Love in A Childhood Lost

IFS has been truly transformative.
Yesterday, I had 2 IFS sessions. One with my therapist, and one with my peer partner. I worked primarily to transform 3 parts; a little 5 year old girl who wanted to believe in the goodness and virtue of her mother, a wizened old karate master; The Manipulator, and a tiny newborn baby.
The 5 year old girl was holding on to a pit of fear in her stomach. She knew that her mother was cruel. But to admit that would be to admit that her very survival was threatened. A cruel mother would as soon ‘forget’ about or neglect her baby as feed, clothe or soothe her. After all, cruelty is a way to serves own emotional needs at the expense of others. A child is a black hole of emotional needs. A cruel mother can never hope to meet the needs of a child.
And so, my 5 year old part desperately needed to believe in the goodness of her mother. This fear of a cruel and vindictive, narcissistic mother was something she was fundamentally unprepared to deal with. It was repressed, suppressed into her unconscious to deal with later, when she had the emotional resources to do so. 27 years later.
I am glad to say that I did heal this 5 year old child. She is eternally with my soft, kind, and caring Self. The Self that was buried deep under layers of parts, but with which I’ve recently gotten in touch with. The Self that is able to heal and transform all the parts that surround it.

I was very tired after this. I went home after my therapy appointment and crashed. I slept for a good hour, and lazed around the rest of the day, until about 6 o clock, when my peer counselor and I had a scheduled call. I don’t usually have therapy and a peer call on the same day, but Wednesday was my usual day, and that was DH’s birthday. So we had to work around it.
The first part I worked with on the call was The Manipulator. He first appeared as a strongman; a man with prodigous muscle and strength, and sort of bull-headed. Yet as I got to know him better, I realized that I was judging him too harshly, and so I had to separate from my Judgemental part. When my true curiosity allowed me to see clearer, I saw a wizened old karate practitioner. He wore a well-used gi and a karate headband, and appeared ever at the ready. An apt descriptor would be competent. He was foundationally competent at this job.
I decided to work with this part because I had realized that, abusers tend to get their victims to be complicit in their abuse. Ie, a manipulative, cruel mother gets her daughter to manipulate and be cruel in turn.
This was something that struck me as very basic in my relationship with my mother. When my mom, a few weeks ago, accused me of being manipulative, a great wall of anger came up. I screamed at her. It was the first time in memory that I had ever done such a thing.
Why? I asked myself, why had I reacted that way?
Well; it’s obvious. The anger itself is a defense against her attack because her attack had hit something vital.
You know; there is no reaction if your attack misses the mark. A bullet whizzes by your head, and you may not even notice. If it hits a soft spot, though- something that hurts- you already know that the attack has struck a part of you. A part of you that is as much you as your arm or your spleen.
Anyway, I’ve already documented the outcome of that exchange.
The Manipulator, I learned, was protecting a tiny infant.
She was a sad sight. Wrapped up in a swaddle so tight that only her face was visible, she was cold, still, silent, and her eyes were closed. But for her shallow breathing and the steady hum inside of her, she could’ve been dead. The humming was like a low buzz- it was the steady vibration of barely contained terror and panic.
My heart wept at the sight of her. This small, helpless tiny baby full of terror. I had to separate my Self from her to prevent my Self from being overwhelmed. I held her and let her know that I was there with her.
She opened her eyes and stared at me. Her eyes contained a great deal of fear. She just stared, nothing else. I was here with her in Self. As her gaze took me in, and she felt me holding her, the buzzing inside of her subsided. She appeared pinker. Her eyes relaxed from fear into a contended observation.
I just held her, experiencing what it was like to pour love into a very small baby that was not my own baby. It was me. It was me as a baby. She soaked it up. Her warmness and soft snuggling made it clear that she was now alive, and not just content but Happy.
I held the Happy baby for a long time. In fact, my Self is still holding her.

Today I feel Loved. Genuinely, and perhaps, for the first time ever.