself, and then I can't see things clearly anymore. But what you're saying is right, there is multiplicity in me.’ I invite her to be curious with me about everything that is in there. She talks about her anger toward the world, about her sadness that she can feel so lonely, about how she judges herself.

That is often how it goes. Inner parts have emerged to protect us when we feel vulnerable. Parts that have been in our lives for so long because they once had to appear. ‘We are wired for connection, we are rewired for protection.’ It is a quote by Gabor Maté that I like to use to explain why we unconsciously protect ourselves as children. When we come into the world, we are wired for connection. Alongside all physical needs, a child requires closeness and warm attention. If parents, often because of their own baggage, lack the capacity to provide the necessary safe warmth, the child will rewire themselves, this time out of self-protection. 

In Voice Dialogue do we call that the birth of primary sub-personalities. Parts that have come to make sure we feel as safe as possible. I see quite a few different kinds of protectors emerge. Sometimes people brace themselves, become distrustful or angry at the world. Others try to avoid conflicts or numb themselves. You can also instinctively freeze and cut all connection, or you adapt and sacrifice your own needs for the sake of peace. All these parts come with the very best intentions. They deserve understanding and empathy. After all, what you honor makes room for something else.

Later in the conversation, we pause to focus on a young part of her. She feels the old loneliness. I ask her to visualize how she herself, as the adult she is now, can be with that child from back then in a compassionate way. She says, while keeping her eyes closed: ‘I see a small child, and I also see the protectors around her. She is so small. So alone. No wonder so much protection is needed.’ It becomes quiet. Inside her. Inside me. She places both hands at heart level. With every breath, she breathes warmth into that part deep inside. I, too, place my hands on my heart and feel along with her. A small gesture. A huge impact.