The Significance of Small Moments: Discovering the Parts of Us That Long to Be Seen
There are moments when we ask ourselves: Why did I react like that? Why does this tiny thing feel so enormous? What is wrong with me? We all know those moments—the ones that feel disproportionate to the situation yet shake us deeply. Sometimes we brush them off. Other times, if we are willing, they become doorways inward, pointing us toward what may be underneath it all.
One of those moments happened to me recently. I was talking to other therapists at an event. I joined in on the conversation, but my words went unnoticed. No one responded. I know it was unintentional, but my internal world sounded the alarms. Instantly, my body betrayed me—heat surged through my chest, my ears burned, and my head throbbed. My internal protectors stood at attention.
My inner critic scolded, “That was dumb. Why did you even say that?”
The perfectionist chimed in, “You stumbled over your words. Next time, be clearer.”
The anxious planner panicked, “Do not let this happen again. Prepare better.”
The pleaser whispered, “You should have waited for the right moment.”
And the strategist offered the final word, “Maybe just stay quiet next time. It’s safer.”
It felt like a raging storm—loud, overwhelming, and wildly out of proportion to what had happened. When I paused and listened, it felt familiar. This was not just about tonight. This was something deeper—a fear I’ve carried since childhood: the fear of not mattering.
Growing up, I was celebrated for my accomplishments. Praise and attention came when I achieved, performed, or excelled. My parents were good parents. They did the best they could with what they knew. But in the way things unfolded, I came to believe I was most visible when I was doing. Over time, that belief turned into something deeper: maybe who I was, at my core, did not matter as much as what I accomplished.
That belief created an exile inside me—the part that carries the ache of feeling invisible. In this recent moment, my protectors weren’t really reacting to the silence. They were trying to shield me from the familiar ache of that exile, the young part of me who still remembers what it feels like to go unnoticed, to feel insignificant. They work tirelessly to keep me from ever touching that pain again.
With my protective parts’ permission, I finally turned toward that little girl inside me who so often feels invisible. I saw her clearly—knees tucked to her chest, quiet, hurting, longing to be seen. I sat with her, held her, and whispered, “You matter to me. You always have.” And something shifted. The storm quieted. The weight lifted, even just a little. There is more work to be done to bring that little girl out of the cold, bare room where she has been locked away, but for now, she feels seen and tended to.
That’s when it struck me: these small, everyday moments are not insignificant at all. They are windows that reveal the pain and burdens we carry—the parts of us that long to be known, and the stories that quietly shape our reactions.
We don’t have to wait for big events to clue us in on the workings of our inner world. Breakthroughs can happen in the tiniest cracks of daily life, when we pause long enough to compassionately and courageously ask: What is underneath this reaction? Who inside me needs to be seen?
Maybe you’ve noticed this in yourself too. A quick comment from your partner. Your child ignoring you. A co-worker overlooking your input. And suddenly, your reaction feels much bigger than the moment.
That is the gift and beauty of Internal Family Systems (IFS). At Mosaic Counseling Services, we help people explore these parts so they can approach them with more kindness, curiosity, and compassion. Healing doesn’t always happen in the big moments. More often, it starts with the small ones—the ones that whisper, urging us to look a little closer.
Written By: Jessica Sahoury, MA, LMFTA