Perhaps you’re having a perfectly lovely afternoon when someone asks a very ordinary question.
Your body gets hot. Your face turns red. And suddenly, tears are rolling down your cheeks.
Or maybe you’re at a very special memorial to remember someone you love, and you suddenly find yourself laughing so hard you can barely breathe. Then, in the very next breath, the laughter turns into tears.
One part of you feels relieved to be with people who understand. Another feels angry. And you’re hungry but you don’t want to eat anything. And you’re beginning to wish everyone would just go home.
There can be so much happening inside us. All at once.
And somewhere in the middle of it, another part may be thinking: Could we please keep this a little more together?
When a Part of Us Wants More Order
Even when we understand that there’s no “correct” way to grieve, we may still wish there were some order to the feelings that arise inside of us.
Perhaps we’d like to cry in private, with tissues nearby and enough time afterward to wash our face before the next person we see.
Sometimes, we get to have that.
Other times, a big, messy wave of feelings arrives while we’re standing in the grocery store.
We may miss someone deeply and feel angry with them. We might feel incredibly grateful for the time we had with them—and also wish, with our whole being, that we could have had more time. We may long for companionship—and feel absolutely exhausted by the effort of talking.
These experiences can feel difficult to explain—even to ourselves.
And the part that wants things clean and tidy may have a hard time with all of it.
The Tenderness We Offer Someone Else
Something I find interesting is how we respond to grief on a movie screen.
We can sit in a theater with a hundred other people and watch an actor portray profound grief. He sobs. His face gets red. His body trembles. Tears and snot run down his face.
And something in us responds.
Perhaps we cry with him. Perhaps we feel grateful that he’s brought something so deeply human to life for us.
We celebrate performances like that. We give awards for them.
Then, the next day, when our own grief gets touched and our tears begin to flow, we may apologize. Try to compose ourselves. Wonder whether we’re being too emotional.
Too messy.
I wonder about that tenderness we can extend toward someone on a screen—and what makes it harder to offer ourselves.
Of course, watching a movie offers some distance. We aren’t the ones being seen.
And parts of us may remember times when our own feelings weren’t received with care. Perhaps someone became uncomfortable when we cried. Perhaps there wasn’t room. Or perhaps we needed to keep getting things done.
It makes sense that parts of us might be cautious as the big, messy waves of grief well up within us and start finding their way out, even when we’re alone with ourselves.
The One Holding Everything Together
Through the lens of Internal Family Systems, or IFS, we can become curious about the protective part that wants more order to our grief process.
With curiosity and compassion, we can begin to notice how much energy it takes to monitor our voice, our face, our tears. To decide what’s acceptable, well before anyone else has a chance to respond.
Perhaps this aspect of our inner life becomes active in other situations, too: when we make a mistake, when plans change, or when we need help.
Even when something beautiful moves us and we feel ourselves beginning to open.
Grief may bring us into contact with a part that has been working hard for a very long time.
Getting to know this part of our inner life may become a healing journey in and of itself.
How I Might Support You in IFS Therapy
If someone comes to therapy struggling with how messy grief feels, I want to understand what that experience is like for them.
Perhaps they tell me, “I never know when I’m going to cry. I hate feeling so out of control.”
Or “It all just feels so messy. Messiness wasn’t allowed in my house growing up. And it just doesn’t feel safe or okay to be messy.”
We might begin by acknowledging both the grief and the part that finds it so difficult.
I might reflect, “It sounds like there’s a part of you working really hard to keep everything together. Would you like to spend some time getting to know that one?”
That permission matters. It’s their inner life. There is always choice. And we can move at a pace that feels right for them.
If they want to explore, I might help them find a little breathing room around the urgency to stay composed. In IFS, we call this unblending: enough space to notice a part and begin relating to it.
We would also make room for how they feel toward this protective part. Perhaps they understand it. Perhaps they’re frustrated by how tightly it holds everything. If that frustration is there, it deserves care, too.
As curiosity becomes available, we can begin to understand what the part carving order is concerned about.
Does it worry about being judged? About not being able to function? About needing care that may not be available?
Those are possibilities. As the therapist, I don’t want to assume I know.
I want to hear from this particular part, in this particular person.
We can take time to understand what it carries and notice how it responds to being heard.
There’s no requirement for tears to come or for the part to loosen its hold.
The relationship itself deserves our attention.
Making Room for More of Life
We don’t have to find a gift in our loss. We don’t have to feel grateful for what grief brings up.
Sometimes, it just hurts.
And alongside that hurt, there may be moments when our relationship with ourselves begins to change.
Perhaps the familiar criticism—Pull yourself together—becomes an invitation to understand the one saying it. We begin to recognize how much responsibility it believes it has to take on.
And maybe, over time, we find that something deep within us wants to sit beside this aspect of our inner life…and get to know it better.
As our parts feel more accompanied, a little less isolated and alone, there may gradually be more room for life. For the fullness and wholeness of life. For sorrow and delight. For loving someone we can no longer touch.
For receiving the warmth of someone who is here beside us now.
For being able to be vulnerable and receive care, while still sensing that we have so much to offer others.
Perhaps though, for today, there can simply be a little more tenderness toward the one who’s been trying so hard to hold everything together.
You belong here, too. You don’t have to know how all of this will unfold for me to sit beside you.
I’m here with you now. And I care.
Listen to Episode 6 of The Self-Led Life
In “The Messiness of Grief: Meeting Ourselves with Tenderness,” I offer a gentle guided experience for getting to know the part that longs for order. You’re welcome to listen without participating and return to the exploration whenever it feels right.
Find Episode 6 on the MCAFT video page, or visit The Self-Led Life on Apple Podcasts or Spotify.
Continue Your Journey & Connect
If you’d like companionship in exploring grief and your inner life, you’re welcome to connect with us:
Book Your Free Consultation New Client Inquiry
About the Author
Jaclyn Long, LMFT, is an IFS Certified therapist and the founder of Mindful Child & Family Therapy in the San Francisco Bay Area, supporting people throughout California. She hosts The Self-Led Life, inviting listeners into a more curious and compassionate relationship with their inner lives.