A companion reflection for Episode 2 of The Self-Led Life
A trusted friend asks, “How are you?” And you find that you don’t really know.
Perhaps someone you love died a few weeks ago. Or you recently lost a beloved pet whose needs had become the center of your days. You had been paying such close attention: Were they comfortable? What did they need? What might help?
Now someone is asking about…you. You reach inward for an answer and find…blankness, confusion, or numbness. Perhaps there’s even a little embarrassment. You might think to yourself, “How can I not know how I’m doing?”
You might share what happened in the last few days, explain the arrangements, or talk about what’s unfolding with the family. Perhaps you describe the person you loved, or your pet’s playful personality. Or you turn toward your friend and ask, “Have you ever lost someone you loved?” For a moment, the spotlight moves away from you. Relief!
There can be many reasons we respond this way. Talking about our loved one may be exactly what we want and need. And sometimes turning outward brings us back to familiar ground. We know how to listen. We know how to care about someone else’s experience. Finding our own experience may feel much less familiar—and much less comfortable. Disorienting even.
The one who has been caring
Through the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS), we might become curious about a caretaking part that has been steering the ship for a while. This part may have been responding to urgent needs, anticipating what would help, and keeping track of how everyone else was feeling.
Perhaps it’s still at the control panel, looking outward, even though the one you cared for has passed on. It may be searching for someone else to care for, or wondering what it’s supposed to do now.
There may also be other parts involved: one that feels numb, or one that doesn’t quite believe the loss is real. We don’t have to explain everything before offering some attention inward. We can begin with whoever feels available to meet.
What support made possible for me
When my sister Stacy was dealing with metastatic breast cancer starting at the age of 51, I sought regular support from my somatic therapist, Julie, to do parts work. Before each visit, Julie helped me check in with my internal system. While spending time with Stacy, I checked in with my parts several times a day, noticing how they were doing before, during, and after supporting her.
My mom, bless her heart, didn’t have that same ongoing support all along the way. She had been caring for her daughter for over two and a half years. When Stacy was given two to six weeks to live, my mom told me she mostly felt numb. After Stacy died, it didn’t seem real to her. Even talking with friends and neighbors who reached out felt difficult, in part because she didn’t know what to say about what was happening inside of her.
I felt—and still feel—so much tenderness toward my mom. There had been so much to attend to as her daughter was dying. It makes sense that a question about her own inner experience could feel disorienting.
Perhaps you recognize something of yourself here. I wonder whether we might offer a little attention to your inner life in general, and to the one inside who might have been caring for everyone else, in particular.
A little breathing space
If this feels like a good time, notice the support beneath you—the support rising up to greet you. You can keep your eyes open and read this slowly, pausing whenever you like. This is a gentle invitation for reflection, and you can pause and return another time if you’d like.
Perhaps bring to mind a manageable moment when you didn’t know how you felt. Notice whatever is here: a searching, tension, an impulse to explain, or nothing very clear at all. You don’t have to turn it into an answer.
If you sense a caretaker inside, how do you feel toward it? Perhaps grateful. Perhaps exhausted or resentful that your own needs have had so little room. Any part with feelings about the caretaker deserves attention, too. You might acknowledge it, listen, and see whether it feels willing to give you a little space to get to know the caretaker. If it doesn’t, you can stay with it.
When curiosity or appreciation is available, you might let the caretaker know: “I see how much you care. You’ve been carrying so much.”
I might tell my inner caretaker, “I can see your dedication. You radiate such a depth of compassion for others. And I also see your strong sense of responsibility.”
Perhaps gently ask, “What has this been like for you?” Or, “Is there anything you need me to understand?” Give it time. You might sense words, an image, or how tired it is. It’s okay if there’s no response you’re aware of. Offering the question with care may be enough.
Care that it doesn’t have to manage
Sometimes the caretaker has been so occupied with needs outside that it hasn’t noticed the ones inside. Discovering a sad, lonely, or younger part who needs attention can feel like yet another responsibility. An already exhausted caretaker may feel overwhelmed. That’s so human.
If it feels right, you might offer a possibility: “You don’t have to take on another job. Would you be willing to stay nearby and witness me offering a little care inward?”
It can remain close and voice its concerns. It can also say no. Spending time understanding its hesitation can be the sole focus for now. Nothing more might be needed than this.
If it feels willing, you might thank it. Then, as the caregiver gives some space, you might notice whether a grieving part comes into your awareness. Perhaps a small ache, a sense of missing, or loneliness. There’s no need to search for the deepest grief.
If tenderness is available, you might say, “I see you. And I care.” Ask how this part would like you to be with it. Perhaps it wants company, space, or to be held and gently rocked. Offer whatever feels comfortable, without needing the sadness to change.
Take as much time to be with it as you have available right now. Be with it in just the way it needs you to be.
Before bringing this to a close, you might thank it for sharing itself and offer to visit again. Notice its response and whether it would like something comforting in the meantime.
Then return to the caretaker: “What was that like for you, to witness me being with the grieving one in a caring way?” Perhaps it noticed ease, relief, or surprise. Perhaps it felt uneasy. All of that is welcome. It may take time for the caretaker to trust that compassion can arise from within you without the caretaker having to direct every moment of care.
“I’m still finding out”
The next time someone asks how you are, you may still not know. That’s really okay. “I’m still finding out” may be an honest answer. You get to decide how much to share, in each moment, for whatever reason.
And perhaps inwardly, the question can become an invitation to notice the one who has been working so hard. To ask how it’s doing. To build a relationship at its pace, eventually perhaps allowing for moments when your warm, compassionate attention can reach the ones carrying grief within you, too.
All parts are welcome here. We can keep discovering our inner lives together.
Continue Your Journey & Connect
This reflection offers education and self-exploration. It is not therapy and does not establish a therapist-client relationship.
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