No Bad Parts: Remembering Wholeness from the Self to the World

“There are no bad parts—within us, within our democracy, or within our world. Only parts waiting to be seen, understood, and brought back into belonging.” - Mary Coughin

We live in a time of fragmentation. On the global stage and in our daily lives, we are bombarded with rhetoric that divides us: good vs. bad, worthy vs. unworthy, insiders vs. outsiders. The result is dehumanization, polarization, and a dangerous unraveling of the social fabric.

Richard Schwartz, in his book No Bad Parts, offers a radical lens of healing through the Internal Family Systems (IFS) model. He suggests that every person carries many “parts”—some vulnerable, some protective, some reactive. Even those parts that seem destructive are not “bad”; they are trying, often desperately, to protect us. Healing begins not by exiling these parts but by meeting them with compassion, curiosity, and care.

What if we applied this wisdom beyond the individual psyche?

The Individual: No Bad Parts in Me

IFS begins with the radical idea that even the most painful inner experiences—anger, shame, self-sabotage, addiction—are not signs of brokenness. They are protectors, born of past wounds, trying in their own way to keep us safe.

At the center of each person is the Self: calm, compassionate, courageous, connected. Healing happens not by silencing or banishing parts but by welcoming them back into relationship, allowing the Self to lead with presence and love.

This is a profound invitation. To look at ourselves not as fractured or flawed, but as whole and worthy—even in the midst of struggle.

The NICU: No Bad Parts in Families and Care Teams

In Trauma-Informed Developmental Care (TIDC), I see the same truth play out. Parents arrive in the NICU carrying fear, grief, and exhaustion. Sometimes that looks like anger. Sometimes it looks like withdrawal. Clinicians, too, carry parts—perfectionism, detachment, even cynicism—born from the weight of responsibility and the wounds of moral distress.

And infants, though preverbal, show us their own protective strategies: shutting down under overwhelming stress, or fighting to signal their needs.

None of these responses are “bad.” They are adaptive. They are parts doing their best to protect what is most vulnerable. When we meet them with understanding rather than judgment, we create space for healing—dyad by dyad, team by team.

The Nation: No Bad Parts in Our Democracy

Step back further, and the parallels are striking. Nations, too, have parts. Some hold the vulnerable histories of oppression, exclusion, and trauma. Others take on protective roles—institutions that over-control, factions that react with rage or fear, movements that flare like firefighters.

When a nation exiles entire communities—through racism, economic exploitation, censorship, or disenfranchisement—the system destabilizes. Just as in the psyche, exiled pain erupts in protective extremes: polarization, violence, authoritarian impulses.

What if, instead of declaring whole groups of people as “bad” or irredeemable, we approached them as parts of a larger whole—carrying pain, trying to protect, waiting to be understood?

This does not mean excusing harm. It means refusing to participate in the dehumanization that fuels cycles of harm. It means cultivating a collective Self—grounded in compassion, courage, and clarity—to lead us forward.

The World: No Bad Parts in the Human Family

Finally, imagine the world as one vast system of parts. Every nation, culture, and movement carries both wisdom and woundedness.

When we label entire peoples as “bad” or expendable, we fracture the possibility of global healing. But when we look with courageous curiosity—What pain are you carrying? What unmet need drives this behavior?—we create the conditions for connection.

This, too, is not naïve. It is the radical act of rehumanization in an age of exile. It is the work of weaving belonging across borders, across histories, across generations.

A Call to Remember

No Bad Parts calls us back to wholeness. Trauma-Informed Developmental Care does the same: it insists that even in the most fragile beginnings, every human deserves to be seen, heard, and held.

From the individual psyche to the NICU bedside, from our struggling democracy to our wounded world, the invitation is the same: there are no bad parts.

The path forward is not simple. But it begins the same way healing always begins: with presence, compassion, and the radical remembering of our shared humanity.

Take care and care well,

Mary