If you had told me a few years ago that I’d be closing my eyes in front of other therapists, talking to the “parts” of me that felt shame or fear or protectiveness, I would’ve given you the polite counselor nod. You know the one—part interested, part skeptical, all professional. I probably would’ve said something like, “Huh. Interesting model,” while secretly wondering if this Internal Family Systems thing was a little too out there for my taste.
What I didn’t know then is that the model I’d been dismissing from a safe intellectual distance would soon become one of the most meaningful experiences of my professional life—and a quietly revolutionary force in my personal healing too.
I signed up for Level One Training not because I was convinced, but because something in me was curious. And, if I’m honest, a little desperate for something deeper. I had noticed a familiar pattern in my work with clients—something tender would start to surface, and then whoosh, I’d feel my own protectors showing up. The part of me that wants to stay composed. Competent. Helpful. The part that keeps things just slightly above the neck.
So I showed up. I tried to stay open. And at first, I mostly stayed in my head.
Internal Family Systems, if you’re unfamiliar, is a model developed by Dr. Richard Schwartz that assumes we are all made up of parts—subpersonalities with their own roles, fears, and beliefs. Some are managers, trying to keep our lives running smoothly. Some are firefighters, leaping in with distraction or numbing when emotions flare. And then there are exiles—the tender, wounded parts we’ve tried to bury because they once felt too much.
At the center of it all, IFS says, is the Self—a calm, curious, compassionate presence that isn’t just another part, but the one who can help heal them all. I often describe Self as being connected to Divine—the same force that holds the Universe together. It’s unshakeable. It can’t be harmed or destroyed. And it’s always available to us, if we can get quiet enough to hear it.
The Session That Changed Everything
While endlessly applying to Level One trainings for 4 years straight, I had one session that cracked the door open.
It was 2022, and I scheduled a virtual session with Natasha Senra-Pereira, MSW, RSW, RP (her website is here). I devoured her book in just 24 hours, and after hearing great things about her work, I was curious enough (or maybe desperate enough) to give it a shot—even though part of me still didn’t totally “get” IFS yet.
But something happened during that virtual session from my nephews’ cabin in West Jefferson, NC. Something real.
Natasha’s calm, grounded presence gave me the space to go inward in a way I hadn’t before. It wasn’t dramatic or forced. She just asked thoughtful questions, followed my system’s lead, and held a safe container for me to listen to what was already there.
And there was something there.
In that single session, I met parts of myself I hadn’t known existed—young, vulnerable parts who were still carrying fear, shame, and the ache of old stories. They weren’t loud. They weren’t trying to take over. They were just waiting for someone—me—to notice them.
I remember finishing that session and sitting in stillness for a long time afterward. Not in a state of confusion, but clarity. I knew then: I needed to get to know more of me. I wasn’t broken. I was complex. I was layered. And most importantly, I was still whole beneath it all.
That session with Natasha planted the seed. And I’m endlessly grateful she helped me meet myself with such gentleness. It was the first time I really believed the IFS mantra: There are no bad parts.
That session led me into other IFS trainings. And then, over 4 years later I finally made it into Level One training. And once I was in it—really in it—the whole model opened up for me. Not just as a technique, but as a way of relating—to myself, to others, to pain, to healing.
On Saturday, I was partnered up for my final demo as a client. I closed my eyes, dropped into a moment of stillness, and asked inside: Is there any part of me that wants to be known right now? To my surprise, something stirred. A young 4-year-old part. Nervous. Guarded. But willing. I stayed with him. My counselor partner stayed with me. My inner 4-year-old took me by the hand and showed me around his world—the John Deere tractors, the GI Joes, and the horses in the pasture. And I felt something shift—not a lightning bolt, not a dramatic release, but a subtle settling. Like I was finally learning to trust myself on a different level. All of my parts were there to witness this beautifully touching reunion between 51-year-old me and 4-year-old me.
People often say that IFS is the closest thing to a psychedelic journey—just without the medicine. And honestly, I believe that’s true. When you really drop in, when you unblend from your usual defenses and meet a part of yourself with full presence, it can feel like stepping into an altered state of clarity and depth. It’s not about escaping reality—it’s about finally seeing it from the inside out.
The community of 50 other fellow counselors became a soft landing place for me. The demos were vulnerable, real, and sometimes messy. And the teachings drew not only from Schwartz’s foundational work, but also from others who have deepened the IFS tradition.
Dr. Frank Anderson’s work on trauma and neuroscience helped me see how deeply our systems protect us from overwhelm—and how safety and connection are prerequisites for healing. Susan McConnell’s concept of Somatic IFS reminded me that the body speaks long before the brain catches up, and that healing doesn’t happen in theory—it happens in tissues, in breath, in sensation. Bonnie Weiss’s exercises on mapping internal systems gave me tools to help clients meet their parts with clarity and kindness, even when things feel chaotic. And Jay Earley’s Self-Therapy was a beautiful bridge between explanation and application—offering structure without rigidity.
Over time, I realized something: I had parts that thought they were doing me a favor by staying above it all. The intellectualizing part. The fixer part. The performative “good therapist” part. They were trying to keep me safe—just like my clients’ parts try to keep them safe.
But underneath those protectors were exiles I hadn’t fully met yet. Old grief. Younger fears. Parts that had been misunderstood, dismissed, or simply ignored.
IFS gave me a map. But more than that, it gave me permission.
Permission to be present with my pain instead of rushing to fix it.
Permission to step back from the critical voices and meet them with curiosity.
Permission to trust that my healing doesn’t need to be managed—it needs to be witnessed.
If there’s one thing I took from the entire Level One experience—one truth that keeps echoing through both my personal life and my therapy work—it’s this: healing requires both courage and compassion.
It takes courage to meet the parts of ourselves we’ve avoided for years. To listen to what we thought we had to silence.
And it takes compassion to stay—to sit beside our pain without rushing in to fix, bypass, or reframe.
That kind of self-compassion isn’t fluffy. It’s fierce. It’s liberating. And it’s what makes IFS so life-changing.
I still catch myself slipping into old habits—getting a little too heady, trying to be the expert. But now I can smile when I notice it. That’s just a part of me. And there’s room for all of me now.
Recently, Pixar’s Inside Out 2 gave a surprisingly accurate window into what IFS tries to teach us. In one powerful scene, Riley experiences a panic attack for the first time, and we get to watch as her inner emotions—Anxiety, Joy, Fear, Sadness, Anger, and others—scramble to take control. It’s chaotic. Overwhelming. Real. And yet, in the middle of the storm, we glimpse the truth: there’s more going on inside of us than we consciously realize. There are parts that need space to be seen, heard, and understood.
Just like IFS teaches—our systems make sense, even when they feel like a mess.
If you’re reading this and feel a tug of curiosity—follow it.
You don’t need to be a therapist to begin this work. You just need a little bit of openness, a willingness to meet yourself with kindness, and maybe some guidance along the way. Whether that looks like seeing an IFS-trained counselor, picking up a book, or simply starting to notice the voices inside you with a little more compassion—you’re already on your way.
And if you’re a clinician like me—someone who once relied a little too heavily on intellect and control—maybe this is your invitation to soften. To be curious. To let your own Self take the lead.
There are no bad parts. Only parts that need your presence.
And I promise you—when you show up for them, they will show up for you.
Peace my Friends,
~Travis
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[…] PS. If you want to learn more about how IFS has been changing me personally and professionally, you can check out a previous post here. […]