Early in my career, before I’d developed Internal Family Systems (IFS) into the approach it is today, I (Dick Schwartz) had many clients who struggled with addicted behaviors, and I believed what most of the addiction field still believes. Since addictions are biological drives that need to be controlled, recovery is one long fight.
My reeducation began during an outcome study with bulimic clients, who taught me to listen to their inner parts (or subpersonalities) rather than lock them away. When a client asked her bingeing part what would happen if it didn’t make her eat that way, it would explain that other parts that felt sad, worthless, empty, or terrified would take over. Beyond that, the bingeing part often feared suicide. If I stop bingeing, it would say, she could die. As we soon learned, the motives of the suicide part were also protective. On perpetual standby, it was always ready to take the client out if the pain got too intense. In short, we could not deter or control the bingeing part because it was on a mission to save the client’s life. For me, this was a novel view of addiction.
When therapists don’t listen to addict parts or ask about their fears, these parts feel alone, misunderstood, and defensive. When we fail to recognize their primary goal of protecting clients from prolonged emotional pain, they ramp up. As addictive behaviors become more heedless and disruptive, therapists get sidetracked. A need to control whatever crisis is underway eclipses the underlying, fundamental problem of vulnerable parts feeling shameful and unlovable. As I saw how judging and trying to control these parts harmed clients, I committed to developing a parts-based treatment approach, which I’ve been doing for the past 30 years.
However, as IFS lead trainer Cece Sykes—who has advocated for using IFS with addictions for decades—can attest, IFS psychotherapy for addiction has been a tough sell. Therapists are often skeptical or afraid of welcoming parts who are known for causing harm and have typically been seen as the enemy. They argue, understandably, that traditional residential treatments and 12-step recovery groups help desperate people and save lives. Even so, therapists and addiction specialists can agree that too few people get treatment, too many drop out, relapse is a continual threat, and it would be great to have better options. We propose that IFS is tailor-made to bridge the clinical gap between the psychotherapy and recovery communities.
Exposing Fragile Parts
Looking pale and tired, Georgie rushed through the door, plopped onto the sofa, and let out a huge sigh. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. She had warm, brown eyes, an easy laugh, and a headful of curly dark hair.
I (Cece Sykes) nodded, thinking, Okay, no big deal. She was in her mid-30s, taught theater in a public high school, and had started therapy with me a few months earlier after a painful breakup with her longtime girlfriend, Delia, which fueled near-constant rumination about what she’d done wrong as a partner. She had also started focusing on the personal lives of her students in an attempt to help them make wise decisions in their own relationships, but these attempts drained her and were often unwelcome.
“How are you?” I asked.
“Bad. I feel like crap,” she said. “I was out drinking last night with friends and got home late—very late.”
I nodded, encouraging her to continue.
“I hate that I’m getting hammered on a Wednesday night. And I brought some woman I just met home with me, too. Honestly, I’m sick of myself.”
I felt her pain, self-disgust, and fear and made a note of what she was implying: there’d been bouts of late-night drinking in her past. A part of me immediately wanted details: How many drinks? Any drugs? How often? But probing for specifics at this point would probably have shamed her. Mentally, I asked my worried, hard-working therapist parts to step back, freeing me to simply offer Georgie Self-energy-warmth, clarity, and an open heart.
Clients are especially vulnerable when they work up the nerve to talk about risky behaviors with sex, gambling, food, or substances in therapy. Georgie was exposing fragile parts of herself, and I was glad we could learn more about her addictive process together. I said, “You sound miserable, Georgie. I’m glad you trust me with this. It’s a hard thing to bring up. Let’s take a moment to appreciate your courage.”
“I guess,” she said. “Delia and I used to party a lot—like, a lot. I haven’t gone out much since we broke up. But last night I couldn’t stop myself. I drank way too much and then hooked up with someone I barely knew.” Georgie paused and grinned ruefully. “I prefer drinking and sex to crying. And, hey, at least I got to work on time!”
Along with her bravado, I noted how quickly she shifted to minimizing her pain and the costs of drinking. “Sounds like partying with Delia was a regular thing,” I observed. “But a lot has changed. I hear relief that you made it to work today. Sounds like you’re feeling hungover, regretful, disgusted, and maybe ashamed of how much you drank.”
A Seat at the Table
I wove IFS principles into Georgie’s therapy from the start. She’d taken to the idea that her psyche was a system of interrelated parts quickly: protectors (managers and firefighters) and the more vulnerable exiles, each with unique feelings, thoughts, and agendas. She’d also learned that protectors who escalate in response to each other become more extreme over time yet have good intentions and are trying to maintain systemic balance.
When we’re stable and functioning well, our proactive manager parts help us accomplish basic work, school, and relationship tasks. They ensure that we’re safely embedded in various social groups and negotiate well with the protectors who advocate for an even-handed distribution of shoulds versus wants in daily life.
Georgie knew that her well-meaning manager parts could become extreme, depleting and exhausting her with criticism, caretaking, and shaming. She understood that her firefighter parts (those advocates for rest and recreation) could also become extreme and were motivated to depressurize when the inner shaming got intense. Sometimes, they told her to stay in bed all day, binge TV shows, and eat junk food. Additionally, we’d explored the needs of her tender, open-hearted parts who felt abandoned and alone after the breakup. She knew how easily they got silenced—and exiled from consciousness—by protective parts who were allergic to their pain.
But banishment is never fully effective. Out of sight is not really out of mind. Like steam in a sealed pot, the pressure of an exile’s longings and sense of worthlessness build. In response, managers—who crave control and stability—double down on shaming and self-improvement projects. These behaviors amplify the exiled part’s pain, which, like heat from flames, sets off the alarm that calls in firefighter parts with their single-minded, short-term goal of putting out the fire. They have many tools at hand (think of the whole array of possible addictive processes) to distract or soothe emotional pain.
Although proactive managers and reactive firefighters generally work at cross purposes, they do align on one thing: a need to contain the innocence, vulnerability, and negative feelings of wounded exiles. When these feelings break through to consciousness, the power struggle between protectors who shame or soothe kicks off again. While all protectors focus on the short-term goal of suppressing emotional pain, their polarized methods—inhibition (shaming) versus disinhibition (e.g. using addictive substances)—inevitably cause trouble over the long haul.
In Georgie’s case, I knew her managers would double down on criticizing her when she drank so much and hooked up, which would frighten her exiles and motivate her firefighters to act again. I didn’t expect this vicious cycle to end until we addressed the underlying pain of her exiles.
“Let’s explore what you just shared with a parts-based visualization,” I suggested. “Imagine you’re sitting at the head of your kitchen table.” I chose a table, but a campfire, classroom, or meadow would have worked just as well. “Some part feels nervous about mentioning what you did last night, right? And a part who was upset about the drinking kept yelling that you messed up.”
“True,” Georgie replied.
“Let’s invite all the parts who don’t like drinking or hookups to sit on one side of the table,” I said. “Then invite the parts who like to drink and hookup, along with the ones who eat junk food and watch Netflix all night, to sit on the other side.”
At first, Georgie’s manager team was indignant. “They don’t want to include the drinking and hookup-seeking parts!” Georgie reported. “They say they’re bad and make everything worse.”
“I know they feel that way,” I said. “Assure them that we’re not endorsing what those parts do, but we need to understand their perspective.”
Reluctantly, Georgie’s managers agreed to let the drinking and hookup-seeking parts take a seat. One good way of helping clients organize inner chaos is to call a meeting in a safe space, hosted by the client’s Self. In IFS, the Self is our core essence—curious, present, accepting, and accountable. As the client notices their parts and vice versa, the parts are more likely to cooperate. They want validation. They want to be felt, seen (if the client is visual), heard, and understood. When they get into intense disagreements, they also need help depolarizing.
While people like Georgie can visualize internally with ease, people who are not internally visual can feel, hear, or somatically sense their inner community of parts with equal facility and success. The IFS therapist facilitates this process until the client and their system can do it without help. The essential relationship between parts and the Self develops as parts separate (or unblend). Once the Self has witnessed (sensed, felt, heard, seen) a part’s experience from the part’s perspective, the part becomes willing to also see its problems and dilemmas through the adult, fully resourced perspective of the Self.
It turned out that Georgie’s drinking and hookup-seeking parts were equally unenthusiastic about sitting at the table with her critical managers, who routinely attacked them for causing relational, physical, and emotional problems. The drinking part absolutely did not trust Georgie to protect it. “Would the drinking part be willing to meet with you separately, away from these critics?” I asked. “Maybe in a separate room?”
When they were alone, the drinking part said, “Without me, you’re weak and alone.”
Georgie recalled hiding in her bedroom closet when her mother was angry. “Okay,” she said. “I get that. Now I have a question for you, okay?” The part nodded. “How old do you think I am?”
“Six,” the drinking part promptly replied.
Georgie sensed this six-year-old part within her, feeling what she’d felt when she hid from her mom in a bedroom closet. She invited this young part to sit next to her and then asked the drinking part to look at her again. The drinking part was surprised to see that Georgie was actually a grown up. “I want you to know that I appreciate all you’ve done for me. You’ve helped me have a social life, made sure I had fun, and distracted me when I felt desperately alone.” When the drinking part felt appreciated and understood, Georgie asked it, “Can we go back and talk to the parts who’ve been critical of you now?”
They returned to the table, and Georgie took the lead, “Does everyone see me? I’m here to help. And I’m grateful to all of you. Would you like my help?” Slowly, they all nodded. “Who needs my attention first?”
After some discussion about their cycle (the shaming causing the drinking and hookup-seeking behaviors), Georgie asked if they’d be willing to allow her to help the little girl who was still hiding in her bedroom closet. When they agreed, Georgie called on the little girl, but she wouldn’t make eye contact or come out of hiding. When Georgie asked why, the girl said, “Where have you been? Why did you leave me alone?”
Georgie apologized, “You didn’t deserve the bad things that happened to you. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to protect you… But I’m here now and I want to help. What do you need?”
At this, the little girl came closer and began to show Georgie some painful, shaming memories. When she felt sad and fearful after being ridiculed at school for having short hair and “boy clothes,” her mother had been impatient and dismissive. Then, the girl showed Georgie times when she’d felt alone and confused because she loved her best friend. Georgie listened with an open heart and expressed understanding. After a while, the little girl said she was ready to leave the past with Georgie and come into the present. She wanted a hug. Georgie held her and asked if she was ready to let go of the belief that she was bad and unlovable. Looking at me, Georgie reported, “She says it’s good to be with me. She’s relieved.”
After the little girl unburdened those toxic identity beliefs, we asked her protectors how they were doing now. They were relieved, too, but not ready to go off and do something else. They wanted to see how this would go. Would Georgie be reliable? Would she be able to keep everyone safe?
Georgie validated their concerns and asked them to make a deal with her. “If you see a problem, tell me. I’m here to help. You don’t have to be sneaky or do things impulsively without me knowing. Come to me directly and I’ll help us find a solution.”
As we wound up the session, Georgie emanated a newfound calm and tenderness. I was moved by her sweet, affectionate tie with the little girl. Going forward, I knew her critics and partying parts would need more attention, and I suspected we’d find more exiled parts burdened with both family and cultural legacies. But I also sensed that Georgie’s big leap today would ricochet through her whole system beneficially.
***
Georgie’s story is typical of clients who struggle with compulsive, high-risk, distracting or numbing behaviors. IFS links the inner focus of trauma treatment with the behavioral focus of addiction treatment. Since clients in the grip of addictive processes often require a lot of support, they may need to attend a residential program, an intensive outpatient program, a 12-step peer support group, couple therapy, or family therapy. Additionally, they may need medical interventions and medication. IFS, which treats a system rather than a symptom and anchors clients in the knowledge of their essential goodness and capacity to revive, is well-suited to be the hub of this treatment wheel.
