critical parent, loving parent

Dec 07, 2024

My inner parents sometimes struggle to collaborate with one another. They have different aims, fears, and wishes for my inner child. At times, they even express different values. But regardless of the apparent struggle they face, they are a team. When they work together as a team, the child thrives. When their collaboration is out of balance and one of them takes charge, ignoring the other, the child suffers.

I’d like to take a moment to introduce you to my inner parents. They’re actually very lovely people. And in order for you to understand and love me, you will have to get to know them better. You might end up meeting one or both of them, and although they’re a little embarrassing, I really do cherish them.

critical parent, loving parent1

This is the image that arises as I consider which inner parent is often critical of my inner child. Focus not much on the cups, the river, or the castle, but instead the tallness of the figure, the hair pulled tightly back. The downward-sloped posture, draped in lengthy black. The air of gloom.

Five is the fearful one. The one attuning to shame and loss. Five reminds the child that there is, in fact, such a thing as good and bad. And you better not be bad. He’s always a little stressed about how things landed for other people. Were they comfortable with that joke? Was I a good enough host? Are they going to want to hang out again?

While Five reminds me of all the ways I am “doing it wrong,” the truth is that he really just wants me to feel in connection. He wants the child to have friends, to experience gratitude and appreciation. He is so aware of the dangers of loneliness, and it’s okay to be a little bit of a chameleon if it helps you ward off loneliness, right?

Ever since I got sober, I have struggled with Five. I am angry with him, for all the times he told me not to ask for help with my addiction or with my difficult relationships with my family. I wish he would let me be more free. But I am also learning how crucial he has been to my development. He’s helped me be of service to so many people. He attunes to my physical needs: having a home, being fed, learning difficult skills.

I want to tell him: “you are a good parent. Especially when you remind me of my love for other people and let me find my own way to grace for our shared messiness.”

Here’s a brief aside to talk about a workshop I’m hosting next week on Generational Activism. You can read more about it here.

This is the parent of mine that unconditionally loves and celebrates the child, regardless of what is happening. Consider the eclectic attire, the flirting with edges and danger, the attention towards a delicate, beautiful flower. The energy of possibility and freedom.

Joker loves chaos. Fly your freak flag, kid. You only got this life, and it’s not for others to tell you what to do with it. It’s your circus, and sincerity is all that matters. Joker loves a good laugh, and if the humor is a little hurtful, that’s okay; they’ll stick around for the repair too. Because they really, really care.

On the inside, Joker’s insecure they might lose access to a core, creative spirit — something that’s innately true but somehow fragile. They’re not always the best at receiving critical feedback, because they truly believe that what the child feels about themself is what’s most important, and if they disagree with your critique, you’ll definitely hear about it.

Joker’s deepest wish is that I’m in connection with myself. That I know my boundaries, my priorities, my gifts. That I don’t squander my effusiveness in a space where it’s not appreciated or welcomed. They’re the reason I started making art publicly, and they’re the one who helped me claim the role of coach. They have helped me advocate for myself with my family, especially in earlier years when I needed to rage at everything.

Frankly, we’re on good terms, Joker and I. That said, they can get excited about being in charge and go overboard. At times, they wanna burn the whole world down and start anew, but they get bored in the building phase and lose steam.

I want to tell them: “you’ve brought me so far. There is still a lot we are learning together, and I hope you stick around even when I’m not leaning on you as much. I have to be stand on my own two legs.”

The child is not really concerned with any of this. Just playing, rolling around the floor, goo goo ga ga. You’ve met a baby, right?

But these two are constantly fussing over the kid’s well-being. With good reason — it’s scary out there! The world requires us to navigate complexities of survival, relationships, moralities, and each of us has our own blueprint.

When I imagine my inner parents at odds, I think of one of them wresting control over the child’s life. I think of Five’s shame spirals, overt people pleasing, self-attack and paralysis. Fearful of conflict and difficulty advocating for myself. I think of Joker’s unwillingness to yield, rejection of social codes. The proclivity to break all the rules, no matter how it affects others.

Neither of them truly wants these out-of-balance expressions of woundedness. No, they want to work in concert!

Earlier this week, I found myself once again facing difficult rupture and conflict: someone dear to me was feeling hurt by my unskillful behavior. The emotions this brought me were so strong — the situation left me crying uncontrollably in pain and confusion when it first came up, because I didn’t understand how the actions I were taking could lead to such a strong response in them. Crucially, I was afraid of losing our connection, and didn’t know how to respond.

As I’ve been learning to do, I took a long pause and got in deeper connection with myself. I started to explore and develop these archetypes. And when it was time to talk again, when both of us mutually felt ready to explore our conflict and the possibility of repair, I imagined my inner parents deciding to hold hands, each of them attuning to the needs of the child, offering the other support.

Five, saying to Joker: I know it’s important to advocate for yourself. I’m not gonna let you go unheard.

Joker, saying to Five: It’s important we take accountability and honor how they were wronged. I’m not gonna let you go unheard.

The child, of course, shrieking and ejecting spittle, happy to be supported and loved and feeling connection.

The conversation was effortless. I acknowledge the hurt that this person felt and my part in it. And I also advocated for my own needs, suggesting that our conflict was made by a series of complex dynamics that I wasn’t willing to take full responsibility for. I felt grounded in my own integrity and we left that dialogue laughing and grateful for the power of repair.

When these two come together as a team, I feel alive to the power of my own defenselessness. I feel the grace of love and all that I’m able to offer that to the world. I feel Five’s humility and Joker’s humor. And when I let them take care of each other, I am taken care of.

The frames of “critical parent“ and “loving parent” are taken from ACA: Adult Children of Alcoholics and Dysfunctional Families

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