4. Our wholeness is in our relationship between our parts.

I approach the self as both multiple and whole, differentiating between parts of self that have varied and at times conflicting wants and needs. Sometimes clients, when coming to see the truth of this, wonder if that means they have multiple personalities. I do not see this as the case.

We have this structure within ourselves called the “ego” whose job it is to create a unified concept of “who I am.” When this ego is working effectively, we engage in our lives, accomplishing valued goals and managing distress. People whose egos are severely damaged tend to have lives that are chaotic and turbulent, highly reactive and dependent on others or highly rebellious. The ego has a bad reputation in some spiritual circles, particularly those Western spiritualities informed by Eastern understandings of selfhood. In part this is in response to the exaltation of ego in Western thought, in which the ego is heroic striver, emerging from chaos and weakness to carry out mighty feats and hold the coherent “I.”

We need the ego, and yet the ego has a blindness that can create its own problems. Part of the ego’s work is to create a coherent narrative of self and cling to a unitary sense of truth. If “I” am upset in this moment by something a coworker did, “I” might become convinced that I am being unfairly victimized and this person is a persecutor. Because I have become identified with this feeling of persecution, the ego will generally suppress or deny any evidence to the contrary–for example, the possibility that I might have done something to upset my coworker first. Or if “I” do become open to this, then “I” might jump to become identified with the role of the persecutor and deny that I was victimized in any way.

I think of the ego as something like the command chair in a spaceship, or the Iron Throne of Westeros. It is an empty chair that runs the conscious self-system, but whomever sits in the chair is effectively the “I”. When we are not present to ourselves and our paradoxical behaviors, we might not recognize that what we think of as “I” is composed of many wants, needs, fears, beliefs, impulses, all attempting to actualize themselves and working at cross purposes. When we start to reframe these conflicts as parts of self, we gain needed distance and perspective. “Part of me feels mad at her for what she said in the meeting, and another part of me feels guilty because I insulted her first.” This shift does not immediately solve the problem, but it gives us space to clarify what is happening and what we need to do.

The more I explore my Self as a system of connected parts, the more I see that many of my problems arise from dysfunctional relationships between parts. There is a part of me that wants safety and comfort who might act up when I follow another part of me that wants visibility. Perhaps I apply for a job that I know I can do and want, but once I get to the interview, another part of me creeps in and starts filling me with anxieties and doubts. This part, the anxious part, has something of worth and value to add. Perhaps it senses something in the work environment and realizes that this job isn’t what it looked like on paper. Perhaps it’s trying to get my attention to convey something important, but the part of me that wants to look good at all costs keeps trying to push it aside and dismiss the anxiety as unimportant. In response, the anxiety increases–partly because it’s trying to be heard, partly because now I am at war within myself.

Every part of self is part of my wholeness, and by accepting and listening to these parts I can begin to shift these inner relationships to one of greater integrity and depth. I don’t need to be afraid of the part of me that gets depressed because I also have the part of me that keeps me engaged in life. Every part has a voice and a vote, and none have the run the show. The ego can keep managing my life and thinking of being an “I”, but a more democratic, inclusive “I”. That is why, in some sense, the Self is not unitary but a system of relationships; in another sense, the Self is an individual being that includes all of these relationships.

2. As within, so without.

This is a tricky one and requires context and balance. It begins with the assumption that we exist with an inner world of feelings, thoughts, fantasies, drives, desires, aversions, and all those complexities–and we exist in an outer world of people, circumstances, actions, and consequences. The principle further assumes that there is a more-than-incidental relationship between the inner and outer worlds, that they reflect and create each other in ways that are difficult to comprehend rationally.

Already we are nearing dangerous territory, opening up the possibility for that spiritually abusive maxim that a person is somehow responsible for their miseries, failures, or traumas–that these happened because the person was sinful, or did not have enough faith, or unconsciously invited them to happen. This perspective is quite damaging for someone in the depths of shame or depression. This is why I underline that the inner and outer worlds coexist and influence each other but they are separate. Even with the premise that one person’s thoughts or inner world can cause things to happen in the outer world, we must think about how that is true for every single person, which means the outer world is constantly manifesting in response to thousands of wishes, hopes, fears, and inner conflicts.

All of that said, when sitting in the therapy room with one’s therapist, we are not in a place to heal the social, economic, cultural, and historical forces that contribute to one’s suffering. What we have are the people in the room and the inner psychic images of the world we carry with us. Often what we see within are mirrors of what is happening without. The anger I feel at a person who constantly criticizes me may arise because I find my inner criticism so painful. When I feel no one listens to me, I might not be listening to myself and speaking in a way to be heard. Or the trauma my ancestors experience might be literally living in me.

When we’re feeling trapped in life or stuck in relationship patterns we hate, typically this comes with some stuckness, some limitation or attachment that keeps us from seeing all the available options. In therapy, we tend to recreate these dynamics between therapist and client. If a client feels powerless and unable to change their lives, they might look to the therapist for salvation but refuse or shoot down every suggestion the therapist makes. This creates the opportunity to look beyond the content and at the process being enacted. With some reflection, the client might discover that within them this same dynamic plays out–a part of them feels powerless and defeated, and another part of them makes suggestions that are dismissed or diminished. Sometimes even a thought that causes them to feel empowered is met with intense anxiety that feels intolerable, so the dismissal of the thought returns the person to a state of calm, though deeply unsatisfied, existence.

Looking at this reflection of inner and outer, and learning to differentiate between what is within and what is without, helps us to make deeper changes. Instead of blaming ourselves or someone else for our problems, we can look at the relationships between behaviors and begin to make shifts. If we can learn to accept the inner critic and use its advice skillfully, then we might become less defensive when a partner offers criticism, acknowledging what is useful and discarding what is not. If we can accept the presence of anxiety within us, we can respond to anxiety-provoking situations with greater calm and clearsightedness. Changing our behavior then begins to ripple out in changing systems around us.

Sometimes we need to make outer changes to promote inner wellbeing. We might step away from relationships, attachments, and obligations that feel harmful or draining. Healing the personal consequences of oppression only goes so far if the external systems of oppression continue unabated. People who do not have a strongly internalized sense of structure and boundedness tend to have it imposed upon them by systems of policing and imprisonment or mental health containment. When those who struggle with addiction, mental illness, and homelessness are provided the external supports they need, such as housing and a basic income, that outer stability supports them in gaining inner stability, leading to vastly improved recovery outcomes.

In my personal work, I have discovered profound and bizarre changes occur when I work earnestly on myself. I once worked through some unresolved grief and pain I had with a person I had known for years but hadn’t been in contact with, only to have her call me within the next day. I once sat in my therapist’s office, working on a dream about cats that I found upsetting due to some of the content. His office had a glass door to a garden, and as I described one of the cats, a living stray cat meeting my dream cat’s description came to the door and looked in on us. These “meaningful coincidences” are what is known as synchronicity, in which the inner and outer worlds seem to be communicating with each other in profound and unexpected ways. Self-work is not the solution to all ills, but it is powerful.