From Identifiable Patient to Good Mother

August 2017

Every family has an identifiable patient ("IP"). I didn't choose the role of victim, but I did fully inhabit it for a very long time. When I was scared, which was more often than not, that fear either manifested as pain or I manufactured it. Pain became me. It was the only coping strategy I knew. 

Thankfully, my role as the alone, unsafe IP was time-limited. 

According to Internal Family Systems ("IFS") therapy, also known as "parts" work, every person has a Self, which is always present. The Self is calm, compassionate, curious, creative, etc. All good things. Every person also has "subpersonalities," including managers and firefighters, to help the Self cope. The subpersonalities have distinct roles, which can be effective, but they can also hijack us to protect our wounded (exiled) parts. 

IFS has helped me understand and accept that my exiled identifiable patient (in my case also known as my "inner child") part developed in childhood when I was repeatedly shamed, rejected and criticized by my family members. It's no wonder, then, that my protective part reached for the pills early and often by way of distraction and checking out so I would not have to address or confront intense emotions, like sadness and grief due to feeling unloved or under-loved.  

My addiction part, however, kept me stuck in the past for decades. I couldn't grow if my addiction part chose numbing over healing. How could my inner child thrive if she was not taken care of -- ever? My inner child, we'll call her Little Char, went underground when I was using drugs. She disappeared.

Recently, though, she popped up. She was feisty, fiery and carefree. I'd been waiting for her my whole life. I knew it was time to take care of her. I would need to let her know she was safe. I would need to be her Good Mother. 

Now, my Good Mother part, heretofore unknown, was not sure I was ready for this. Job one would be to listen. Little Char let me know she was in pain, hurting because it was the only way she could get attention from a mother who cleaned out her drawers and applied makeup all day—a mother who made no time for Little Char. This reality was heard and received by my Good Mother part without judgment. 

My Good Mother part also knew this was not going to be easy, so job two was to make my Self and my parts comfortable. I ordered an adult blankie. Sure, it helps that it's cashmere but as stated, this parts work is not for the faint of heart. And Little Char deserved the blankie she never had.

Job three would be to feel the feelings. Anger came up first. Little Char was sold out, ignored, her development stifled. I not surprisingly developed the habit of channeling my anger by furiously picking at my skin. It begs the question: Is this how under-loved people turn out? So pissed off that they refuse to grow up and take care of themselves. Do they need a battalion of caretakers surrounding them to get back at their families of origin? Even if their families of origin don't care what they do? The Good Mother helped me realize that although I spent much of my life hewing to this narrative, I was still able to recover what's left—and what lies ahead—for Little Char's sake. 

Recreating my family of origin, in therapy and life, is an essential work in progress. Moving to Marin County gave me a fresh start, a new house, and a better life. It also allowed me the space and time to tap into my determination to flourish and grow. In particular, my Good Mother part has decided to re-parent Little Char. Not only is Little Char not to blame, she's sweet, adorable and loves to dance.

And so she will. To paraphrase Gene Kelly, Little Char will dance love, joy and dreams. 
The Good Mother, for her part, will bear witness and nurture her re-birth. 

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