A Day of Thanks

I don’t remember whose idea it was. But I remember the day itself like it was last week.

We used half of the gymnasium. Round tables filled the space, set with tablecloths and place settings, arranged to face a podium at the halfway point. Programs sat at each seat. Some of the kids had helped make them. It looked nothing like the space we used for gym class. It looked like somewhere something important was about to happen.

And it was.

The kids I worked with in this therapeutic community carried heavy histories. Generational poverty. Gang involvement. Substance abuse. Neglect. Abuse of all kinds. They had strong protective parts: parts that had learned early on that the world wasn’t safe and that showing vulnerability was a risk not worth taking. I had watched those parts show up every day. Angry parts that erupted. Parts that bolted or drifted away. Parts that kept everyone laughing so no one looked too closely.

But on this day, we asked them to do something different.

We held it around Thanksgiving. The idea was simple: give each kid the chance to thank someone who had shown up for them. But what happened that day was anything but simple.

Each child had chosen one person they wanted to thank. A teacher, a counselor, a family member, a friend. In the weeks leading up to the luncheon, we worked together to prepare. Many of the kids were behind academically, so we used a simple format: the name of their person, “I am thankful for you because,” and ten reasons why.

Simple. And completely terrifying for a kid who had spent years keeping their feelings locked up tight.

When the luncheon began and the first child stood up to read, I held my breath. I watched their face. They were nervous. You could see it. But underneath the nerves was something else. Pride. The kind that comes from doing something hard and doing it anyway.

I thought of myself at that age. I wasn’t sure I could have done it.

They did it. Every single one of them.

I watched tough, guarded kids soften as they read their words aloud. I watched teachers and counselors and family members cry as they heard things they never expected to hear. The room was quiet in the way rooms get quiet when something real is happening. Nobody was performing. Nobody was deflecting. They were just there, present, saying true things to people who mattered to them.

I felt full. That’s the only way I can describe it. Pride rising up in my chest with each kid who stood and read.

In Internal Family Systems, qualities of Self energy include clarity and compassion. That day, I watched kids access those qualities, something they rarely got to show. Not because their protective parts disappeared. But because they felt safe enough, just for that hour, to let something else through.

As you read this series, you may start to recognize some of these protective parts. They also live in the pages of The Hallway of Doorknobs: A Journey to the Feelings Inside.

If the Day of Giving Thanks did nothing else, it gave those kids a moment of being truly seen. By the people they chose. By each other. And maybe, just a little, by themselves.

That was enough.

Reflection Questions

• Think of someone in your life you have never properly thanked. What would you say if you had the chance?

• Have you ever watched someone do something brave and felt your own idea of what’s possible expand?

• What would it mean to create a space in your life or your work where people feel safe enough to say true things?

This post is part of my series, Stories from My Professional Work, exploring protector parts through the lens of Internal Family Systems (IFS). IFS was developed by Dr. Richard Schwartz, whose work continues to shape how I teach, write, and understand the protective parts we all carry.