Working With Protector Parts: Balancing Safety, Sovereignty & Longing for Connection.
An intimate reveal of my own journey while I navigate these parts of me.
Recently I saw a post online that said something like "The woman who self-isolates has a history. Her distress was dismissed, ignored, or punished and she learned to expect abandonment. So instead of reaching out for connection when she had problems, she retreated inward. She learned to retreat, because it was safer than the vulnerability of reaching for connection. Her nervous system now equates self-isolation with safety and predictability...."
It was one of those memes that in the moment landed.. with a thud
I’ve been sitting with a part of me — one I have learned is a protector part. She is sovereign, capable, composed. When she is riddled with anxiety, she burrows deeper into her safe place — isolation. She likes a calm quiet minimal aesthetic with binaural beats playing 24-7.. And she feels safe in a world where she is all alone.
She came online when she figured out that she had to isolate to regulate.. And it worked.
Until it didn’t.
When I tune in somatically to this protector part of me, I’ve noticed a hollow space — like a subtle ache — between my heart and solar plexus. As if there’s a part of my humanity that never got the memo that it was safe to return. That connection could be safe now. Maybe, I might not have to do it all alone...
My therapist said, "You’re not alone," I noticed that hollow feeling sting (at the back of my heart).. And although I speak these words to others and wholeheartedly mean it.. there’s a part of me that doesn’t quite trust that statement (for me). I want to bypass receiving it with an existential and zen-like ideology that we are all alone… We are born and die alone.. Why? The protector part whispers:. Don’t need too much — from others.. from family, from friends, from (hypothetical) lovers.
This is the heartbreak of trauma: the very strategy that once kept you safe becomes the thing that quietly reinforces your own disconnection. You build a world where you're in control — but closed. Strong — but separate. Whole — but guarded.
And over time, the protector becomes a kind of prison.
I don’t want to throw this part of me away. She has wisdom. She kept me safe. But I’m beginning to wonder if she’s tired. If maybe she wants to be invited into something new — a life where protection and connection don’t have to be opposites.
I share this because, I imagine I am not alone in this experience..
So here’s what I’m exploring now:
What would it feel like to let more in — without abandoning myself?
Can I create safety in connection, not just in solitude?
Where do I default to silence — and what fear is living underneath my unspoken truth?
This is not about rushing into relationships or bypassing boundaries. It’s about gently renegotiating the terms of safety. Letting this protector part know: you’re not being exiled. You’re being expanded.
And if this resonates, maybe you’re in that place too — where the part of you who built the fortress is now being asked to consider: What if I don’t have to live behind the walls anymore?
If you relate, here is a somatic invitation:
Place one hand over your heart and one over your solar plexus. Let yourself feel into the space between. Breathe slowly. Imagine a warm thread of light traveling from one hand to the other — bridging the parts of you that have felt disconnected. Let your protector know she doesn’t have to change. Just that you’re here now, with her. Witnessing her with love.
If it feels true to say aloud: “I can keep the safety of solitude, while opening to sovereign intimacy.”
Journal Reflections:
What does my protector self believe about connection?
When did I first learn that being alone was safer?
What do I actually long for, beneath the strategy of solitude?
What would a bridge between protection and intimacy look like?
Ready to go deeper?
THE SOURCE is my 1:1 container for sacred transformation.
Let me walk with you as you return to the self beyond survival.
