Parts Work That Begins in the Body: A Gentle Introduction to How We Work

You might know the feeling already. A part of you wants to go ahead with something. Say yes to the invitation, leave the job, call the friend. Another part pulls back, quiet or loud, and says not yet, or not ever. You don't always know which one to trust. You don't always know what to do when they are at odds.

That is the opening into parts work. Most of us live with this internal traffic all the time, and when we have been carrying a lot, old grief, family patterns, the ongoing pressure of being different in a world that asks for sameness, the traffic gets louder. Parts work is a way of listening in that does not ask you to sort yourself out first. Vancouver-based and working online across Canada, I practise a version of this work that stays close to the body.

When parts have been carrying what you couldn't

There is a reason the language of "a part of me" comes up so often in ordinary conversation. We use it when we notice we are of more than one mind. We use it when we want to be honest about the pull in different directions. In therapy, this language becomes something we can work with instead of something we apologise for.

What parts are, and why this language helps

Parts are the different aspects within you that hold different feelings, memories, beliefs, and ways of moving through the world. A part can be the one who keeps the calendar. A part can be the one who shuts down when things get too close. A part can be the younger version of you who learned, a long time ago, that it was safer to be quiet.

This is not the same as having multiple personalities. It is a way of describing something most of us already live. Inside my practice, I draw on parts work as it shows up in Internal Family Systems, in Sensorimotor Psychotherapy, and in Janina Fisher's work on trauma and dissociation, particularly her Trauma-Informed Stabilization Treatment. The thread running through all of these is that parts are not problems to get rid of. They are people in you, and they have good reasons for doing what they do.

Protectors, and the parts they have been shielding

Parts end up in roles they did not choose. Some become protectors. The inner critic who keeps you performing. The planner who holds everything together. The part who numbs out, gets busy, over-works, over-caretakes, turns to food or screens or a drink when something starts to rise. Behind these protectors are often younger parts carrying fear, grief, shame, or loneliness. Parts that had to go into hiding so you could keep functioning. Some of these patterns are shaped by personal history. Some are shaped by what we have had to do to survive in a world that has not always made room for us.

Protectors do important work. They are not the enemy. Fisher calls what they hold the "living legacy" of what you have survived. In the aftermath of ongoing stress or trauma, parts can become more polarised, the protector working harder, the younger part buried deeper. Relief in this work does not come from overriding protectors. It comes from them being able to rest a little, because something trustworthy has shown up.

Why this work meets the body

Parts show up in the body before they show up in words. A tight chest. A held breath. A knot in the stomach. A weight on the shoulders that makes the air feel heavier. Often that is a part asking to be heard.

Susan McConnell, who developed Somatic Internal Family Systems, puts it this way: you do not have a body that holds parts, you are the body where parts live. Meeting parts there means listening for sensation, posture, breath, gesture. This is also why my work stays close to Sensorimotor Psychotherapy. Body stories run alongside verbal stories, and sometimes a shoulder or a jaw has more to say than a sentence.

This is not about following a script. It is more like turning the volume down on interpretation and turning the volume up on what you notice. You might find that when a part of you feels unseen, your shoulders climb toward your ears. You might find that when another part is trying to hold everything together, your jaw gets tight and your breath gets shallow. These are not things to fix in the moment. They are the first places parts become legible.

The noticing brain, and why slow is the point

Fisher names something important for this kind of work. She calls it the "noticing brain": the part of you that can observe what you feel without immediately judging, interpreting, or trying to fix it. Curious observation. When noticing is possible, the nervous system has a little room to settle. Thinking, analysing, self-critiquing all tend to tighten things further. Noticing loosens.

Slow is load-bearing here. It is not a style choice. It is the condition parts need to trust that they are being met and not overridden. When slowness is missing, protectors work harder, and the parts they are protecting stay hidden. Fisher also names "10% solutions": not dramatic breakthroughs, but small things that help a little of the time. This is the scale of change that actually holds.

In practice, the slowness can look like this:

• Noticing where something lands in the body, not whether it is right or wrong
• Naming a part as a part: a part of me feels... rather than I am...
• Pausing when a strong reaction rises, before interpreting it
• Letting one slow breath interrupt a familiar pattern, without expecting more from it
• Returning to the small things that help a little, and not measuring them against the things that would help a lot

When I describe my work as trauma-informed parts therapy, this is what I mean. Careful pacing. Attention to what parts are carrying. Consistent return to the body.

What opens when parts feel heard

When parts are listened to instead of talked over, they often relax a little. They do not stop existing. They stop having to work so hard. A protector can soften when it senses something in you can hold what it has been holding alone. A younger part can come closer when it feels met, not managed. The internal traffic does not disappear. It gets quieter, and the room between parts gets wider.

In session, this can look like pausing on a moment that seemed small. It can look like staying with a sensation for a little longer than usual, without rushing to name or solve it. It can look like speaking to a part directly, or quietly acknowledging one without needing it to move. We go where there is interest, not where we think we are supposed to go.

This is slow work, and usually non-linear. Some weeks it moves, some weeks it rests, and both are part of it. If something here resonates, I work online across Canada. My practice is LGBTQ-affirming, and this is the kind of therapy that unfolds in presence and pace, not in pressure to perform.