Page 71 of Vivacity
‘Let me try that again, please. You’ll be amazing at that. You definitely have a special gift. I can’t imagine how many people you’ll help.’
‘Thank you,’ she whispers. She raises her head a fraction so she can put her lips close to mine. ‘And for what it’s worth, I’m so very proud of you for the step you’ve taken today.’
With that, she kisses me.
CHAPTER 32
Ethan
Over the last few days, I’ve felt the presence of that small, devastated boy I met in that consultation room. Philip told me to keep him close this week, to show him my life. To demonstrate to him that I’m a grown man and I’ve got him. I love him. I can fight his battles so he doesn’t have to be scared anymore. Basically, he explained that I can learn to parent myself, to be the father figure for those stuck younger parts that they didn’t have. He even said something about rewriting my childhood.
All of it still strikes me as just this side of batshit crazy, but I can’t help but be moved by it somehow. In business, I’m always on the lookout for that silver bullet—the single act or decision or efficiency that will change the game. And while none of this stuff is easy—on the contrary, it seems excruciatingly hard—it’s certainlyclear. It’s a path. And the idea that this path might lead me to a new future, if I’m strong enough to follow it, one step at a time, is as entrancing as it is terrifying. I’ll admit that much.
The sense of conflict lasts until my next appointment with Philip. He starts by asking me how I’ve been feeling about our first session, checking in on that little boy we met last time, and then asks whether I have anything in particular I want todiscuss. I’m far from ready to bring up the reason I’m here in the first place—my abysmal failure at parenting my own son—so I raise my reaction to Sophia’s admission that she’d like to continue her studies at some point.
I intentionally keep things as vague as possible. Rather than disclose the nature of my contractual relationship with Soph, I mention that we’re seeing each other on the side and were in bed at the time. Neither do I divulge her interest in IFS as a career. I’m unsure if she’s previously discussed that with him. But I do talk him through my knee-jerk, and pretty fucking nasty, reaction.
He cocks his head and surveys me, tapping his folded spectacles on his knee in what I’m beginning to see is a habit of sorts. ‘Okay. So she shared her future plans with you, and it sounds like a part was instantly activated. Can you recall how that moment felt in your body?’
I think for a moment. ‘Instant withdrawal.Instant.I just wanted to get away from her as soon as possible. She was, um, lying on my arm, and I actually pulled it out from under her. And there was some kind of screaming in my ears that made me want to abort. It almost felt like an ejector seat,’ I add sheepishly.
‘Mm hmm.’ He says it without judgement, without inflection. ‘Anything else?’
‘I felt extremely hurt. But in a really childish way, like it was personal. It felt as though she’d hurt my feelings. That sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.’ I snort, forcing myself to keep going. ‘But at the same time, I was angry, and I wanted to ice her out. So I got really huffy and distant with her. I could feel my entire body going completely rigid, as if I wanted to punish her. It was the kind of lashing out that I seriously despise about myself—you know, she hurt me, and I couldn’t let that stand, not for a single second, so I had to turn the tables and make her feel as shitty as she made me feel. It was really uncalled for.’
‘So’—he taps his glasses on his thigh again—‘I’m hearing a few parts there. There’s the part who feels hurt and abandoned—sounds like a younger part, possibly the little guy we met last time. Then there’s the very fierce protector, who wanted to armour up immediately and both withdraw from Sophia and punish her—or that’s possibly two protectors, even. And, finally, there’s a part who’s observing all this and shaming you for the way you reacted—probably another protector.’
When I feel overwhelmed at work, my most tried-and-tested trick is to grab a pen and a notepad and write it all out. Make lists. Do a mind map. Bullet points. Circling things. Underlining. Whatever it takes to get the mess out of my head and wrangled into some sort of order.
Oddly, that seems to be what’s happening here.
Philip has taken my unstructured word-vomit of how I perceived that interaction with Soph and created a list of characters who each have a very specific agenda. It’s astonishing, actually.
I nod slowly, attempting to process this cast of, well, parts of me. ‘Yeah. That makes sense.’
‘How do you feel about shutting your eyes and seeing if any of them have something more to say? If that boardroom analogy still serves you, maybe you could ask those guys to take a seat, and we can see if anyone else shows up, too.’
‘All right.’ I shut my eyes and take a deep breath, balling my hands into fists in my lap.
‘Feel free to take a couple more slow breaths,’ he advises. ‘If you can, visualise them sitting across the table from you. Whatever you can do to experience some degree of separation from them. They may be parts of you, but they’re notyou. Try to bring them to mind one by one as separate entities. The hurt little boy. The harsh critic. The icy one. And the angry one, if you feel he’s separate.’
I do as he says, slowing my breathing and focusing on getting those other entities to sit down. That hurt part does indeed seem to be the nine-year-old I’ve been hanging out with this week. He’s sniffing and he wipes his hand across his nose. His eyes are red and puffy, but there’s a mutinous aspect, too. He’s sulking, I realise. Poor little guy. Not for the first time, I wonder how the hell my brain is capable of this kind of visualisation.
The ice king, as I’ll name him, seems older. He’s maybe in his early twenties? He’s wearing a suit, and he has an off-putting energy—acome anywhere near me and you’ll regret itenergy. He’s radiating tension and twitching with his need to control this situation, but is he angry? No. No, I can’t feel it. It’s more that his walls are sky high. An ice king in his castle. Mentally, I make him take a seat. He sits at the head of the boardroom table and crosses his arms, unimpressed.
Following him, my inner critic sits down. He’s older still. It feels like he might be the age I was when my marriage started imploding a few years back, when I was failing epically with my son and my wife was in pieces all the time. He feels seriously bitter. Wounded, maybe? He’s muttering to himself that it’s all my fault. That I drive everyone away. Nevertheless, I have him across the table from me, thank fuck.
‘Okay, um, I’ve got the hurt little one and the ice king sitting down. And the critic.’ I blow out a breath. ‘Jesus, this feels like herding cats. Or being a kindergarten teacher.’
He laughs softly. ‘Funnily enough, that kindergarten analogy is a familiar one in IFS. When your parts are running the show, it can absolutely feel like a classroom of little kids where the teacher has stepped out for a minute. But never fear, there is an adult in charge, and it’s you. We just need to make them aware of that fact.
‘Now, see if you can observe how you feel for a moment. Does it feel a little less busy in there, now that you’ve managed some separation?’
I consider. ‘Yeah. It feels like… less of a circus.’
‘Great. That’s wonderful. Now, why don’t you see if you can identify anyone else. Is the angry part still in there, do you think?’
Squeezing my eyes more tightly shut, I cast my mind inward. Why was I so angry that day? Why did I want to lash out at Soph, to make her feel like shit?
