How I Met My Monkeys 🐒
Parts Work #1 The Fairy Tale that Changed Me Forever
When you say, “A part of me wants…” I light up inside. I’m passionate about the creative healing power of Parts Work. If you’re tormented by self-sabotage — the perfectionist, people-pleasing, procrastinating things you do instead of creating your heart’s desire (e.g. write that story, make that art) — it’s not your fault. It’s your protective parts. You can heal them.
In this series, you’ll discover the mythical and psychological underpinnings of these sub-personalities, what I lovingly call Monkeys. Today’s post reveals the ancient tale that opened my eyes to the truth. If you ever get in your own way, please subscribe for the rest of the series.
It’s 2012, a wintery eve in a Northwest forest, a fairytale place. It’s Story Night, a once-a-month event held in a tiny yurt. I’m pressed against friends, neighbors, and kids on a rough-hewn bench, under blankets, anticipating. A fire crackles in a stone ring in the center. A drum thumps a beat to match our hearts.
Our dear friend, master musician and storyteller Daniel Deardorff plays his djembe and calls the spirits, ancestors, and animals to gather close. In a warm, clear voice, he tells the ancient tale of The Lindworm Prince,* from Scandinavia. I’ll never be quite the same after hearing it.
Once upon a time, once around a time, once beside a time, before time was strung up and stretched thin upon the high wires of commerce, lived a barren Queen who wanted a child.
The wise crone gives her white and red magic rose petals, but the Queen ignores the rules and eats both. Her firstborn son is a hideous worm; the midwife casts him out the window. A perfect second son is born, while the abandoned Lindworm grows into a fearsome dragon in the woods. When it’s time for the prince to wed, the dragon shows up, and demands to marry first, his right as the eldest. The King and Queen agree, however, the dragon devours all the eligible maidens who come to marry him.
The woodsman’s daughter dreams of marrying the Lindworm Prince. The midwife tells her how: wear all her skirts, bring lye soap, a scrub brush and a bucket of milk. When the Prince demands she take off her skirt, she insists that he shed a skin for each one she removes. Layer by layer, she scrubs him down with lye soap and milk until a handsome prince emerges. They marry and all is well in the kingdom.
The next day, I’m obsessed with this idea of layers, or skins. I can’t stop wondering. Do I have layers like that? Can I wash them away? Who would I be underneath?
I take a break from my remote job as a Creative Producer (where I make images and videos to sell corporate crap). I grab some large paper and pastels. Working fast, I draw a rough human outline in purple, then add five different color layers. Each layer speaks its truth to me.
Purple says, “LOOK good. Always.”
Blue says, “BE good. Always.”
Gold says, “I can’t feel. Numb. Dumb.”
Green says, “It’s never enough. Need More (cookies, attention, etc).”
Red says, “You must. You have to. Work hard. Do it NOW.”
The black layer has X’s, like barbed wire. It says: “Despise weakness. Hate. Kill.”
I recognize these layers. They’ve been bossing me around for years. But that black layer? Yikes! I’m a good, nice person. Or so I think.
I take a breath and let the truth sink in. This drawing isn’t pretty. It’s not an inspirational poster, greeting card, or postcard meme. “Check out my effed-up life! Aren’t you glad you’re not me?”
I should crunch up that horrible drawing, hide it in the trash, or burn it, so no one will ever see it.
My partner walks into my studio. I scramble to cover the drawing. As if he’s not intimately familiar with all of my inner layers. He’s even seen my black one. The moments when my Nice n’ Good mask slips and my fangs come out.
Everyone who knows me has seen the outer signs of my inner layers. Checking out the size of my ass. The fake smile I wore for a decade of sexual abuse, drugs, overeating, and bulimia, until Workaholic Monkey took over. She’s got a lot to prove; she works three jobs, volunteers at the kids’ school, and doesn’t let me leave my desk even to pee.
Carl Jung called this phenomenon the Shadow. We’ve heard of the most extreme version, once called multiple personalities. Still, everyone has uncomfortable parts that we hide from ourselves. We all go to great lengths to perfect and maintain our masks. We pretend we’re above it all. (Midlife can be a time of reckoning, a time to meet these inner aspects of Self, and potentially to re-unite them with our Core self, or Soul.)
Now what? I should get back to my work, re-adjust my masks, and tackle that huge spreadsheet of actionable items.
Through my tears, I look again at the drawing. The center is empty. With light yellow pastel I draw a glowing sphere inside the layers. It’s my shining ‘prince,’ my real Self, aka my Soul. She’s the soft, vulnerable one who feels everything. She’s the one that all the other layers work hard to hide and protect.
Now that I can see her, and all the patterns that drive my daily life, I can’t go back. I can’t pretend those layers don’t exist.
Within a few years, I leave my well-paid remote job, aka corporate slavery (we convert my studio to an Airbnb). I’ll spend the next decade exploring these parts, what I now call my Monkeys, through creative projects. As I name them, draw them, write their origin stories, and sing their purpose, their positive qualities emerge. They can relax.
In “Spark Story,” my one-woman musical about overcoming the fear of singing, each part performs its own theme song. In “Love Melts Fear,” we meet Guardian parts at the crossroads of midlife. My graphic novel, “Meet Your Monkeys: Make Friends with the Meanies and Imps Who Rule Your Mind,” is grounded in neuroscience, social conditioning, and mindfulness.
Thank you, Danny. Your Lindworm Prince story opened a new chapter of change, growth, and self-compassion. Carl Jung calls this the Individuation process.
Since I’m not living in a fairy tale, I lack a magical scrub brush to wash my Monkey layers away. They’re still here. Yet when they show up, tempting me to eat a box of Almond Windmill Cookies or escape my vulnerable work and run away to Costa Rica, I say, “Hey there, friend. Thanks for trying to help, but I’m following my Soul.”
Brave reader: Do you have any of these layers? How do they boss you around? I love your comments! Please share, so I know I’m not the only one with Monkeys in my mind. 🤪
Please subscribe to get the next post in this series, “No Bad Parts: How Internal Family Systems Helps People Heal Entrenched Monkey Patterns.”
As Danny said at the end of Story Night, “Bless your Hearts and All Your Parts.”
*Here’s a beautifully animated telling of “The Lindworm Prince” by Martin Shaw, a great storyteller and close friend of our Danny, at Emergence Magazine.
"Spark Story: Making Friends with Fear and her Nicey, Spicey, Freaky, Sneaky Ways" is a one-woman musical on overcoming my fear of singing. It's a Brave Creative performance piece and workshop on uncovering your inner Layers - the protective parts of you that look like sabotage. 🙉🙊🙈 https://www.heartsquest.com/spark-story