Stories from My Professional Work: Opening the Door to My Work with Incarcerated Youth
I noticed Danny before I really knew him.
He was thin and wiry, always moving with this smooth, relaxed ease that made him look like he belonged everywhere. He had a beautiful smile that seemed to be on most of the time. He cracked jokes with staff. He pitched in without being asked and listened carefully to everything happening around him. Everyone liked Danny.
And that was exactly the point.
Danny was helpful in ways that went beyond just being a good kid. He told us things: what was going on behind the scenes, who was struggling, what was brewing between residents. Danny kind of stepped into informal leadership roles. He handed out small favors and kept the other kids in line. Without even staff realizing it, Danny made himself indispensable.
I didn’t know the term for it then. What I knew was that something underneath all that shine was working very hard.
In Internal Family Systems, these are protective parts. Danny had two of them running at full tilt. One kept
everyone dazzled and entertained with jokes, laughter, and of course his charm. It’s like he was spinning in every direction so no one looked too closely. The other kept everyone comfortable and cared for: always helpful and agreeable and making himself very useful.
If you’ve read The Hallway of Doorknobs, you may already recognize them.
These two parts worked so seamlessly together that everyone mistook them for personality. He seemed like the natural comedian. The helper. The one who made things lighter for everyone around him.
But protectors always have a reason for working that hard.
Danny let one person through. A girl on my caseload I’ll call Molly. She cared about him deeply, and he had confided in her, given her glimpses of what he didn’t share with anyone else. The pain he was carrying. The truth beneath the smile.
Molly didn’t want to betray him. But she wanted him to get help.
One week in our small group, four or five kids gathered together, she decided to bring some of what Danny had shared into the open.
The room went quiet.
I held my breath. I hoped he would open up. I remember the stillness, everyone waiting to see what Danny would do with the silence Molly had just created.
He filled it with jokes.
In seconds the room was laughing. He made light of Molly, of the program, of the staff. He spun the moment so quickly that the seriousness dissolved before anyone could catch it.
My heart sank.
I knew I couldn’t argue with what had just happened. I couldn’t confront his protectors directly or push him to open up. Protective parts need to be listened to and fully understood before they ever consider letting what they’re guarding come out. Pushing only makes them work harder.
So I watched. And I stayed.
Danny never chose to open up more. He moved through the rest of his time in the program the same way he had entered it: charming, helpful, performing. His protective parts never stood down.
Before he left, I pulled him aside. I told him I thought maybe he had some things going on under the surface. I hoped he would find someone he trusted to talk to.
He laughed it off. Said not to worry about him. He had learned from the program and he was ready to go.
I felt scared for him. Right there in my gut. How could he possibly be ready when he had spent most of his time in the program hiding?
I still think about Danny. I hope that somewhere along the way someone saw past the sparkle and the warmth to the young man underneath. Someone he finally felt safe enough to let in.
I always thought: he must be so tired. All that performing, just to keep people from looking too close.
Reflection Questions
- Think of someone in your life who always makes the room laugh or takes care of everyone around them. What might their protective parts be guarding?
- Have you ever watched someone deflect a serious moment with humor? What did you notice underneath?
- What would it mean to gently ask the person behind the performance: “And how are you, really?
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.
- The Kid Who Kept Everyone Laughing - June 15, 2026
- The Kid Behind the Fire - June 8, 2026
- The Kid Who Trusted No One - June 1, 2026