She’s the one with the notebooks.

The stickers. The color-coded meal plans. The habit trackers that lasted three days. The “this time it’ll work” energy.

She is so tired.

She never blamed the chaotic part who needed comfort food or the overwhelmed part who left the dishes. She never blamed the self-help books or the productivity apps. She just blamed herself. Every time a perfect plan crumbled, she quietly took the failure on her own shoulders and got back to work.

She really believed in the next system. The next diet. The next bullet journal. The next Pinterest routine that would finally make everything feel manageable.

Not because she’s shallow or naive—but because she thought that if she could just get it right, the chaos would stop and peace would follow. She’s a self-improvement manager running on loyalty and heartbreak. And she’s been doing her best for years.

I didn’t even know how much pressure she was carrying until I felt the wave of sadness behind her. How much she tried to help. How little credit she got.

So today I let her put the pens down.

I told her it was never her job to save us. And that maybe peace doesn’t come from fixing everything. Maybe it comes from not being ashamed anymore.

If this is your first time hearing about IFS, please look into it. If (like me) you wrote a note about it somewhere months ago, or put a book about it on your "must read" list, please take this a sign to do it now. This shit is so transformative, it's not even funny.