My five-year old asked me recently if he could get rid of a part of himself. We were sitting in the playroom. He started sleeping on a twin bed in there a few weeks earlier after sleeping with Nic and I since birth. His body shifted from side to side as he inquired with the kind of earnestness I have only experienced from children, Can I Mommy, can I make this angry part go away forever? I felt a weight drop in my chest coupled with guilt.
It starts so young. This desire to eliminate the parts of ourselves that act out because they are hurt and have no tools to navigate the situation.
There are so many reasons we hurt each other. The pain from our lived experiences. The ways we have been harmed or oppressed. Rather than meet the big feelings with tenderness, we lie, numb, sidestep, spend money, consume, act out, deprive ourselves, and gas light each other in attempts to preserve our goodness, in attempts to prove that we aren’t hurting. It’s uncomfortable to accept that we are fallible, that we have scars, and that we hurt each other.
I took a breath to regulate myself and prevent spiraling into guilt. I needed to anchor myself before speaking to him. I did not want to make this about me. I often feel the parenting tools I have leave me wanting more from myself and more for my children despite how much effort I put into trying to be better.
Exhale.
I looked at him for a few moments. The weight grew heavier. Sometimes I forget how young he is, especially when his anger fills our house. At night though, when tucking him into his new bed, all I can see is how little he is.
I’m curious, I offer, why do you want to get rid of that part of yourself?
He looks down the rug. Because I can’t stop hitting Zen, he says. And I don’t want to be hitting him like this.
Immediately I recognize the shape of shame in his small frame. His body slack and rounded forward. Of course, he wants to get rid of that part of himself. He is ashamed of his behavior and can’t seem to do anything different in these moments with his brother. Turning away from where we hurt is fundamental to being human. We are hardwired to avoid and escape pain. Longing to get rid of the parts that hurt is one way we can mitigate that pain.
We continue to sit together on the floor. His gaze holding steady on the rug and mine looking out the window, hoping information will reveal itself on how to best support him.
Our children mirror back to us our deepest work as parents, to integrate our most un-loved and un-healed parts. Parallel to my son’s internalized shame, I struggle with my own. I have parts of myself that I wish would go away. Some parts that I have spent years avoiding and others that I have tried to fix with meditation, diets, and prayer to name a few. Even after years of sessions with my current therapist, each time he extends care to the parts of me that feel shame, those parts want to scream back at him.
I AM OKAY. I DON’T NEED YOU. I DON’T WANT YOU TO LOOK AT ME. TO KNOW ME. TO FEEL ME. TO CARE ABOUT ME. I AM NOT WORTH CARING ABOUT.
I still have so far to go. I still have more of myself to learn to love.
It has only been in this past year that I have had a little capacity to receive this care. My receptivity has come from the ongoing practice of releasing these parts from their original survival roles and integrating them into my present time self.
I turn my attention toward my son. Solomon, I say, I also have parts that I want to get rid of. Parts that I wish would go away and never come back.
He looks up at me for the first time in several minutes. You do Mommy?
Yes, I do. May I ask you something Solomon?
Yes, he replies.
Where do you feel this angry part in your body? Without hesitation he points to his stomach. What does it feel like in there?
Hot, he says, like Mars. Solomon has been talking about Mars since he was two years old.
That sounds uncomfortable, I offer.
Yeah, he replies, his voice trailing off.
What does that hot part in your stomach need? I ask gently as to not push him too much. There is a tenderness required when working with our parts. If they feel any judgement, blame, or shame, protector parts jump in and we’ve missed an opportunity for healing.
I don’t know, he says, slightly frustrated.
Would it be okay if we just keep sitting here together with this hot part? I inquire with the same gentleness.
Okay, he replies.
We continue hanging out on the floor with Solomon’s hot, red, angry energy. It is intense and familiar. In my practice of making space for my anger, I make space for my son’s. In my practice of learning to mourn when I hurt those I love the most, I make space for my son to mourn when he hurts his brother. In my practice of caring for my hurt rather than shaming myself into change, I make space to help my son care for his hurt and unburden his shame. In letting my shit fall apart in front of Solomon at times, I give him permission to let his shit fall apart too.
We sit with our pain. We scream. We cry. We rage. Eventually we turn this practice of being with ourselves and our angry parts into a game, because he’s five and because I am desperate to know healing that doesn’t always come in the form of pain.
I don’t have all the answers. What I am learning, is that an antidote to avoiding is integrating. A remedy for wanting to abandon ourselves and get rid of what hurts is the practice of staying. Of noticing. Of feeling. Of being present. This is what we are teaching our son. To acknowledge the anger, to befriend the grief, to tend to the hurt. To breathe with it. To draw it on a piece of paper. To beat it with a stick on the ground. To scream it out into the wild, even when it feels like your fullness might shatter the sky.
With deep care and gratitude,
Ashley
Gosh. Thank you for sharing this but more, thank you for what you gave your son in this moment. I sit with clients every day and witness them grieve
the moments like this that they needed from their parents but were so far from receiving. I love the way this letter flowed. Such a beautiful piece.
"What does that hot part in your stomach need?"
I love this. Just raising the question teaches that these feelings deserve attention and curiosity. He can't "get rid" of parts of himself. But he can come to know them better.
Beautiful parenting.