The Secret Lives of Inner Parts

I’ve been out of commission for the past couple of weeks—wrestling with winter germs and a cranky lower back. Every morning I would talk myself into seeing this as a good thing: I got reacquainted with the cosy corner in my living room, my knitting needles, and the forgotten art of doing absolutely nothing useful.

Slowing down like that can be uncomfortable when we're wired to do, fix, achieve. But it also made space for a quieter part of me to speak up—one that’s usually drowned out by productivity and planning. That got me thinking about the whole cast of inner characters many of us carry around.

And so this week, I want to share something that might shift how we relate to the chaos in our own heads.

Spoiler alert: those voices aren’t random. And they’re definitely not trying to sabotage us.
Let me know if you can relate.

1. Who’s actually running the show in our heads?

There’s often a voice that pipes up before sending the email, walking into the meeting, or daring to speak up at dinner.
It says things like:
“Careful.”
“Don’t mess this up.”
“What if they find out you’re not who they think you are?”

It often comes with a quiver. A shakiness. A subtle tightening in the chest.

But here’s the thing: that voice isn’t all of who we are. It’s just one part.

According to Internal Family Systems (IFS), we aren’t a single, unified personality—we’re more like a community. A layered, nuanced, often hilariously (when we can get some distance) dysfunctional inner system made up of different parts that have taken on specific roles over time. Some run the meetings. Some cause the meltdowns. Some have been hiding under the table for decades.

This isn’t pathology. It’s an intelligence that helped us with survival and self-preservation.

And understanding it is the beginning of peace.

2. Meet the Manager: polished, competent, and quietly exhausted

Managers are the parts that keep things functioning. They’re efficient, organised, charming, good at small talk, and have probably read at least one Brené Brown book (though may have skimmed the chapter on rest).

These are the parts that double-check everything, rehearse conversations in advance, volunteer to bring the casserole, and clean the house before the cleaner comes.

They mean well—but they also operate from fear. Specifically, the fear that if they stop managing, everything will fall apart. Including us.

Managers often develop early. And for women—especially those of us over 50—they’ve usually been running the show for decades. The performance, the perfection, the caretaking—these aren’t random habits. They’re strategies.

And honestly? They’re tired.

3. The Firefighter’s crash-and-burn survival plan

If the Manager’s job is prevention, the Firefighter’s job is emergency response.

Firefighters show up when the overwhelm has already hit.
These are the parts that slam the laptop shut, pour the second glass, binge the box set, doom-scroll, or pick a fight.

Where the Manager holds it all together, the Firefighter kicks the door open and yells,
“We’re not doing this. Shut it down.”

They don’t care about appearances. They’re not polite. They don’t do mindfulness or think about consequences.

But they do one thing really well: they distract us from pain.

When we feel like we’ve betrayed our own goals or spiralled out again, chances are a Firefighter was at the wheel. And strangely enough, that’s not sabotage. It’s protection—just a little misguided.

👉 Please pause here.
If there’s a Firefighter in your life who’s taken over recently, I’d love to hear about it.
What’s their go-to move when things get too much?
I read every reply. Even the messy ones. Especially the messy ones!

4. The Exile: the part no one wants to talk about

Exiles are the younger, wounded parts of us who carry the feelings the system never quite knew how to handle.

Grief. Shame. Terror. Loneliness.

They often show up as that memory that makes the stomach flip. That rawness covered with humour. The silence that settles when something hits too close.

Exiles aren’t bad or broken. They’re simply still holding the feelings no one ever welcomed. And they are often alone with these feelings, desperate for connection.

So the system—Managers, Firefighters, and all—found ways to lock them away. To protect them. And to protect us from the weight of feeling them.

But Exiles don’t disappear. They leak; they keep trying their best to get our attention; they wait for someone to come to hear them.
And the more they’re ignored, the more energy the rest of the system has to spend keeping them quiet.

5. How the Self isn’t another part—it’s the wise seat of leadership

IFS doesn’t stop at naming parts. It also points to the Self—that calm, clear, compassionate centre of us that isn’t reactive, afraid, or fused with past roles.

We often recognise it when we’re fully present—able to witness our patterns with tenderness instead of panic.
That’s not a rare state. It’s not enlightenment. It’s not even something we earn.

It’s an inherent quality. One we’ve never lost—just forgotten.

When Self is leading, something remarkable happens:

• The Managers soften.

• The Firefighters put down their buckets.

• The Exiles are gently brought in from the cold.

Healing doesn’t happen by silencing these parts. It happens when they’re finally heard. This can happen when we connect with the Self.

6. Why our parts aren’t broken, dramatic, or disloyal—they’re trying to help

Now here’s the bit that I love about IFS, and the one that requires a change of perspective.

Most of us have been taught to judge the chaos in our minds.
To fix it. Medicate it. Suppress it. Or dress it up in gratitude and call it spiritual growth.

But what if these parts—the angry one, the avoidant one, the hypervigilant one—aren’t enemies?

What if they’re misunderstood guardians?

Giving love to these parts we’ve spent a lifetime rejecting goes beyond what we call self-help. It takes courage, but what is life without a bit of risk? And if we don't love ourselves, how can we expect others to do this for us?

7. A gentle practice: noticing our inner landscape without fixing it

Try this, just for today:

→ When a strong emotion rises—pause.
→ Instead of reacting, ask: What part is showing up here?
→ Let that part speak. No interrupting. No fixing. Just witness.

We might be surprised by what we hear.
Maybe a 12-year-old perfectionist still believes mistakes equal rejection.
Maybe a panicked part is certain the world will collapse if we stop.

And if we can meet that part with even a flicker of compassion?
We’re already in Self.

There’s no need to do this perfectly.
In fact, our parts would prefer we didn’t.

They’ve had enough of perfection.
What they’re asking for now… is presence.

Thanks for reading and all the best,

Suzanne