The Travellers Within
When clients first come to therapy, one of the first things I like to introduce is the idea of Ego States, developed by Dr Eric Berne, a fundamental model within Transactional Analysis.
Understanding Ego States helps us make sense of the many, often conflicting, thoughts that can battle away inside us – all the shoulds and shouldn'ts, cans and can'ts that so often fill our minds, leave us feeling confused, and sometimes stop us from doing the things we want to do.
Many of these voices come from our past. Some belong to parents, caregivers or other influential people who helped shape our internal rule book. Others are clever decisions we made ourselves, often as children, to keep us safe in the world we were living in at the time. Some of these messages continue to serve us well. Others may once have been helpful but no longer fit the lives we are living today.
Learning about Ego States gives us a way of recognising these different voices, understanding where they came from, and making more sense of the contradictions we sometimes experience within ourselves.
Because of this, it is one of the first things I want to share with clients when they begin therapy with me. It is such a helpful way of understanding ourselves. Yet the beginning of therapy is not always the right time to learn a new theory. Our minds may already be full of the very difficulties that have brought us to therapy. We may feel overwhelmed, exhausted, frightened, or simply have too much to carry.
So how else might I introduce the idea?
During a conversation with my colleague, Robert Garrett, we found ourselves discussing exactly this question. "I tell them a story," he said, before sharing an example of the kind of story he might use with a client.
Bingo!
Why had I never thought of that? Perhaps because one of my own Parent Ego State was insisting that if I was going to teach something, I needed to do it 'properly' – and properly for me meant taking an academic approach.
But then I remembered a training day with Jennie Miller on the use of storytelling in therapy. It was there that I was introduced to the wonderful folktales of Nasreddin Hodja. I found a childlike delight in those stories and have shared many of them with clients over the years.
Stories have always been one of the ways human beings pass on wisdom, understanding and hope. They invite our imagination to do some of the work, allowing seeds of ideas to gently grow in our minds rather than be explained. With luck, they stay with us long after the story itself has ended.
So why not tell a story about Ego States?
This tale grew from all of these influences: Eric Berne's model of Ego States; the timeless storytelling tradition of Nasreddin Hodja, particularly as collected by Michael Shelton in Once There Was, Twice There Wasn't; Jennie Miller's permission to embrace the therapeutic power of story; and a conversation with Robert Garrett that gave my own Free Child permission to play.
I hope you enjoy it.
A Teaching Tale. Inspired by the Ego States of Transactional Analysis.
The Travellers Who Came to Live with Tamam
Chapter One
Once there was, and once there wasn't, a child called Tamam.
Some say Tamam was a girl. Others insist Tamam was a boy. The wisest simply smile and say, "Tamam was all of us."
When Tamam came into the world, there were no words.
There was warmth.
There was milk.
There were gentle hands.
There was a heartbeat to sleep close beside.
Then one day, when Tamam was still very small, something felt wrong.
A cold discomfort.
A lonely feeling that seemed to fill the whole universe.
Tamam cried.
Nothing happened.
So, Tamam cried louder.
Still nothing.
The cry grew louder. Tiny fists clenched. A little face reddened. It felt as though the whole world had forgotten.
Finally, footsteps.
Warm hands.
Cold and wetness gone, and dry comfort returned.
Everything was well again.
Tamam knew no words for any of this.
But somewhere deep inside, a tiny traveller arrived carrying a simple lesson.
"Sometimes you must shout before the world hears you."
The traveller unpacked a small bag and stayed.
Chapter Two
Years passed, as years enjoy doing.
Tamam learned to crawl, then to walk, then to wander wherever curiosity pointed.
One morning a beautiful glass bird sat on a low table. It caught the sunlight and scattered little rainbows across the room.
Naturally, Tamam picked it up.
Naturally, it slipped.
Naturally, it broke.
The sound surprised everyone.
So did the voice.
"No!"
The word landed harder than the bird.
Tamam stood perfectly still.
Little hands forgot what they had been reaching for.
No one meant to frighten the child. Grown-ups are often busy protecting precious things.
But children do not always know which things are precious.
That evening another traveller knocked quietly upon Tamam's heart.
"Be careful before you reach."
Tamam made room.
Chapter Three
When Tamam was five, colours became wonderful friends.
Trees could be purple.
The sun could be green.
Rabbits might wear blue boots if they wished.
One afternoon Tamam carried a picture to a grown-up.
"Look what I made!"
The grown-up looked for only a moment.
"The grass isn't blue."
"You've coloured outside the lines."
"If you took more care, it would be much better."
The picture was still full of colour.
But somehow the colours seemed harder to enjoy.
Next time Tamam paused before choosing a crayon.
Another traveller had arrived.
This one carried a measuring stick.
It liked straight lines.
It whispered,
"Be careful."
"Don't get it wrong."
"People will notice."
"People will judge."
It, too, unpacked its bag.
Chapter Four
When Tamam was eight, every Friday brought a small miracle.
Tea at a friend's house.
The door was always opened before Tamam knocked.
The kitchen always smelled of baking and felt of love.
The friend's mother had a way of listening that made even silence feel welcome.
She laughed easily.
She seemed to believe that people were already enough before they had achieved anything at all.
Tamam could not explain why leaving that house always felt different from arriving.
Another traveller had joined the others.
This one had a warm touch.
It knew how to wait beside someone who was hurting.
It never hurried tears.
It smiled often.
The house inside Tamam was becoming fuller.
Chapter Five
At thirteen, the world became crowded with rules.
"Tidy your room."
"Don't answer back."
"Do as I say."
One afternoon, without thinking, Tamam answered,
"No."
The word startled everyone.
Even Tamam.
The room became silent.
Inside, however, something moved like someone opening a window after a long winter.
Not every "No" is wisdom.
Not every "Yes" is kindness.
But sometimes refusing is the only way a young heart remembers it has a voice.
Another traveller moved in.
It crossed its arms.
It stamped its foot.
It said,
"I will choose for myself."
Chapter Six
Not long afterwards rain fell for three days and three nights.
Roads filled with puddles.
On the walk home from school, Tamam saw one that stretched from one side of the road to the other.
Without thinking,
Splash!
Water flew everywhere.
Shoes were soaked.
People stared.
Tamam laughed until it hurt.
No one gave permission.
No one awarded marks.
The puddle asked for nothing except for a pair of willing feet.
Another traveller danced through the open door.
It collected feathers.
Shells.
Clouds in the sky.
Songs with no audience.
Muddy hands.
It reminded everyone that life is not only something to survive.
Sometimes it is something to enjoy.
Chapter Six
Many more years passed.
People began calling Tamam a grown-up.
This made the travellers chuckle.
For they knew better.
The one who cried louder was still there.
The careful one still looked before reaching.
The one with the measuring stick still muttered whenever mistakes appeared.
The one who was kind still sat beside anyone who wept.
The stubborn one still folded its arms from time to time.
The joyful one still looked for puddles after rain.
None of them had ever left.
They had simply grown quieter, waiting for the moments when they believed that they were needed.
Chapter Seven
Then, one day, there came another knock.
It was softer than all the others.
So soft that, at first, no one heard it.
When the door opened, a traveller stepped inside carrying almost nothing.
No measuring stick.
No warm bread.
No rulebook.
No pocketful of shells.
Only a lantern.
It looked around the busy house and smiled.
It listened before speaking.
When the frightened traveller shouted, it listened.
When the joyful traveller danced, it smiled.
When the stubborn traveller crossed its arms, it asked gently,
"What are you protecting?"
When the one with the measuring stick warned of disaster, it thanked the old companion for trying so hard to keep everyone safe.
Then it looked carefully out of the window.
"Is there really danger today," it asked, "or are we remembering yesterday?"
Sometimes there was danger.
Sometimes there wasn't.
The lantern helped everyone to see the difference.
The travellers began to trust this quiet newcomer.
Not because it was cleverer.
Not because it was stronger.
But because it listened to every voice before choosing which one should lead.
Years later, scholars gave names to all these travellers.
Some spoke of the Child who learns to survive.
Some of the Parent who carries the voices of yesterday.
Some of the Child who plays.
Some of the Child who rebels.
Some of the Parent who comforts.
And they called the quiet traveller with the lantern the Adult.
These are good names.
Useful names.
But names are only labels tied to luggage.
The travellers themselves matter much more.
For if you listen carefully, you may discover that they have been living in your house for many years.
Perhaps the one with the measuring stick speaks loudly.
Perhaps the joyful one has fallen asleep.
Perhaps the one with the warm touch spends all day caring for everyone except you.
Or perhaps, if you become very still, you will hear the quiet traveller lifting the lantern and asking,
"What is true today?"
And that, some say, is how people become a little more free.
© 2026 Margot Williamson
References:
Berne, E. (1972) What Do You Say After You Say Hello?: The Psychology of Human Destiny. London: Corgi.
Shelton, M. (2014) Once There Was, Twice There Wasn’t: Fifty Turkish Folktales of Nasreddin Hodja. Boston, USA: Hey Nonny Nonny Press.
For more about Robert Garrett’s therapeutic work, visit: https://www.instagram.com/counsellingandpsychotherapy81?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet&igsh=ZDNlZDc0MzIxNw==
For more about Jennie Miller’s therapeutic work, visit: https://www.jenniemillercounselling.co.uk/
Notes for using this story
Stories are meant to travel.
You are welcome to copy this story, print it, or use it in teaching, training, supervision or therapeutic work.
All I ask is that you credit me as the author and, where possible, include a link to my website so others can find the original.
Thank you.
Margot Williamson