The Moment I Realise I’ve Left Myself

It’s rarely in the big moments that I notice I have left myself. It is much more often in the small and ordinary ones. A message I read too quickly, a sudden irritation that feels out of proportion to what’s actually going on, a tightening in my chest as I move through the rest of my morning after that, slightly braced for something I can’t quite name. Nothing dramatic has happened and yet something in me has shifted.

What I usually notice first is not a thought, but my body. I’ve trained myself to do this over time, it didn’t come at all naturally at first. My jaw tightens and my breath might become shallow and quick. My thinking speeds up and becomes strangely convincing in what it’s communicating to me. There is often a familiar edge to it, a sense that I should be doing something differently, better, faster, more carefully. This is usually how I know I am no longer quite with myself. Me, I, am just a little gone.

Over the last few years, I have learned to recognise these moments as they happen. There is a quiet sentence that now appears somewhere inside me: Ah. Something in me has stepped forward. Sometimes it is irritation. Sometimes anxiety. Sometimes a part that wants to get away from what I am feeling by scrolling, planning or distracting myself in other ways. As time passed, I have no longer experienced these moments as failure. I experience them as information.

When I notice what is happening, I try not to rush past it. I pause – it doesn’t have to be for long and not in a way that I make a big deal of it. I give just enough time to turn slightly towards myself, inward. I bring my attention to the place in my body that feels tight or busy or activated. Usually it’s my solar plexus, sometimes my chest or my throat and I allow myself to notice it. I might place a hand there, breathing slowly, and quietly say inwardly, ‘I see you. I know you are a part of me and not all of me.’ Sometimes I offer a few gentle words of reassurance, even if they feel strange at first. Just this small act of noticing, of softening my tone toward myself, is often enough to create a little space between me and the part that has stepped forward.

This is what softening looks like for me now. It is not a technique. It is a shift in relationship, a softening of my own inner voice. A move away from why am I like this? and towards I can see you.

Very often I notice how quickly another part of me wants to take over. The part that wants to fix the feeling, that wants to analyse it, that would much rather distract itself than sit quietly with what’s there inside me. Softening, for me, is not about stopping these parts. It is about not letting them run the whole show without me. It is about staying present enough to notice who has stepped forward and what they might need.

These moments, the sudden irritation, the spiralling thought, the wave of self-criticism, are not problems to solve. They are communications from my inner world. If I do not listen to the whispers, as I have said before, they usually develop into demands. And yes, sometimes I really don’t want to listen. Sometimes I would much rather distract myself, sometimes I would rather be busy, sometimes I would rather not turn inward at all. That too is part of being human.

But when I can soften towards what is here, even briefly, something shifts. Not dramatically and often it’s only just enough to create a little space between me and the part that is holding things for me. That small space matters very much because from there, I can begin to relate to what I am feeling rather than being completely inside it.

So much of this work, and so much of my own healing, always seems to lead me back to the same place: reassurance, presence, a kind and steady inner relationship. In many ways, it resembles the kind of parenting so many of us longed for at different points in our lives: a calm, loving presence that does not rush us, shame us or try to fix us before it understands us. When I think about the Internal Family Systems approach and the way I meet my inner world, I always return to love. More specifically, to self-love. Love is soft. And softening is, in its own quiet way, soothing.

If you would like something simple to try, this is what I come back to when I notice a strong emotion rising, for example anxiety, irritation, sadness or self-criticism. Pause and say inwardly: I notice a part of me feels… and name the emotion. Place a hand on your chest or belly, feeling your own presence and add:

‘I see you. I know that you are a part of me and not all of me.’

Offer a few gentle words of reassurance, even if it feels strange. Then take one slow breath out, offering a little space to what is there and simply notice whether anything softens, even slightly.

It is never about doing it perfectly, it’s just about the act of noticing. It’s about showing up for yourself in the same way you might have wanted someone else to show up for you all along. It’s about letting your inner world know that it is seen and held, even when life is moving fast, even when emotions arrive uninvited. This is softening. This is presence. This is love.