Menu
Menu
Menu
I’m a dual-licensed therapist in Los Angeles who specializes in anxiety therapy, trauma, somatic work, IFS, and attachment repair. I’ve been featured in TIME Magazine, HuffPost, Verywell Mind, and other major outlets for sharing honest, human insights about what real healing actually looks like.
The phrase internal family systems model sounds like something straight out of Psych 501 — boxes, arrows, some professor pacing around about “subsystems.” But in real life? It’s way less academic and way more “oh, crap, that’s me.”
Think: one part of you is laser-focused on crushing deadlines on three hours of sleep. Meanwhile another part of you is scrolling Zillow at 1 a.m., ready to move to a goat farm in Ojai. Or you’re at brunch telling a funny story, while a critic part in the back of your head keeps whispering, “Wow, you sound needy. Also, you talk too much. Also, you don’t even like these people.”
That’s the internal family systems model at play. You’re a whole system with different parts — all trying to do their job, even if they’re stepping on each other’s toes. In this blog post, I will share why I use this approach as an IFS Therapist in LA.
Richard Schwartz, the therapist who developed IFS, noticed clients weren’t just describing “thoughts.” They were describing entire inner relationships: the hustler, the avoider, the fixer, the comedian. Parts that mean well but don’t always agree on strategy.
And here’s the piece everyone forgets: underneath all these parts, you still have a Self. Not the critic. Not the hustler. The calmer, steadier part of you that actually knows what you need. Think of it like the driver who’s been buried under twelve backseat drivers yelling directions. They’re still there. They’re just waiting for a turn at the wheel.
The reason the internal family systems model hits different is because it doesn’t just explain why you think the way you do — it shows you why you can’t “logic” your way out of things you’ve been stuck in for years.
Take trauma. It doesn’t vanish because you’ve read three Brené Brown books and started journaling. Those younger parts of you — the ones that still remember the panic, the shame, the “I can’t escape this” feeling — they don’t just leave. In IFS, we call those exiles. And the rest of your system builds an entire security team around them.
That’s why you can smile your way through a Zoom meeting while your body’s screaming to slam the laptop shut. Or why you keep saying “yes” to helping with everyone’s projects when your bones are begging you to rest. Those parts aren’t trying to ruin your life. They’re trying to make sure you never, ever feel that unbearable stuff again.
And honestly? The research is catching up. A recent study found IFS significantly reduced PTSD symptoms in survivors of complex trauma. But I didn’t need the study to tell me that — I see it happen in real time. Clients realize the voice they thought was sabotaging them was actually a younger protector, just wildly overworked.
IFS matters because it doesn’t just ask, “What’s wrong with me?” It helps you ask, “What is this part protecting — and can it finally rest?”
Learn more about trauma therapy in Los Angeles.
Anxiety isn’t just “being a worrier.” Through the internal family systems model, it looks more like a whole committee in your head that literally never clocks out.
That’s why you’re wide awake at 2 a.m., replaying an email like it’s evidence in a trial. One part swears you sounded needy. Another insists you were cold. A third is already spiraling into, “Well, guess you’ll need to quit your job and move to a different country now.”
From the outside, you look “high-functioning.” Inside, it feels like you’re working three full-time jobs — project manager, PR rep, and disaster-prevention officer — all unpaid, all running on no sleep.
The American Psychiatric Association defines anxiety disorders as persistent, excessive fear or worry (APA). IFS adds the missing layer: those fears aren’t random glitches. They’re protective parts, convinced that if they ever stop scanning for danger, everything will fall apart.
What therapy does is slow the loop down. Instead of trying to “shut up” those anxious parts, we get curious. Why do they think catastrophizing is keeping you safe? When did they first take that job? And can your calmer Self finally unblend from them, so they don’t have to burn themselves out?
If anxious parts are running your life, here’s more on anxiety therapy in Los Angeles.
Attachment stuff doesn’t usually come crashing in with a big neon sign. It sneaks in. You’re at a dinner with friends and a part of you is laughing, telling the story, keeping it light — while another part is clocking the vibe in the room, wondering if you’re annoying people. Later that night? Cue the critic: “You overshared. You were too quiet. You came off cold. Pick one, you messed up either way.”
That’s what IFS gets so right when used in attachment therapy. It’s not that you’re “bad at relationships.” It’s that different parts of you are running different plays at the same time. One wants closeness. Another is already bracing for rejection. Another just wants to disappear so you don’t screw it up.
Attachment theory explains the categories — anxious, avoidant, secure. Sure. But IFS shows you the moving parts underneath. Those younger protectors that learned a long time ago, “If we pull back first, it won’t hurt as much.” Or, “If we cling hard enough, maybe they won’t leave.”
The thing is… none of that means you’re broken. It just means your system got creative about survival. The work isn’t to shut those parts up — it’s to notice them, actually listen, and let your calmer Self step in so you don’t keep ping-ponging between extremes.
Here’s the thing people always assume: therapy = talking endlessly about childhood or me giving you homework sheets. That’s not how this works. With IFS, the magic is in catching the smallest shifts you probably miss.
Like how you suddenly sigh right when you’re about to bring up something tender. Or your voice speeds up when you’re trying to skate over discomfort. Or you crack a joke — not because it’s funny, but because the silence feels too raw. Those aren’t random quirks. Those are parts showing up in real time.
In session, we don’t bulldoze right through them. We pause. We notice. Sometimes I’ll even ask you to imagine that part sitting in the chair next to you — give it a face, a tone, a role. That alone changes the room. Because instead of that part hijacking the whole conversation, you both get to hear it out without letting it run the show.
And yeah, some protectors refuse to step aside. They’re stubborn, suspicious, tired of being the only adult in the room. That’s fine. IFS isn’t about forcing them to leave — it’s about showing them they don’t have to keep running your life at full speed anymore.
Complex PTSD doesn’t just show up as flashbacks or nightmares. Sometimes it’s quieter. You’re at dinner and a part of you insists on sitting with your back to the wall — scanning every entrance, just in case. Or you’re triple-checking the locks at night, even though you know they’re fine. From the outside, it may look a little quirky. But what’s going on inside? It’s fraekin’ exhausting.
The National Institute of Mental Health describes PTSD as your system staying on high alert even after the danger’s gone (NIMH). IFS adds something most definitions miss: those hypervigilant parts aren’t random. They’re the ones who got you through the worst moments of your life. They just never got the memo that the emergency ended.
And honestly, I see this all the time. Clients who look calm and collected — high-functioning, accomplished — but inside, their system is still running like a 24/7 security shift. No wonder they’re exhausted. Therapy isn’t about firing those survival parts. It’s about letting them know: hey, you don’t have to keep standing guard every second of the day.
Not every part shows up with words. Some of them use your body as the microphone. The knot in your stomach every Sunday night before the work week. The jaw that locks the second you even think about saying no. The back pain that pops up only on vacation — like your system doesn’t know how to rest without punishing you for it.
Most advice out there is the usual: stretch it, breathe through it, “just relax.” But if you’ve ever tried to relax your way out of a lump in your throat, you know it doesn’t really work like that. In IFS, we don’t tell the body to quiet down — we get curious. Which part is talking through that tension? What’s it trying to protect?
And here’s the twist: half the time it’s not about what you think. The Sunday stomach knot isn’t just about emails — it’s the part that learned years ago that being hyper-prepared might keep the peace. The jaw clenching isn’t random TMJ — it’s the part that decided silence was safer than speaking up.
This is where IFS and somatic therapy just… click. Both say the same thing in different languages: your body’s not the enemy. That knot, that jaw, that back pain — it’s not weakness. It’s your system trying to get your attention.
IFS doesn’t slice you up into “mind problems” over here and “body problems” over there. It sees everything — your thoughts, your moods, your habits, your random aches — as part of one big system that’s been trying to hold it together.
That’s why it pairs so easily with holistic work. Mindfulness, breathwork, movement — not as quick fixes, but as extra ways of listening to the system. Sometimes the part that insists on 90-minute workouts isn’t chasing endorphins. It’s panicked that if you rest, you’ll be called lazy again. The part that reorganizes your closet at midnight? Not about tidiness. It’s trying to not have you sit in restlessness or constant feelings of dread.
If you’re reading this and thinking, yep, that’s me — the part that volunteers for every project when you’re already running on fumes, the one that keeps smiling through dinner even though you’d rather be in bed, or the part that apologizes before you’ve even done anything wrong — you don’t have to figure it all out before starting therapy. That’s literally the work.
IFS isn’t about erasing parts of you or forcing them to behave. It’s about giving them space to finally stop white-knuckling your whole life. Letting them put their weapons down, even just for a minute, so you can feel what it’s like when your Self is actually steering.
If that sounds like what you’ve been needing, here’s how I work with IFS therapy in Los Angeles.
I’m a dual-licensed therapist in Los Angeles who specializes in anxiety, trauma, somatic work, and attachment repair. I’ve been featured in TIME Magazine, HuffPost, Parade, MindBodyGreen, and Well+Good. My approach weaves Internal Family Systems, somatic therapy, and nervous system science into therapy that helps people stop running on autopilot and start feeling like themselves again.
This post is meant to give you ideas and perspective — it’s not therapy, and it’s definitely not a replacement for sitting down with someone licensed who knows your full story.
If you’re here in Los Angeles and looking for extra resources, the Los Angeles County Department of Mental Health has a 24/7 line and tons of services you can tap into. NAMI Urban Los Angeles also runs local support groups if you want community alongside therapy.
Think of regular therapy like narrating what happened. With IFS, we don’t just talk about your patterns — we talk with the parts of you driving them. That means the part that checks your texts 12 times, the one that cracks a joke when you’re nervous, or the critic that won’t shut up after. Instead of “analyzing” them away, IFS slows everything down so those parts actually feel heard — and can finally give you some breathing room.
Totally. Anxiety isn’t random — it’s usually a team of parts convinced they’re keeping you safe by running constant worst-case scenarios. Same with perfectionism: a part learned early on that being flawless = less chance of rejection. IFS helps those overworked parts finally trust your calmer Self to lead, so you’re not burning out trying to keep everyone happy.
If this sounds familiar, you might want to check out my page on anxiety therapy in Los Angeles.
Nope. You don’t have to walk in with a map of your inner world. Most people just come in saying, “I feel stuck” or “I keep repeating this pattern.” The parts show up naturally in session — sometimes in words, sometimes in body language, sometimes in the way you suddenly want to change the subject. That’s all fair game, and we figure it out together.
Yes — and honestly, that combo is where things really shift. Parts don’t always use words. Sometimes they show up as tension in your jaw, a knot in your stomach, or even random back pain that gets worse when you finally rest. IFS + somatic therapy in Los Angeles helps you actually listen to those signals instead of brushing them off as “stress.”
