Back in 2005, when I was still practicing medicine as an OB/GYN in San Diego and I was pregnant with my now almost 18-year-old daughter, I was miserable at work, morally injured, grieving the impending death of my father, and thinking about ending my life. The thing is, I was already past the 24-week mark of “viability,” meaning that my baby might have survived on her own if she were born at that time. Although I’m pro-choice, I wasn’t willing to kill my unborn baby now that she was old enough to survive outside my womb.

I felt trapped in a life I had chosen but wasn’t happy living. My then-husband didn’t have a job and wasn’t interested in getting one. It was going to cost me $120,000 I didn’t have if I wanted to quit my job to cover my malpractice tail, and I still owed money for medical school debt.

Then, as Liz Gilbert describes in Eat, Pray, Love, one night when I was sobbing on the floor of my bathroom, I heard a voice inside me say, in the most loving, compassionate way possible, “Sweetheart, you’re going to have to quit your job.”

I knew it was true, even though I had no idea how I was ever going to pull it off.

I wound up calling that wise little voice inside my “Inner Pilot Light,” which in Internal Family Systems (IFS), we call Self with a capital “S.”

That spontaneous emergence of Self in the midst of my suicidal crisis began a daily practice for me. Every morning, I’d wake up and ask this little voice what it wanted me to hear today. Then I’d let that voice talk through my fingers. I was shocked to see what my fingers wrote.

Here’s an example from one of those notes:

Dearest Beloved,

Inside of you I hear a noisy grumbling, and I recognize that voice. Hello, you sneaky, adorable, ferocious, fearful goblin! I see you, and I love and accept you. I appreciate all you’re doing to try to keep things safe. I know you’re just trying to protect against change and uncertainty, maintaining the status quo at all costs.

I know you mean well, with all your nervous, scared ruminating and all your circular anxious plans. I know you want me to think you’re this big, scary monster. But I see that you’re really just the voice of a scared inner child who needs love and comfort. Would you consider letting me put my great arms around you as I rock you on my cosmic lap?

I’m not kicking you out, you dear little beast. You’re always welcome, and nobody’s going to blame or shame or judge or reject you. I’m going to listen to every single scary thing you want to tell me, because I’m so grateful that you’re trying to be such a fierce protector. (Good job doing what you do, my little lovebuggy!)
I’m just asking that you try trusting me just enough to free you from all the exhausting work you do trying to keep the unpredictable world safe.

How would you feel about going on a holiday for a while, maybe somewhere warm and beautiful, like the south of France? Don’t worry! You won’t get kicked out or replaced while you’re gone. You’re totally welcome here, and nobody’s going to make you leave. I’m just thinking there might be a job you’d like better than the one you have.

What if I take care of keeping things safe for a while? Would you dare to let me help you out?
You would? Really? Ah . . . I’m touched.

Awesome. Now, about that trip to France . . .

Ooh la la,
YOUR INNER PILOT LIGHT

Back in 2005, when I first started doing this, I sent some of the letters the little voice was writing to me to a few trusted friends, and I was surprised by their responses. They’d say things like, “Hey, how is it possible that your Inner Pilot Light knows exactly what I needed to hear today?”

So I started publishing them as a daily email called The Daily Flame. It went viral, and I spent the next ten years writing down what that little voice said and sending it to whoever wanted to read it. Those daily love letters wound up being published by Sounds True as The Daily Flame: 365 Love Letters From Your Inner Pilot Light.

I ran out of bandwidth to keep publishing those daily letters, but I still write them for my own therapeutic process when I need to.

I didn’t know the IFS model when I began doing this back in 2005, but looking back, I now I see that my Self (and maybe sometimes a Self-like part) was trying to reach through the dark cloud of my misery to help light the way to the life that awaited me after I left the hospital. Those love letters were really from my Self to my parts- and I honestly think they saved my life.

This writing practice that connects Self to parts is just one of many IFS-inspired writing practices Harvard psychiatrist and lead IFS trainer Frank Anderson, MD and I are going to be teaching in our upcoming Write To Heal: IFS + Memoir Writing online writing class in January. If you’re interested in learning how IFS can help you write memoir material and how writing your memoir can help you safely heal trauma, we invite you to join us:

Learn more and register here.

I’m also teaching an IFS + Memoir Writing (sans Frank) at a retreat center in Malta in November 2024, if you feel like splurging on a holiday gift of more Self energy for yourself or someone you love.

Apply to participate in the retreat here.