I have spent the past few years learning what it means to have “spaciousness” inside. It was my therapist who introduced me to this term, a concept that is used within the Internal Family Systems (IFS) therapy community to denote both a byproduct and aim of treatment.
While I got the gist what she meant, it took time to experience and fully understand it, as I was working towards achieving a feeling that can sometimes more easily be defined by what it is not. For example, spaciousness is not an absence of anxiety, anger, or fear, but rather allowing those uncomfortable emotions to be present in a way that doesn’t take up all the proverbial oxygen in the room. With spaciousness, there’s room for those uncomfortable emotions, and so much more.
Now that I have felt the cool breeze of inner spaciousness, have felt my lungs expand further to take in fresh air as the constriction around my chest loosened its vice-like grip, I can relish the experience and what it’s like to see both my internal landscape and the world around me from this vantage point. And I feel compelled to share, to help others access this form of existence as well.
Spaciousness can most simply be defined as a sense of openness inside. It involves the ability to notice thoughts, emotions, physical sensations, and mental images as they arise, watching them flow through you without having to react right away, or perhaps at all. With spaciousness you can choose your response instead of simply reacting. With spaciousness comes choice.
Imagine the following juxtaposition. In the first scenario, I might walk down that dark hallway of my mind, trying not to look behind this door or around that corner for fear of the emotions (e.g., shame, guilt, anger), thoughts (e.g., “Why did I make that poor choice?”), physical sensations (e.g., stomachache), and mental images (e.g., the look on the face of someone I hurt) that I’d find staring back at me. In avoiding what is uncomfortable, I am constricted in my movements and therefore cannot exist authentically inside my mind and body. That’s where I used to exist, where I spent most of my life in fact, and where I might have stayed permanently if not for IFS.
In the second scenario, I might walk into that same space, one that has transformed from a hallway into a bright and open room, with high ceilings and light streaming in through the windows, illuminating an endless sectional coach on which sit all of my internal parts. Each part, or subpersonality, holds the emotions, thoughts, physical sensations, and mental images associated with their jobs, i.e., whatever they feel they must do to protect me. There is space for each part and his/her/their burdens. No avoidance is necessary. All parts are valued and welcome. That is what spaciousness feels like to me.
Now that I know what the second scenario feels like, I recognize that I will never need or want to go back to the first. Ever.
Spaciousness has developed slowly as I have gotten to know each of my parts better, coming to understand their experiences and intentions as I have worked toward facilitating inner harmony and healing through the IFS model. I didn’t ask these parts to take on their jobs and burdens; they did it on my behalf when I was younger to ensure my survival. Even if the jobs they are doing are no longer serving me, these parts have learned through IFS work that I appreciate their good intentions and that they are all welcome within my system.
Now, when a part shares what she is holding for me, rather than avoiding, ignoring, denying, or arguing, I aim to be open to noticing whatever shows up with unconditional curiosity and compassion. Although sometimes I fall short, I can notice and have compassion for that experience as well. I have room to notice, choose, and reflect. This is what spaciousness has afforded me.
My perspective is much wider from this vantage point, with an ability to take in a bigger picture that accounts for my values, contextual nuance, and interpersonal dynamics. Seeing the forest for the trees offers an expanded sense of choice that affords me the ability to make decisions about where to go from here. I no longer feel stuck, avoidant, or hopeless.
I remember what it was like to have an uncomfortable emotion consume me when I was a young child. It felt like I would be lost in the discomfort, overwhelmed by what felt to my child mind like a never-ending angst I could not escape. I was lost in the grey storm clouds, unable to recognize the blue skies and sunshine that remained in existence out there, whether or not I could see them. Logic could not touch this feeling. Nor could punishment or judgment. I would react and then deal with the consequences of my actions. I didn’t understand it, so I just assumed something was wrong with me.
Back then, I developed an array of coping strategies to help me avoid that level of emotional overwhelm. Tantruming as a young child eventually gave way to humor, toughness, sarcasm, excessive talking, and clambering for whatever dopamine hits were available. There was a shame cycle woven into my experience, a sense that there was something inherently wrong with me, leading me to judge myself initially for having overwhelming emotions and later for making unhealthy coping choices.
Aspects of my personality, which I can look back on now and recognize as coping strategies, were simply who I was, or so I thought. “That’s just me” eventually gave way to a more accurate statement: “Those are the parts of me who show up to protect me when I’m feeling deep pain and shame inside.” What changed? Spaciousness.
Having learned about all these wonderful parts within me who have good intentions but are burdened by the roles they took on years ago, I now recognize the parts who are trying to protect me from the very thing they often inadvertently end up bringing about. For example, a part within me who has always helped me to feel closer to others in general, and specifically wants to help me feel closer to my child now, may end up making my child feel smothered and therefore in need of more space from me. Parts often need updating to understand that the old way is no longer serving us.
As I’ve gotten to know my parts better and to understand their good intentions, my self-judgment and shame have softened and begun to heal. With the added space left behind, I’ve come to recognize that all of my parts deserve internal validation from my Self energy, who now greets parts with curiosity and compassion, extended a listening ear and perhaps a supportive internal hug.
When parts feel at ease inside, no longer in need of protection and avoidance of other internal parts who shame and blame them, parts become ready to connect and start the healing process. When a part blends with me, trying to take control in any given situation, I acknowledge and ask the part to “make space,” and in response the part will often take a step back in a way that feels like a softening, a loosening, or a lessening inside. Like a cramped hallway that just transitioned to a three-story ballroom.
As a good friend explained it, “meditation means the difference between three seconds and 30 seconds.” He meant that spending time watching internal experiences strengthens the observer part of the mind, making it possible to notice triggers without reacting to them immediately. With spaciousness, there is more bandwidth to sit with the experience and then choose what comes next. A lot can happen in those extra seconds, impacting both the outcome and the internal experience.
Feeling like I have a choice when I notice something come up inside is very much at odds with the lack of choice I felt as a child. This shift into greater spaciousness has been healing for my young parts who no longer feel trapped and hopeless. It’s a gift I’ve given to my parts in return for their trust and faith in me. We are in greater harmony now. I wish the same for you.
