Beyond Positive Thinking: Why Healing Requires a Bigger Self

New clip from my conversation with Loch Kelly.

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Reflections on parts, polarity, and a second conversation with Loch Kelly

One of the most subtle — and important — insights from my conversation with Loch Kelly came when we turned our attention to something many people assume is healing: positive thinking.

On the surface, it feels obvious. Replace “I’m not good enough” with healthier narratives. Cultivate self-worth. Interrupt shame spirals. Build a more supportive inner dialogue. In my own therapy, this foundational work mattered a great deal. It helped loosen the grip of unconscious beliefs — inadequacy, guilt, self-blame — and allowed for more spontaneous, creative, life-affirming thoughts to arise.

But Loch gently pointed out something that stopped me in my tracks:

Even positive thinking is still a part.

In both Internal Family Systems (IFS) and advanced non-dual traditions like Mahamudra Buddhism, positive and negative thoughts are seen as two poles of the same dualistic mechanism. One part says “I’m worthless.” Another part counters with “No, you’re doing great.” They may feel very different — but they’re still locked in a battle on the same level of mind.

As Loch put it, the body-mind is evolutionarily designed to compare, contrast, evaluate, and choose. Good versus bad. Safe versus unsafe. Pros versus cons. This polarity isn’t a pathology — it’s a survival strategy. But it’s also endless. You don’t transcend negative thinking by replacing it with positive thinking. You simply trade one side of the seesaw for the other.

So what actually heals?

You don’t go sideways.
You go deeper — or higher, or subtler.

Loch described this as “upgrading” the operating system rather than endlessly debugging its contents. Instead of trying to manage thoughts more skillfully, you orient to a dimension of mind that already knows you’re okay — one that isn’t threatened by either positivity or negativity.

He shared a striking personal example: teaching while experiencing brain fog during long COVID. Instead of forcing clarity or rehearsing mentally, he trusted something deeper — a kind of organizing intelligence that wasn’t dependent on linear thought. And it worked. Not because he thought better thoughts, but because intention was handed over to a more spacious awareness.

This distinction matters deeply when it comes to trauma.

Loch referenced research by Willoughby Britton, who studied people attending their first multi-day meditation retreats. After learning classical mindfulness and insight practices — seeing thoughts as impermanent, deconstructing the sense of self — roughly 40% of participants became flooded by unconscious material. Anxiety, fear, despair. The insight came, but there was no new ground to stand on.

They had been shown how to dismantle the old self —
but not where to live afterward.

In Mahamudra-style retreats, Loch explained, the “solution” is introduced early. Alongside calming and insight practices, participants are guided to recognize an already-present awareness — not as a detached, neutral witness, but as something inherently compassionate, resilient, and vast.

This is where IFS and non-duality converge.

In IFS, you might notice an anxious part and ask: Can you be with it from some space? Then: How do you feel toward it? Often the answer isn’t neutrality. It’s warmth. Concern. Patience. Courage. These are not manufactured traits — they emerge naturally when awareness becomes primary.

This is not the cold, non-judgmental observer many people associate with meditation. It’s a loving awareness — what IFS calls Self-energy — that can relate to fear without being consumed by it.

Loch used a metaphor that made this viscerally clear.

Trauma, for most people, is bigger than the ego. The small self simply isn’t strong enough to hold the full emotional intensity of a human life. Trying to “fix” trauma from that level is like attempting to clean up a storm cloud from inside the storm.

What’s missing is the sky.

When you recognize yourself as the sky — awareness itself — the storm can rage without overwhelming you. And the key move in Mahamudra is this: the sky isn’t separate from the cloud. Awareness isn’t dissociated from emotion. It’s present as the emotion, without being harmed by it.

The same is true of the ocean and its waves. Rage crashes. Fear surges. Grief swells. And yet, the ocean remains the ocean.

This is not bypassing. It’s a deeper embodiment.

It also clarifies something that often confuses people: the Self that comforts an anxious part is not a “character” or a clever cognitive strategy. Nor is it merely the detached witness of early mindfulness practice. It’s awareness that has recognized its own capacity to relate — to include — without collapsing.

That’s why Loch believes IFS is so powerful for people with complex trauma. It introduces them to the nature of mind — their most resilient, compassionate self — not after years of meditation, but often within a single session. And that is what heals.

Positive thinking can help stabilize the psyche.
Insight can dismantle false identification.
But healing requires something larger than both.

It requires a Self big enough to hold the storm —
and loving enough to stay.

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