Why Internal Family Systems Changed the Way I Practice Therapy

When I first learned about Internal Family Systems (IFS), something about it immediately resonated with me. Internal Family Systems is based on the idea that the human psyche naturally organizes itself into different parts. These parts develop roles intended to protect us from harm, help us navigate our lives, and manage experiences that may once have felt overwhelming.

The idea that we contain different psychological parts is not entirely new. Psychology has been exploring the multiplicity of the mind since the work of Freud and Jung. We even recognize it intuitively in everyday language: Part of me wants to do this, but another part of me is afraid. What initially fascinated me about IFS, however, wasn't simply the idea of parts. It was the idea of Self.

The Self at the Center of IFS

Internal Family Systems proposes that beneath all of our protective strategies, wounds, fears, and internal conflicts is a core Self that cannot be damaged by what has happened to us. IFS founder Dr. Richard Schwartz describes the qualities of Self using what are commonly called the 8 Cs: Curiosity, Compassion, Calm, Clarity, Courage, Confidence, Creativity, and Connectedness. When we have access to more Self energy, we can approach our internal experiences with curiosity rather than judgment. We can respond to frightened, angry, ashamed, or defensive parts of ourselves with compassion rather than trying to suppress, criticize, or eliminate them.

Depending on your own worldview, you might think of Self energy simply as a psychological concept, or the idea may overlap with what you understand as your soul, spirit, or consciousness. For me, that was part of what made IFS so intriguing. The concept of Self energy resonated deeply with ideas I had already encountered through my own exploration of spirituality and consciousness. The more I learned about IFS, the more the model made sense to me. Actually doing IFS-style work, however, was another matter.

Learning to “Get Weird”

Early on, I found some of the experiential and meditative elements associated with traditional IFS intimidating. Like many developing therapists, I was comfortable with talking. I knew how to ask questions, explore patterns, help clients make connections, and discuss what they were experiencing. Then I began working with a client whose internal system seemed remarkably clear to me. As he talked, I could almost hear his different parts speaking. I could recognize their fears, protective strategies, and competing needs. But knowing that intellectually wasn't creating the breakthrough we needed. I struggled to help him connect with those parts using the more traditional talk-therapy approaches I was accustomed to.

Eventually, my faculty supervisor encouraged me to lean into the experiential work—to, in her words, “get weird.” So I did. I became more willing to incorporate meditative, experiential, and body-based approaches. Rather than only talking about a client's reactions, we became curious about what was happening internally in the moment. Where did an emotion show up in the body? What happened when we slowed down and paid attention to it? What did that part seem to fear? What was it trying to accomplish? What did it need us to understand? And something shifted. The client had a breakthrough. Then he continued having breakthroughs. That experience fundamentally changed the direction of my therapeutic work.

From Understanding Ourselves to Relating to Ourselves

I began seeking additional education, training, consultation, and support for integrating IFS concepts into my therapeutic approach. As I became more comfortable working experientially with parts, I began seeing meaningful changes in my clients—including clients with complex trauma histories who had come to believe that therapy might simply be something they would need forever. One of the things I find most valuable about this way of working is that insight isn't necessarily the end goal. Understanding why we do something can be incredibly helpful. But there can be an enormous distance between understanding a pattern and actually experiencing ourselves differently. IFS offers us a way to begin changing the relationship we have with ourselves.

This distinction becomes particularly important when we talk about self-compassion. We can tell someone, “Don't be so hard on yourself.” We can encourage them to “give yourself some grace.” We can remind them that they deserve compassion. But knowing that we should be kinder to ourselves doesn't necessarily make self-compassion accessible.

When someone has spent years criticizing, suppressing, fearing, or fighting against aspects of themselves, simply deciding to stop doing that can be remarkably difficult. Parts work gives us another way. Instead of asking, How do I get rid of this part of myself? we can begin asking: What is this part trying to do for me? What is it afraid would happen if it stopped? How old does this part believe I am? What does it need me to understand?

That doesn't mean every behavior a protective part uses is healthy or something we want to continue. Instead, we begin separating the intention of the part from the strategy it learned to use. A behavior may be causing problems in our adult lives while still having originated as an attempt to protect us. When we understand that distinction, something powerful can happen: judgment can give way to curiosity. And curiosity creates space for compassion.

Building a Different Kind of Inner Attachment

One of my favorite ways of understanding this work is through the language of attachment. IFS allows us to begin developing what I think of as a healthy, loving attachment between Self and parts. Rather than abandoning vulnerable parts of ourselves, attacking protective ones, or allowing frightened parts to take over completely, we practice meeting our internal experiences from Self—with curiosity, compassion, calm, and confidence. Over time, our parts can begin learning that they are no longer alone. There is someone capable of listening to them, understanding them, comforting them, and leading them. And that someone is you.

For people whose earliest relationships did not consistently provide safety, attunement, or emotional regulation, I find that idea particularly powerful.

Bringing the Mind and Body Back Together

Another reason I value IFS-informed work is its attention to the connection between psychological and physical experience. Emotions don't exist only as thoughts. Fear may appear as tightness in the chest. Shame might come with the urge to shrink or disappear. Anger may bring heat, tension, or an impulse toward movement. A protective response may emerge before we can consciously explain what triggered it.

Experiential parts work invites us to become curious about all of this rather than treating the mind and body as separate systems. In my clinical experience, helping clients bridge their physical, mental, and emotional experiences can increase their ability to recognize what is happening internally and respond to those experiences with greater awareness and regulation.

Instead of simply being swept away by an emotional response, we can begin noticing: Something inside me is activated right now. That little bit of space can matter tremendously.

Why I Continue to Pursue Internal Family Systems Informed Therapy

Internal Family Systems has grown enormously in popularity, and access to formal certification training remains limited. Becoming formally IFS trained is one of my long-term professional goals because I believe deeply in the philosophy underlying this approach and in its potential to change people's relationships with themselves. The model has influenced me enough that when I sought therapy for myself, I intentionally chose a therapist whose work was also informed by IFS. I wanted the opportunity to experience this way of working from the other side of the therapeutic relationship. And it has only strengthened my appreciation for it.

I also have tremendous respect for Dr. Richard Schwartz, who developed Internal Family Systems through his clinical work and observations while working with clients struggling with eating disorders. Rather than assuming he already knew what their internal experiences meant, he became curious about what his clients were describing—and ultimately developed an entirely new way of understanding the human psyche. His book No Bad Parts is one I frequently recommend to clients who want to explore these concepts for themselves.

The title beautifully captures one of the principles I value most about this approach: There are no bad parts. There are wounded parts. There are frightened parts. There are exhausted parts. There are parts using strategies that may no longer serve us. There are parts that learned to protect us in ways that made sense once but create difficulties now. But we don't have to wage war against them. We can become curious about them. We can listen to them. We can understand what they have been trying to accomplish. And, perhaps most importantly, we can learn to relate to ourselves from a place of compassion rather than judgment. For me, that is ultimately why Internal Family Systems has become such an important influence on the way I practice therapy. It isn't simply a technique for managing symptoms. It offers a fundamentally different way of understanding—and building a relationship with—ourselves.