Reader,
In the past two weeks, I've covered some pretty big ideas:
Learning how to live as an integrated person is hard. SO HARD. It's honestly a lifelong pursuit, and there are plenty of times when I revert to my default dominant parts. But when I'm able to interrupt that impulse and consciously choose which part to live from, the results are beautiful.
One morning, I was rushing to a morning meeting when the phone rang. (This was several years ago, when I'd just begun doing my own work to connect all of my parts.) On the other end of the line was a worker from the daycare I'd just dropped my 9-year-old son at. "Mr. Smith, we've got a bit of a problem."
"Okay," I responded. "What’s the problem?"
"Your son is supposed to be outside right now with all the other kids," they continued. "However, he's refusing to go outside. He's playing with LEGOs on the carpet, and that's a policy issue. It's also a safety issue: we don't have the staff to have some kids inside and some kids outside.”
"I'll be right there," I said. Hanging up, I turned my car around so I could go and handle the situation.
I began to brood as I drove back to the daycare. My son? All the other kids are following instructions, but my son is the one disregarding direction? Not on my watch!
As I pulled into the parking lot, however, a prompting from the Holy Spirit fluttered into my heart: Which part of you does your son need right now?
My Driven Warrior was ready to charge in there, handle the situation, and still get to my meeting on time. He was ready to chop off some heads.
This revelation was powerful. It enabled me to speak up and chart a different path, one that mobilized my Loving Companion. After taking another second, I got out of my car. Walked to the daycare slowly. Entered its doors peacefully.
Immediately, one of the workers brusquely walked up to me. "He's there," they said, pointing to a carpeted corner of the room where my boy sat, all by himself, playing with cars.
"Thanks," I said calmly to the worker. "I've got this."
I walked over and lay down next to my son on the carpet. "What's going on buddy?"
"I don’t want to go outside, Dad," he answered without looking up.
"Oh yeah? Why don't you want to go outside?"
"Well, there might be bees out there."
"That's right!" I said, recalling some recent history. "Last summer you got into that hornet's nest and got stung all over!"
"Yeah, it really hurt," he agreed, reliving those feelings. "I don't want to get stung again."
"That makes sense," I said, affirming his feelings. "That was terrible. How about this: maybe you and me go out there together, and we check to see if it's safe?"
"Okay," he said.
And so we went out and looked around for bees. Eventually, we settled together on the swings. "Man, I don't see any bees out here buddy," I said after a bit. "Do you?"
"Nope," he answered.
"Are you good?"
He nodded. "Yeah, Dad. I’m good."
"Is it okay if I head back to work?" I asked. And it was, so I left.
He was now outside with all the other kids. The daycare staff were relieved and happy to let me go. And I? Well, it didn't really matter, but I was even on time for my first meeting that morning.
As a parent, I've made a lot of mistakes. I've wasted years that I will never get back. But that day, I got it right. And what I got right was selecting and expressing the part of me that was needed for that moment.
These small victories are the moments I live for. I hope that this series of emails has encouraged you to believe that it IS possible to live with no regrets.
If you've got questions, or if you're not sure that that is possible for you, reach out. I'd love to hold space and help you find your way to this reality. Because:
You are loved.
I am for you.
You've got this.
Jake