This morning, I woke up early, as usual, with a voice in my head already rattling off tasks: The dogs need feeding—they’re starving. The dishwasher needs unloading. Coffee. Juice. Trash. Yard cleanup. Before 5 a.m., I was already deep in the cycle of planning, doing, and picking up. By the time I sat down, I realized I wasn’t just tired—I was angry. And I didn’t fully understand why.

In my marriage with Kelly, we’ve bumped up against our own patterns, especially in moments of disagreement. We both lock into our beliefs, convinced that we’re “right” and acting in the best interest of each other or ourselves. Yet, we end up in conflict, hurt, and exhausted. Therapy has shown us that these moments aren’t just about the dishwasher or the way laundry is folded—they’re reflections of the parts of ourselves we bring into the relationship.

I’ve been feeling angry at Kelly for what I thought was her being critical of me—commenting on where I put the t-shirts versus the long sleeves or pointing out how I’ve handled something in the house. To me, it felt like there was more criticism than gratitude. I thought the driving force behind my over-performing was Kelly’s expectations. I couldn’t see that it was actually me—this critical protector part of myself. I was mad at Kelly for being critical when, in reality, I was angry at the critical voice inside of me. I was tired. This tiredness, this anger, is the signal to me—the check engine light—that this way of being is ready for an upgrade. This old tape is worn out.

For me, I’ve started to see the role my “protector part” plays. Have you ever read No Bad Parts by Richard Schwartz? It’s been illuminating for me. The concept is that we all have parts of ourselves working hard to keep us safe—some of which may now be outdated or over-functioning. My protector part is hyper-vigilant, striving to prevent conflict and ensure everyone is okay.

Here’s what that looks like: I’m a ninja at anticipating needs, picking up after others, and organizing spaces to avoid upset—for me and everyone else. Kelly could be cooking, and I’ll put the spatula in the dishwasher before she’s even finished using it. (Yes, she finds this annoying, and yes, she’s right to.)

For a long time, I validated this behavior as just “who I am.” I like tidy spaces; it’s how I function best. Even a shaman once told me I needed an organized environment to thrive. I felt justified—This is me standing up for myself, setting boundaries. But I’ve realized it’s more than that. It’s control. It’s a way of manipulating my environment and the people around me to avoid upset. It’s a strategy born of a childhood fear: if people are disappointed or angry with me, I’ll be sent to my room, cut off, or unloved.

This protector part did an incredible job keeping me safe as a kid. It helped me excel in school and avoid conflict. But as an adult, it’s exhausting. It’s running me to the point of burnout.

When I woke up this morning and found myself automatically cycling through tasks, I thought: When do I get to clock out? When do I get to rest? And when the anger came, I wanted to blame Kelly. It must be her fault, I thought. But deep down, I know this isn’t about Kelly. It’s about me. This protector part is still doing its best to shield me from conflict or failure, even when it’s no longer necessary in most situations.

The first step in all of this? Awareness. When I can see the protector part at work, I can pause and choose differently. This morning, when that voice piped up to tell me I’d forgotten collagen in Kelly’s coffee, I responded: Fuck off. And do you know what? That part of me was delighted. It seemed to say: Finally, Molly! About time.

This is the magic in the mess—the realization that I don’t have to react to this part anymore. I can honor its intentions, thank it for its service, and gently redirect it. Instead of being a reactor in my own life, I can become a creator.

Does this mean I’ll stop over-performing overnight? No. Does it mean Kelly and I won’t find ourselves locked in disagreement again? Probably not. But it does mean I have a choice now—a chance to let go of control, embrace the mess, and trust that things don’t need to be perfect to be meaningful.

To anyone else who struggles with over-performing, controlling, or people-pleasing as a way of avoiding conflict: you’re not alone. These protector parts are doing their best, but they may be ready for a new role. If you are in a situation where safety isn’t guaranteed, I see you, and I hope you can find the support you need. For others, there may be moments where you can begin to find freedom in releasing the need for perfection or control, one choice at a time.

This Monday, let’s embrace the mess, honor our parts, and choose freedom. Let’s move from reacting to creating

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