great one!
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Hi Tala,
How are things going? It’s been a tiresome week and I’m having a hard time writing lately, but I’ll try to do our usual outline of a good thing, hard thing (and maybe something slightly amusing)
Good Thing(s): Enjoyed reading the book “Stop Missing Your Life” (Cory Muscara) and feel more motivated to start a meditation/mindfulness practice. Started a little notebook called “Gentle Uplifts for Low Days” and will add to it as I discover new tools and practices that work for me.
Hard things: Pushed too hard at work Wednesday and then took mom to medical appointment the next morning (while she complained alot) and ended up very exhausted.
New thing: Decided to try the 7 day free trial of “Waji” (emdr / bilateral) just out of curiousity (https://getwaji.com/)
Slightly amusing thing(s) - (and something beautiful) - see below:
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Went to the movies this afternoon (Star Wars: The Mandalorian and Grogu) and really enjoyed it. But struggled some in my relationship with mom and had this conversation with the Naz on Demand AI later (I found this helpful from an IFS perspective):
Me: I was having a low energy day, but since it’s my only day off this weekend and I’m working all week, I was trying to figure out a way to blend some housework and chores with some relaxation and fun and finally decided to go out to a movie (the new star wars mandalorian & grogu was playing). So I asked mom if maybe she would go to the movie she wanted to see (Devil Wears Prada 2) and I would go to my movie and we could meet later at Walmart and pick up a few groceries. So she agreed and since she is the one with a vehicle and I have no wheels, it worked out for me to get a drive with her too.
But she was 25 minutes later than the time we agreed on (she has a pattern of being late) and then she kept dragging her heels and going really slow once we got to the mall. I told her I wanted to go get my ticket for the show and would like to be on time, but she just kept wanting attention and pulled out these coupons and wanted me to figure them out for her, etc. God. I am tired and do not have alot of bandwidth for this kind of shit today. So I just got my ticket and told her I was going to my movie and didn’t want to be late and would meet her later. And she agreed.
It’s just that when I was in the movie trying to relax and just enjoy the show, my inner critic was saying how I should be more patient with my elderly mother and should try to be more compassionate and all this inner activation around how I should be more giving and understanding, etc. etc.
I had to take some time to tap on it and try to talk myself into more calmness and reasonableness. My own inner guidance seems to say that I am being too hard on myself and the fact that she was so late and I am already so weary and then her wanting me to take even more time with these coupons - it was really alot to expect and it’s not unreasonable for me to want to get to my movie on time.
Just rolling all this around in my head and trying to learn to be kinder to myself.
Naz: This sounds like one of those situations where the facts and the guilt are telling two completely different stories.
The facts:
- You had one day off.
- You were already low on energy.
- You made a plan that allowed both of you to enjoy your own movie and still do groceries together afterward.
- Your mom arrived significantly later than agreed.
- Once there, she wanted additional attention and help with something that wasn’t urgent.
- You communicated clearly that you wanted to get your ticket and be on time.
- You still met up with her later.
Nothing in that sequence sounds harsh, cruel, or uncaring.
What I’m hearing is that your inner critic jumped in with a very familiar rule:
“A good son/daughter is endlessly patient with their elderly mother.”
The problem is that rule usually leaves out an important second sentence:
“…even when they’re exhausted, even when plans are being disregarded, even when they have needs too.”
And that’s where things get wonky.
A little parts lens here:
I wonder if the activated part isn’t actually about today’s movie at all.
There may be a protector carrying a job description that sounds something like:
“We must keep Mom happy. We must not disappoint Mom. We must be understanding at all times. If we prioritize ourselves, we’re selfish.”
If that’s the part speaking, then of course it got activated the second you chose your movie start time over her coupons.
Not because you did something wrong.
Because you did something different.
Those are not the same thing.
One question I’d be curious about:
How old do you feel when that guilt shows up?
Not how old are you.
How old do you feel?
Because the intensity of the guilt sometimes tells us we’re no longer reacting as today’s adult self. A younger part may have taken the wheel for a minute.
You might try a little update for that part:
“I know you’re worried we’re being selfish.”
“I know you want us to be a good child.”
“But we’re not abandoning Mom.”
“We’re going to a movie on time.”
“We can care about her and care about ourselves at the same time.”
That’s a very different energy from:
“Shut up, guilt. You’re irrational.”
We’re not gaslighting the nervous system today. We’re listening to the concern and then offering updated information.
Something else stands out:
You said your own inner guidance was telling you that you were being too hard on yourself.
I pay attention when someone says that. Usually by the time we’re hearing that quieter voice, we’ve already done enough processing to know the truth.
The truth may simply be:
“Of course I was frustrated. I was tired, she was late, and my bandwidth was limited.”
That’s not a moral failure.
That’s information.
And honestly, one of the sneakiest forms of conditional self-love is:
“I’ll be a good person when I can stay endlessly patient no matter how depleted I am.”
Nope.
Being kind to yourself might look more like:
“I wish I had unlimited patience today. I didn’t. I still handled this reasonably well.”
That’s a much fairer standard.
One tiny reflection prompt for tonight:
What boundary did I actually hold today that my guilt is trying to talk me out of?
Because from where I’m sitting, the boundary wasn’t “I don’t care about my mother.”
The boundary was:
“My movie starts at a certain time, and I’m allowed to go enjoy it.”
That’s a pretty ordinary, healthy boundary. The fact that guilt showed up afterward doesn’t automatically mean the boundary was wrong. Sometimes it just means a protector isn’t used to seeing you choose yourself.
Me: Yes, there are old outdated messages about how I am supposed to be endlessly patient no matter how depleted I am. And that it’s selfish for me to put my own needs first. And just this impossible to meet standard of being some kind of saint when I’m with my mother no matter how demanding she is, or how late she is. But I’m in the process of letting this shit go. .. Or at least becoming alot more aware of it. And the ages I felt were around 11 and 21 (at 21 I was involved in a fundamentalist church and getting alot of religious messages about honoring your parents and being very compassionate and giving unconditionally, etc.)
Naz: That makes so much sense.
What you’re describing doesn’t sound like a part that was created today because your mother was late. It sounds like a part carrying decades of training.
And notice something important: the messages from age 11 and age 21 aren’t actually the same message, but they reinforce each other.
The 11-year-old version might sound like:
“Don’t make waves.”
“Be good.”
“Take care of other people’s feelings.”
“Your needs can wait.”
Then the 21-year-old fundamentalist version comes along and gives that same pattern a moral and spiritual justification:
“Self-sacrifice is virtuous.”
“Good people give more.”
“Honor your parents.”
“Your discomfort is less important than serving others.”
So now you don’t just have a habit.
You have a habit that was blessed by authority figures and wrapped in morality.
Those are some sticky roots.
No wonder the inner critic got loud in the movie theater.
In a way, that critic wasn’t evaluating the situation objectively. It was running old programming:
“Alert! Alert! We’re choosing ourselves! This may be selfishness!”
Meanwhile Adult You is sitting there thinking:
“I’m literally just trying to get to a movie on time.”
It’s almost funny when you put the two side by side.
One thing I often notice with people unpacking this kind of conditioning is that the nervous system confuses having boundaries with being unloving.
But those aren’t opposites.
You can love someone deeply and still think:
“I am not discussing coupons right now.”
You can love someone deeply and think:
“You being 25 minutes late doesn’t mean I have to be late too.”
You can love someone deeply and think:
“I have one day off and I need some enjoyment today.”
None of those statements cancel out the love.
The old conditioning often acts as though love and self-respect are mutually exclusive. As if you have to pick one.
Adult You is discovering that you can actually hold both.
I also want to point out something I think deserves credit:
You didn’t explode.
You didn’t punish her.
You didn’t shame her.
You didn’t abandon the outing.
You simply separated from her long enough to do what you had already planned to do.
That’s a pretty regulated response, especially given that you were already depleted.
If those younger parts were sitting with us, I’d be curious what they think would happen if you stopped trying to be a saint.
Because that’s usually where the gold is.
Maybe the 11-year-old fears:
“People will be disappointed in me.”
Maybe the 21-year-old fears:
“I’ll become selfish.”
“I’ll be a bad person.”
“God will be displeased.”
Whatever the exact fear is, I’d bet it’s much bigger than today’s reality.
You might try this little update:
“I know you learned that love means endless self-sacrifice.”
“I know you think good people never inconvenience others.”
“But I’m not 11 anymore.”
“I’m not 21 anymore.”
“I’m allowed to have limits.”
“Going to a movie on time is not a moral failure.”
And honestly, there is something really encouraging in what you wrote:
“I’m in the process of letting this shit go.”
That doesn’t sound like someone trapped in the conditioning.
That sounds like someone who can already see the conditioning from the outside.
The guilt still visits, but you’re starting to recognize it as an old message rather than an objective truth. That’s a huge shift. The goal isn’t necessarily to never hear those voices again. The goal is that when they show up, you can say:
“Ah. There’s the 11-year-old rulebook. There’s the 21-year-old church programming.”
And then decide, as today’s adult, whether those rules still get a vote.
Me: The 11 year old thinks it’s her job to make sure mom is okay (back then mom was drinking alot and my younger self tried to check in on her when she went on binges). The 21 year old fears it means she is selfish and “not a good person” if she puts her own needs and feelings first. And all of this is starting to let go and not have such a hold on me, but it’s gonna take some time to not hear the guilt voices at all, as you say. I like the question - “I wonder what happens if I stop trying to be a saint?” It makes me smile abit. I will be exploring it.
Naz: That actually feels like a really important distinction.
The 11-year-old isn’t trying to be difficult. She’s carrying a genuinely serious job:
“If Mom isn’t okay, I need to make sure she is.”
For a child with a parent who was binge drinking, that makes perfect sense. Kids are incredibly adaptive. They don’t sit down and consciously decide to become caretakers; they just notice what feels unsafe and start compensating.
So when present-day Mom is late, demanding attention, or creating extra stress, that 11-year-old may not be reacting to coupons at all.
She may be reacting to an old alarm:
“Mom needs something. We need to pay attention. We need to manage this.”
No wonder she gets activated.
And the 21-year-old has a different job:
“Make sure we’re a good person.”
That part sounds less like a caretaker and more like a moral monitor. A kind of internal church elder sitting in the corner with a clipboard.
Every time you choose yourself, she checks the rulebook:
“Was that selfish?”
“Was that loving enough?”
“Would a truly good person have done more?”
Honestly, I have a lot of compassion for both of them.
They’re exhausting, but they’re trying to protect you from things that once felt very real:
- abandonment
- criticism
- shame
- disapproval
- being seen as selfish
- being seen as unloving
The beautiful thing is that neither part seems to be running the whole show anymore.
The fact that you can name them this clearly is huge.
You can already hear the difference between:
“I am selfish.”
and
“A 21-year-old part of me worries I’m selfish.”
Those are completely different experiences.
One is fused.
One is witnessing.
And witnessing creates choice.
The question about sainthood made me smile too, because I suspect there is something liberating hiding in it.
Imagine the worst-case scenario according to those old parts:
“What if I stop trying to be a saint?”
And then imagine what actually happens.
Maybe you:
- go to your movie on time
- say no to coupons for the moment
- get groceries afterward
- go home
- the world continues spinning
It’s almost disappointingly ordinary.
Sometimes healing is less dramatic than our protectors expect. They’re braced for catastrophe, and what actually happens is:
“Huh. I had a boundary. Nobody died.”
One thing I’d be curious to explore with those parts is this:
What if being a good person and taking care of yourself are not competing goals?
The old framework says:
Good person = self-sacrifice.
But maybe adult reality is closer to:
Good person = caring about others and respecting your own limits.
That version doesn’t require sainthood.
It requires honesty.
And from everything you’ve shared, what happened at the mall sounds much more like honesty than selfishness.
The image that comes to mind is your 11-year-old and your 21-year-old standing beside you in the theater, both whispering urgent warnings while you’re trying to watch a movie.
And present-day you gently saying:
“I know you’re worried.”
“Thank you for looking out for us.”
“Mom is okay.”
“We’re okay.”
“And for the next two hours, we’re watching Star Wars.”
Honestly, that’s a pretty lovely update for both of them. They don’t have to stop caring. They just don’t have to work every shift anymore. 
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Honestly so tired too. Its been a huge week and I want to have energy to do cool things rather than use up all my energy working.
I also need to eat some healthy food but am lacking the energy to cook.
Good things - receiving love and care and understanding; peaceful quiet nature and trees and water. Love your cherry tree.
Hard things - tiredness, health challenges and pain, and a bunch of other things that are hard to describe to do with my insides and thoughts and patterns and flaws that affect my relationships with others. Or how i feel in them.
Slightly amusing - seeing the funnies you posted above. I am totally happy to step out of adulting. “Not feeling equipped at all for the role. Thanks for the offer though! “
I could totally just lie down in the sun on that path of trees and flowers you posted.
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Still so tired. Sometimes I just feel like there is no space to breathe in my work day. Even if i stop for a break. It just takes so much energy to gather and keep going. Given i am suddenly here writing this I am directed to asking myself….how can I be kind to myself right now, feeling so tired, and still needing to complete work.
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Sorry to hear you’re struggling so much with tiredness. Sending good thoughts / healing vibes that you’ll find your best path to self-kindness today.
(I’m also quite weary and so looking forward to this weekend off).
Not sure if I should share all this here or not - it feels abit vulnerable. But had a good tapping session with Gus this morning and it created a positive shift, so I’ll take a shot at sharing it (and worry about the vulnerability hang-over later)… 
Me: I would like to try doing some tapping for this new day and this weekend. Because even though I have two days off - I am so exhausted/drained and yet also behind on housework and laundry - I am going to need both days to rest (and mix the resting together with bits of housework & chores here & there). I feel discouraged and negative and fed up with this tired body.
Gus: I hear you—exhausted, drained, behind on housework and laundry, and needing both days just to rest while also trying to chip away at the pile. And underneath that, fed up. That’s a real mix, and I want to meet it straight.
Here’s what I’m noticing: you’re describing a weekend that has to do two contradictory things at once. Your body is asking for deep rest. Your mind is looking at laundry and housework and feeling the weight of that gap. Both are true. Both matter.
The tapping we can do right now is for exactly this—the discouragement and the fed-up feeling that comes when you’re this exhausted and looking at what still needs doing. Not to fix the tiredness (that needs rest), but to settle the frustration and that “tired of being tired” charge so your nervous system isn’t fighting you on top of everything else.
Let me give you a setup that meets where you actually are:
Side of Hand (Karate Chop): Even though I’m exhausted and there’s housework and laundry waiting, and I’m just fed up with how tired this body is, I’m willing to let some of this frustration settle. Even though I have two days and they feel like they need to do everything at once, I’m open to finding a way through that doesn’t require me to be someone I’m not right now.
Then through the points:
Top of head: This exhaustion, this fed-up feeling Eyebrow: Behind on laundry, behind on housework Side of eye: And my body is asking me to rest Under eye: This tired of being tired Under nose: I’m frustrated with how much effort everything takes Chin: And I need these two days to actually rest Collarbone: Even if the chores don’t all get done Under arm: I’m letting myself be tired and be human right now
Take a breath. How does that land?
Me: Yes, it helps some. But there is also the reality of dishes piled up in the sink and the fact that I already put off doing laundry for a week or more and will have to do some this weekend or run out of clothes to wear and clean underwear. (ha ha). But usually I can find ways to blend resting and chores and then more resting. I can muddle through. It’s just that I also long for more fun & delight & pleasure and creativity and nature and other things besides just chores and rest.
Gus: Yeah, I hear you. And there’s something real in what you’re saying that I want to name.
You’ve got two things pulling at you—legitimately both true. Your body is saying rest, and the practical reality is saying there are dishes, there’s laundry, there’s a week’s worth of unwashed things piling up. You can’t just ignore the second one and pretend it doesn’t exist. That’s not how bodies work with chronic fatigue; the background hum of “I should be doing this” doesn’t actually let you rest, even when you’re lying down.
So you’ve figured something out: you can blend them. Bits of chores mixed with rest. That’s not muddling through—that’s actually wise. You’re working with your body’s reality instead of against it.
But there’s a third thing underneath both of those, and I want to honor it because you brought it up directly: you long for fun, delight, pleasure, creativity, nature. Not instead of the chores and rest. Also. And that longing matters. It’s not extra or frivolous. It’s your aliveness asking for something.
Here’s what I’m noticing: when you’re this exhausted and fed up, when chores and rest feel like they’re taking up all the available space, the longing for delight can start to feel like a luxury you can’t afford. Like something that has to wait until everything else is handled. And with chronic fatigue, that “someday when it’s all handled” often never comes.
What if one small piece of delight or creativity or nature doesn’t have to wait for the housework to be done? Not instead of the chores—but woven in, the way you already blend resting and chores. A few minutes of something that feeds your aliveness while you’re already moving through the weekend.
What feels most possible to you—something small that could slip into these two days without adding pressure?
Me: For today - maybe abit of creativity while laying on the couch if I put my creative supplies beside me on a chair within easy reach. And abit of wild soul movement, even just gently while still in bed. I’m kind of enjoying nature while laying in bed looking out the window now - because there is a gentle breeze and I can hear the birds chirping and see the green trees outside my window. But my mind goes into deprivation mode abit and complains it wants more - and the reality is that I’m too weary to go for any walks today or go over to my sister’s place and relax in her backyard. And tomorrow the forecast calls for rain, so that won’t be my day to be outdoors either. It’s easy to get discouraged and focus on what is missing or all these various limtations, but I need a way to focus on possibilities even tiny ones. If I’m creative about it, I can find small bits of creativity, nature, delight and play, but it takes a certain willingness and openness and even “creativity of mind” to do so. What my tired mind will tend to focus on instead is the reality that I had hoped to soon find a good day to put up my little mini pool at my sister’s place (so I can enjoy relaxing in her backyard on hot summer days), and yet I’m too exhausted to do that today, and tomorrow is rain (and to be honest I would likely still be too exhausted anyways). I worry I will not get around to the pool set up (which takes about 3 hours) for awhile and that gets me down since it’s June already.
Gus: I hear you naming something that matters: the gap between what your body can do right now and what your mind is telling you should happen. And underneath that, a longing for aliveness—for fun, delight, creativity, nature—that feels like it’s waiting somewhere down the road instead of available now.
Here’s what I’m noticing in what you’re saying. You’ve actually already found small ways in: you’re lying in bed looking out the window at trees and birds and green things. That is nature. That is delight, even if your mind goes into deprivation mode and says it wants more. Your mind is doing what minds do when they’re tired and frustrated—they fixate on what’s missing instead of landing on what’s actually there.
The pool setup, June already, three hours it takes, the rain tomorrow, the exhaustion today—I get why all of that lands as discouraging. You’re looking at a timeline that doesn’t match your hopes. But I want to gently point something out: that disappointment is real and valid, and it’s also a thought your tired mind is holding, not necessarily the whole truth of your summer.
Summers are long. June just started. Your body will have stronger days ahead. The pool will get set up, probably not this weekend, but it will. And in the meantime—while you’re blending rest and chores and bits of housework—there’s room for small creative things, for gentle movement in bed, for looking out the window and actually letting yourself enjoy what you’re seeing instead of arguing with it.
The “creativity of mind” you mentioned—that willingness and openness to find tiny bits of delight even when you’re exhausted—that’s not a luxury add-on. That’s actually how you stay connected to aliveness while your body is asking for rest.
What if this weekend, instead of tapping into the frustration about what you can’t do, you got curious about one small thing that does feel doable and feeds your aliveness? Not the pool. Not a walk. Something that fits where you actually are—laying down, resting the toe, present. (Me / side note: I hurt my fourth toe at work and it’s bruised and red, something I mentioned to Gus before in a previous conversation, so I’ve got my foot up and am putting ice on it).
What comes to mind?
Me: Well, I just notice a part of me that is all whiney and feels deprived and does not want to have to practice “creativity of mind” in order to “enjoy the small things”. There is resistance and sort of pissy-ness about that. So some tapping for this part that seems abit stuck in her misery would help.
Gus: Yeah. That part—the whiney, deprived part that doesn’t want to have to practice creativity of mind to enjoy small things—that’s real, and it deserves to be heard, not bypassed.
There’s a charge in what you’re naming. A kind of righteous frustration: “Why should I have to work so hard just to find a crumb of joy? Why can’t life just give me what I’m longing for without me having to engineer it?” That’s not small. That part is saying something true about fairness and what you’ve already had to carry with this tired body.
Let’s tap on exactly that—the resistance, the pissiness, the “I shouldn’t have to do this.” Not to convince the part to change, but to let her be heard and settled at the same time.
Side of Hand (Karate Chop): Even though this part of me is so tired of having to be creative just to find a little joy, and she’s pissed that life isn’t just handing me delight on a platter, I’m willing to hear her. Even though she feels deprived and done with all the extra effort, I’m open to letting her voice settle a little.
Then through the points:
Top of head: This whiney, deprived part Eyebrow: I’m tired of working for crumbs of joy Side of eye: This isn’t fair Under eye: Why should I have to be creative about it? Under nose: I just want life to give me what I’m longing for Chin: Without me having to figure it out Collarbone: This part is so pissed, and she’s right Under arm: I’m letting her be heard right here
Take a breath. How does that land for her?
Me: She appreciates abit of airspace to express herself. The feelings shifted abit - less frustration, more of an edge of sadness/grief.
Gus: That shift from frustration to sadness and grief—that’s real, and it matters. The pissiness was protecting something underneath, and now that part of you is touching what she’s actually grieving.
Sadness is tougher to sit with than anger. Anger has a push to it; sadness is heavier, slower. But it’s also where the truth lives. She’s grieving that life hasn’t handed her delight on a platter. That she’s had to work so hard just to find scraps of joy. That’s not small.
You don’t have to do anything with this sadness right now except let it be there. Your body knows how to move through it—slowly, in its own way. If you want to keep tapping on it, we can. Or you can just lie there and let it settle, knowing it’s being witnessed.
What feels right to you in this moment?
Me: Well, I want to honor the sadness/grief and yet not get too bogged down in it. I wish I could feel just open to life in new ways - even if it’s this need to have a certain “creativity of mind” to see and create the small delights, to be willing to find them and create them and not sit around feeling sorry for myself. It’s hard though. And yet I want to be willing to stay open to the goodness and not dwell on the misery. So some tapping for all that.
Gus: That’s exactly what needs tapping right now—that part that’s tired of working for joy, and the sadness underneath it. Let me give you something that holds both the resistance and the longing you’re describing.
Side of Hand (Karate Chop): Even though I’m tired of having to be creative just to find a little delight, and I’m grieving what life hasn’t handed me on a platter, I’m willing to honor both of these feelings. Even though this part wants to stay open to goodness but keeps bumping into the weight of limitation, I’m open to letting her soften just a little.
Then through the points:
Top of head: This weariness, this grief Eyebrow: Tired of the extra effort Side of eye: And sad about what hasn’t come easily Under eye: I want to stay open to life, and it’s hard Under nose: All this heaviness I’m carrying Chin: But maybe I can honor the openness AND the sadness Collarbone: Without forcing myself to be grateful for scraps Under arm: I’m letting both parts of me be here right now
Take a breath. Notice what shifted, if anything.
The thing I’m hearing underneath all of this is real: you’re not asking to stop grieving or to become endlessly positive. You’re asking if you can hold the sadness AND stay willing. If you can honor how hard it’s been AND still reach for small delights without that feeling like betrayal or denial.
That’s not about willpower or mindset tricks. That’s about letting your whole self—the grieving part, the open part, the fed-up part—all be welcome at the same table.
How does that land?
Me: It lands well. And my mind started to imagine being at the “Grief Retreat in Bali” as I was tapping and saying the words in front of the whole group of people there who are working on their grief too - and feeling more heard and seen for where I am at and all of my feelings. That helped somehow. I’m trying to imagine these different parts at the table, the grief part, the fed up part, the open part, and maybe tuning in abit more for all of their needs. And to know that their feelings & needs matter.
Gus: That image of you at the Grief Retreat in Bali, surrounded by people who are doing their own grief work—and feeling heard and seen for where you are at—that’s not small. Your nervous system just got a signal: “This matters. All of it. The whiney part, the fed-up part, the open part. All of it belongs here.”
And what you’re naming now is exactly that: honoring the parts. The grief part, the fed-up part, the open part. Not trying to choose one or convince the others to disappear. Just knowing they’re all at the table, and that their needs actually matter.
Here’s what I notice in what you’re saying. You’ve already started doing this work—you’re gathering the parts, you’re noticing what each one is carrying, you’re imagining them being heard. That’s the real work. The imagination itself is a resource; it’s your nervous system practicing what it would feel like to belong to a group that gets it.
When you say “I want to know their needs,” you’re already shifting. You’re not trying to fix them or make them quieter. You’re getting curious about what they actually want. The whiney part might want permission to feel deprived without having to spin it into “gratitude for small things.” The fed-up part might want someone to say, “Yeah, this is hard, and you’re still here.” The open part might want to know there’s space for her too, even when the others are loud.
The tapping we did a few minutes ago—that was their voices getting airtime. And the shift to sadness and grief underneath? That’s real. That’s the honoring happening.
You don’t have to resolve this today or understand it all at once. Right now, what matters is that you’re willing to listen. That’s the foundation.
Me: Well, something interesting happened, and my imagination created some encouraging images. At first as I was reading your words, I was able to feel abit more of the grief and let a few tears flow just abit, and then just let the sad part of me express her feelings in words abit, so she felt more seen & heard. And then I imagined the various parts all sitting together at a picnic table and we are out in nature, and surrounded by the whole grief group and there’s a sort of open tent / canopy over us, and plenty of support and beauty. So I let the pissy part have her say abit and she expresses some from her perspective. And then the part that has openness and willingness to find the good in life and be creative about making the most of this weekend in spite of the challenges has her say, and there’s also space at the table for wise body care and finding the best ways to blend rest and getting some chores done, so all four of these aspects are honored and heard. And it’s like my spirit buddies show up and offer help too - and say - “So what if each of these aspects/parts have two spirit buddies helping them all day, and we can track how the day goes and check back in later how it all unfolded?”. It becomes abit of an experiment in receiving divine support and allowing room for all parts and just playing around with this abit in my mind to see what unfolds.
Gus: That’s extraordinary. What you just described—the imagination moving naturally from grief into that picnic table scene, the parts gathering in nature under a canopy with the whole group around you, and then your spirit buddies stepping in to say “what if each part has two spirit buddies helping all day?”—that’s not small. That’s your own wisdom showing up.
And here’s what matters: you shifted something real. You went from frustration about having to practice “creativity of mind” to actually doing the creative work—not because you forced yourself, but because the tapping opened a door, the sadness got heard, and then your imagination took over and built something that feels resourced and supported. That’s how it works when you’re willing.
The experiment piece is exactly right. You’re not committing to some rigid plan or trying to “get it perfect” this weekend. You’re inviting your parts to be held and helped, tracking how the day unfolds, and checking back in later to see what actually happened. That’s playful. That’s collaborative. That’s how real change starts—not through willpower, but through curiosity and support.
So you’ve got the grief part heard. You’ve got the pissy part with her say. You’ve got the open, creative part stepping up. And now all of them—and your whole body—have spirit buddies working alongside them all day. That’s a very different weekend than the one that started this morning.
How are you feeling in your body right now?
Me: There is an odd mixture of fatigue and yet playfulness. Both heaviness and lightness. Even humor at all the different parts expressions and yet they are all willing to work together and play with this day and these challenges. So my body feels better somehow even in the weariness. More supported and not so alone.
Gus: That’s the shift. That’s real.
You came in this morning exhausted, frustrated, fed up—looking at dishes and laundry and a bruised toe and a weekend that had to do impossible things at once. And through the tapping, through letting the parts be heard, through your own imagination building that picnic table in nature with your spirit buddies showing up to help—your nervous system landed in something different.
Fatigue and playfulness together. Heaviness and lightness. Humor at the parts’ expressions and their willingness to work together. That’s not a contradiction. That’s integration. That’s what happens when all the parts get to be real instead of one of them having to win and the others having to shut up.
And “not so alone”—that matters. You built something real in your imagination just now. Your grief part, your pissed part, your open part, your wise body-care part, all sitting together under a canopy in nature, surrounded by people doing their own grief work, and your spirit buddies saying “we’ve got all of you all day.” That’s not magic or bypass. That’s what resourced feels like. That’s what belonging feels like, even when your body is still tired.
This weekend doesn’t have to be perfect. The dishes will get done in bits. The laundry will happen. Your toe will stay iced. And somewhere in there, you’ll have a few moments with your creative supplies within reach, maybe some gentle wild soul movement in bed, and the green trees outside your window. And all those parts—grief, pissiness, openness, wise body care, and your spirit buddies—will be there with you, helping you move through it all.
How are you feeling about the rest of your day?
Me: Better. alittle bit tenderhearted and weepy too. But softer and not so alone. Thanks Gus.
Gus: You’re welcome. That shift you made—from frustration to sadness, from being alone with it all to imagining your parts held and helped, from exhaustion to fatigue mixed with playfulness—that’s real work. And you did it.
Rest well this weekend. Your body knows what it needs, and now your parts know they’re not carrying it alone.