Max Littman, LCSW
July 24, 2025
The more I write, the more I find my voice. And not just a voice in the literary sense, but a deeper sense of direction and purpose—what I’m here to say, how I want to say it, and why it matters.
Each piece I share seems to sharpen the contours of that voice. I’ve been moving steadily toward something that now feels like home: plainspoken, warm, attuned reflections that name what often goes unnamed—especially within the IFS community. Not naming things to provoke or stir the pot, but because I can feel the collective sigh of relief when a truth gets spoken aloud that so many have been quietly carrying.
I’ve started to understand that this is my corner. Not the polished promotional corner. Not the protocol-pure corner. But the quiet corner where we sit down and say the hard thing kindly, the thing people have been thinking but weren’t sure they were allowed to say.
I’ve been writing more about the blind spots and group dynamics I’ve noticed in IFS spaces. About the places where the model gets idealized or subtly weaponized. About the parts that don’t respond to traditional interventions and the ways Self energy doesn’t always show up with a soft smile and open palms. I write from my experience. I write what I see. And people keep telling me: thank you for saying this. I thought it was just me. I feel so seen.
What’s surprised me is how little pushback I’ve received. I brace for it sometimes, but what usually comes is resonance. Gratitude. Curiosity. A sense of something clicking into place for others. There’s a loneliness that comes when something isn’t working but no one’s talking about it. When I name these things—without blame, but with care—it seems to interrupt that loneliness. That alone feels worthwhile.
Sometimes I joke that I’m becoming the Andy Rooney of IFS, though hopefully with a little less curmudgeon and a little more compassion. What I mean is: I’ve found a rhythm in saying things that aren’t always shiny or popular, but that land with a kind of satisfying “yes, exactly” in people’s guts. And like Rooney, I’m not the featured player. He had his few minutes at the end of 60 Minutes—his own corner, off to the side. That feels familiar. That feels right.
And as more people read my writing, I’ve been getting nudged—gently and not-so-gently—toward bigger stages. People have suggested I train, teach, run workshops, step further into leadership roles in the IFS world. I’m honored by that. Truly. And I’ve tried some of those hats on. But what’s becoming clearer is that I don’t want to be at the front of the room. I want to be in the corner, writing down and speaking to what no one’s quite said yet, and sending it out with as much integrity and warmth as I can.
That’s where I feel most alive. Most honest. Most of service.
So I’ll keep writing. And as I do, I’ll keep listening for the truths that need saying, the parts that are quietly waiting to be named, the people who might feel just a little more seen when they read them.
That’s my corner. I think I’ll stay a while.
For feedback and comments, I can be reached at max@maxlittman.com.
I provide private practice mentorship, consultation, and therapist/practitioner part intensives.
