The Stories We Tell (Part 2)
/In Part I of this mini-series, we were introduced to the idea that the stories we tell ourselves about who we are can empower or stifle us. We also discussed briefly how we develop “Protectors” as a result of events that are too overwhelming to our systems to handle, either because of their intensity or because of the limitations of our developmental stage.
These “Firefighters” or ”Managers” may look aggressive or passive.[1] They develop as our system’s way of keeping us safe; over time, they can morph into unconscious obstacles in our relationship to our self, to others, and to what or whomever we identify as our Higher Power. Our Protectors can hold us back or propel us into problematic situations. They can create patterns that seem impossible to change. Often, in an attempt to get rid of them, even greater virulent self-punishing patterns may emerge.
Here, in Part II, we continue to flesh out what these Protectors look like and how we can identify them, acknowledge them, and learn to make them the helpers they were originally intended to be.
How Protectors Work
Protectors are reactors. They trigger automatic, split-second reactions that go from 0 to 10 in intensity in less than a breath. They act as guardians when there is an insufficient acknowledgment of an overwhelming experience, and more importantly when there is an insufficient way of processing and releasing the pent-up energy created by the experience.[1]
Over time, these survivor reactor parts can become so entrenched that they override the rational parts of us. They become our standard operating modality and can make it seem that “this is who I am” and that “this is all I can expect from life.” We may come to unquestioningly accept the warnings of our protector parts that keep us on high alert for the next danger (fight reaction), or we can become so shut down and dissociated that we don’t have much capacity for feeling anything (flight or freeze reaction). While each of us may have a primary Protector or two, we are capable of enabling both Firefighters and Managers. This can appear confusing, for example, when someone who generally withdraws, comes out of their protective shell, and unexpectedly outbursts over something that may seem trivial.
“Keeping Score”
Our body registers all that has happened in our lives, even though we may not remember our earliest experiences. This gets imprinted in our body and gets stored as energy in the amygdala, the primitive “lizard” part of the brain responsible for keeping our earliest ancestors alive by serving as an early warning system to imminent danger. We can recognize the over-energized role of the Protectors when present-day events trigger our body’s memory of an original trauma or loss. This sets off an instantaneous reaction from our amygdala, which floods our body with hormones to fight or flee.[2]
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What it looks like is an “overreaction” to or “shutting down” in response to the event. Because this process is beyond our awareness, it is often hard not to blame others for our overly intense feelings: “That person made me so angry.” Alternately, we may completely miss warning signs of real danger altogether and “under-react” to certain events. A typical example is when someone reports a catastrophe they experienced, almost as casually as if they were talking about a movie they saw.
Most often, however, we secretly believe these reactions are just troublesome parts of our personality: “I’m just an angry person,” or “I’m a bit controlling;” “I’m shy,” or “I’m just a coward.” However, these are a built-in survival process; the extremes that we have become more aware of, due in large part to ongoing and hopeful research on the treatment of trauma.
Case Examples
The “Manager”
When our “Manager” protector is in charge, it blocks the life-giving energy that moves us to a higher frequency of joy and gratitude.[1] When this happens, it can look like depression, anxiety, general malaise, physical pain or illness, confusion, or a myriad of other symptoms that wind up in a doctor’s office but don’t generally respond to medication in any significant way. This is because pharmaceuticals are not effective in treating a “dis-ease” of the spirit.
Take, for example, the case of “Josie”:
“Josie”—a petite, well-dressed, well-spoken 37-year old woman was referred to me because of my experience treating trauma. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she reported. "Josie" went on to describe a disabling sense of worthlessness and an absence of meaning and purpose in her life.
She had a decent job, a few casual friends, but no close relationships. She lived at home with her parents who were getting ready to retire and sell their house. She described her relationship with them as respectful, but not particularly warm.
She was seen as the “good child” growing up, but she described feeling empty, lonely, and boring. Her older and younger brothers were both working satisfying jobs; both were in a relationship and living on their own. Josie just couldn’t understand what had happened to her life.
Energetically, Josie presented as very disconnected from her body. She reported her feelings as if she were talking about someone else. Sometimes, the body can communicate more than we can put words to. Her body language described someone who had already given up on herself.
Josie felt like a very young child to me. She spoke in a soft, helpless voice and she didn’t make eye contact easily. Clearly, Josie had experienced something that triggered a Protector that she later described as a “Sentry”—a part that kept her feelings locked behind an impenetrable wall. While it kept her from feeling pain, it also kept her from feeling enthusiasm, joy, hope, and self-esteem. That was the price she was paying to feel safe and secure.[3]
The “Firefighter”
When our “Firefighter” part is in charge, it looks for signs of danger.[1] It assumes bad intentions of others; it may become withholding or guarded, defensive or offensive, over-reactive to perceived slights in relationships. The “Firefighter” judges, criticizes, and condemns. It fights. It may become rigid and harsh. It may become so hyper-vigilant to the struggles in life that it doesn’t allow the person to enjoy the fruits of his labors or the simple joys of family life.
The case of “Tom” is such an example:
“Tom” was referred to me for anger management issues. He had already had one heart attack at age 50, and his doctor recommended therapy to help him avoid a second one. He described himself as having a short fuse that got triggered by his wife who just didn’t “get him.” His kids were in high school and busy with sports and friends, and they spent little time at home.
Tom was a hard worker and provided well for his family, but he felt under-appreciated and taken for granted. He felt justified in his explosive outbursts, even though he was apologetic for putting his fist through the basement wall, excusing it by saying he never hit his family. However, everyone in the house avoided him which further angered him.
He had few friends that he confided in. He drank to relax at night. He felt pretty hopeless about almost every area of his life. Energetically, Tom presented as frustrated, confused, and fearful. He avoided experiencing these softer feelings in his body covering them up with his anger and rage. In uncovering his family history, he reported a harsh, abusive father who drank away his salary and left the family in dire straits. His mother was timid and submissive to her husband.
In Tom’s case, he could distance himself from the terror of living in this kind of unpredictable danger and insecurity by being a good worker. However, he had no skills to really connect with his family, so he felt abandoned. When this happened, his Rage Protector would come out yelling and swinging. The price for feeling safe and in control was the alienation of his family.
Healing the Spirit
“What heals is an understanding and appreciation
that these Protectors were born out of a need for us to survive
something that was overwhelming and terrifying at the time.”
Every behavior is an unspoken, often unconscious communication about our needs. What is needed in each of the cases above is not more control to get rid of anger or any other unpleasant, problematic behavior as in Tom’s case or a prescription of “To Do” lists to motivate us to get back on track as in Josie’s. What heals is an understanding and appreciation that these Protectors were born out of a need for us to survive something that was overwhelming and terrifying at the time. If we are to grow and heal, we need to take these needs seriously.
When we try to simply get rid of the Protectors, they may become more entrenched, or morph into another equally intrusive “Protector.” For example, a “Critic” protector may be replaced with a more punishing “Judge.” The problem is not that these parts exist, but that they are out of balance with the other parts of us, wanting to lead rather than be advisors. This leaves our “Core Self”—our “True Self” which is loving, kind, compassionate, and joyful—waiting in the wings for permission to take charge of organizing and leading the other parts.
The healing process is relatively straightforward once we identify our “Protector” parts and respectfully acknowledge and thank them for their good intentions, despite the struggles they may have caused us. Only then can we gently ask them to step aside for us to see what is hiding behind them; this is usually a scene or memory from our earlier life when we felt humiliated, hurt, powerless, terrified, abandoned, or rejected. We call these the “Exiled” parts—those parts that hold the pain that was too much to bear. For Josie, it was her experience of being left unattended at the age of 3 when her mother had a life-threatening medical emergency. For Tom, it was the terrified 9-year-old child watching his mom cry at his father’s beatings while feeling powerless to do anything to save her.
Once we witness and feel the feelings of these “Exiled” parts, we can bring our “True Self” to console and reassure the wounded “Exile” part of our everlasting love and care. This calms down the “Protector” parts, too, so that they can safely take a back seat, ready when they may be needed in the future, but no longer in the driver’s seat. As one client going through this process remarked, “I can feel the relief of my Protector part in being able to relax for the first time.”
Once we learn to identify, acknowledge and accept each of these parts, we become able to use the process to release our overworked “Protectors” to take a more advisory role in our life. Josie and Tom reported feeling tender toward those parts of themselves that led to more self-compassion. They felt grateful for the process that helped change their perspective about who they were and how they could stay connected to their “Core Self.” When some present situation triggers the energy of earlier trauma, they have learned that they can turn to their self-nurturing part to help them identify the Protector, to sit with the released energy from their amygdala, and begin to talk down the Protector that was surfacing. No more shame or blame—just a loving Part that could once again reassure the frightened “Exile” and release the “Protector” to relax. This new “story” about their internal experience helped them see a more hopeful future and the possibility of living a more connected, whole-hearted life.
In Part III of this mini-series, we’ll look at how we inherit stories from our family of origin stories that sometimes constrain and silence us. Using teachings from Family Constellation work, we can see more clearly how our personal life journey unconsciously attempts to manifest or heal the struggles of those who came before us. In the process, we come to appreciate how our personal challenges are connected in love and loyalty to those who have been forgotten or harshly judged in the family.
What do you believe are your most prevalent Protectors?
Share your comments at the bottom of the page.
© Whatismyhealth
Special thanks to our resources:
Schwartz, Richard. 2001. Internal Family Systems. Trailhead Publishers: Bellevue, Washington.
Van der kolk, Bessel. 2014. The Body Keeps the Score. Penguin Books: New York.
Client cases are a composite of many people I have worked with over the last 35 years, whose identities have been protected by use of pseudonyms.
Understanding our attachment styles can help us bypass destructive strategies and find a more authentic connection.