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. 
