Imposter syndrome can feel like standing outside a life that should belong to you, sensing that the version others see is only a careful performance. For some people, that feeling is not just doubt before a big moment. It is a quiet, persistent question about whether the self they show the world is the whole truth.
Inner critic
Authentic self
Therapy support
In this blog
| The door that was always yours | |
| Why imposter syndrome misses the point | |
| How this pattern begins | |
| How therapy helps with imposter syndrome |
The Door That Was Always Yours
The writer Franz Kafka told a story about a man who waits his whole life in front of a door. At the very end of his life, he is told that this door was always meant only for him. He never walked through. He simply did not know it was his.
This is the quiet sadness of the “as-if” pattern. The real self has been there all along, waiting. While the person performs an elaborate show about not needing it.
Key insight
The feeling of being a fraud may be less about failure and more about a self that learned to hide in order to stay connected, accepted, or safe.
Why Imposter Syndrome Misses the Point
The term imposter syndrome is useful. But it is also a little thin. It names the feeling without explaining where it comes from.
For many people, this goes beyond nerves before a speech. It is a steady, low feeling of unreality. Like moving through life as an actor who has not quite learned the script. A quiet suspicion that the version of you the world sees, capable, likeable, put-together, is a construction, and that underneath, there is not much there at all.
Researchers often use the term impostor phenomenon rather than a formal diagnosis. That distinction matters: the experience can be painful and disruptive, but it does not mean something is wrong with you.
In depth psychology this is called the “as-if” personality. This term describes a person who performs the motions of living, rather than truly living them. Moving as if they belong. As if they feel. As if they know who they are.
Imposter Syndrome and the Mask We Wear
We all wear masks. This is not a sickness. It is part of being human.
The persona is the name for the face we show the world. You speak differently at work than at home. You act differently with your boss than with your best friend. This is normal. This is healthy.
However, for some people, the mask did not stay a mask. It became the whole face. The performance became the person. Underneath, the real self, the true self, sat quietly in the dark. Waiting.
When the inner critic is loud
If the voice inside keeps saying you are not good enough, GoodTherapy’s article on self-compassion and the inner critic can offer another way to relate to that voice.
How This Pattern Begins
This usually starts in childhood.
Children are smart. They learn fast what is safe and what is not. If you grew up in a home where being too loud, too emotional, or too needy was met with coldness, you learned to adapt. You learned to become what the world needed you to be.
A child who learns that being real feels dangerous will build another self. A safer self. One that earns love by being agreeable, capable, and easy to manage.
The true self does not disappear. It hides. And it waits.
The adult who grew from that child often carries great skill on the outside. But there is a strange hollowness on the inside. They have mastered the performance. They just cannot quite remember who was there before the curtain went up.
If the roots of this pattern are connected to chronic stress, neglect, or trauma, it may help to read about how complex trauma can change a person’s sense of self. A trauma-informed approach emphasizes safety, trust, choice, and collaboration, principles also described by SAMHSA.
Do You Recognize Yourself Here?
Here are some signs that you may be living in the “as-if” pattern:
These experiences are not random. They are the logical result of a self that learned to hide in order to survive.
What Happened to the Hidden Parts
Here is something most people do not know. When we push parts of ourselves away, those parts do not simply vanish.
These hidden parts become the shadow. The shadow holds everything we have pushed out of sight, our anger, our grief, our strongest wants. All the parts of us that felt too dangerous to show. Often, buried alongside the anger and grief, are creativity, vitality, and passion. The parts of the self that got pushed away were not only the “bad” parts. They were the alive parts. The ones that felt too much, wanted too boldly, or loved too fiercely for the world around them at the time.
The shadow does not disappear just because we ignore it. It finds other ways to come out. Sudden bursts of emotion. Strange dreams. A vague feeling that something is wrong, but you cannot name it.
A gentle try-this-now exercise
Without forcing an answer, ask yourself: What part of me has been waiting to be noticed?
Write one sentence beginning with, “A part of me wants…” Then stop. You do not need to explain, justify, or fix the answer today.
How Therapy Helps with Imposter Syndrome
Therapy is about finding the door that was always yours and finally walking through it.
The good news: the “as-if” pattern is not permanent. People find their way back to themselves. Not all at once. Slowly. Surprisingly. Often with great relief. Psychotherapy can offer a structured relationship where thoughts, emotions, body cues, and patterns can be explored with support.
| 1 | Learning to be seen. In therapy, you practice letting someone witness your real self, your doubt, your anger, your need. When that person does not leave or punish you for it, something inside relaxes. Being real begins to feel safe. |
| 2 | Meeting your shadow. Not acting out buried feelings but getting to know them. What emotions have you been managing instead of feeling? What would you be like if you stopped performing? |
| 3 | Coming back to the body. The “as-if” pattern often means living so much in the constructed self that the body goes quiet. Body-aware work can reconnect you to sensations you stopped noticing long ago. |
| 4 | Working with dreams. Dreams speak the language of the unconscious. They show you, in image and story, exactly what your waking mind is too busy, or too scared, to look at directly. |
Early research on interventions for the impostor phenomenon suggests that approaches such as reflection, self-compassion, and supportive therapeutic work can be useful, though more rigorous research is still needed.
Finding support
If this pattern feels familiar, you do not have to figure it out alone. You can search for a therapist or read GoodTherapy’s guide on how to find the right therapist.
Your Sensitivity Is a Strength
The very sensitivity that made the mask necessary is also one of your greatest strengths.
People who learned to read environments carefully, who sense what others need, who adapt with skill and care, these people have a rare and deep empathy. They understand others in ways that most people never will.
You Do Not Have to Keep Performing
The feeling of being a fraud, of moving through life behind a carefully built face, has roots. And those roots can be gently, bravely explored. Therapy offers exactly this kind of space. To help you find your way back to what was always right about you and let it take up space in the world.
A next step that does not require performing
You can begin with one honest sentence in a safe relationship. If therapy feels like the right place for that, GoodTherapy can help you find a therapist who fits your needs.
Frequently Asked Questions
Direct answers about imposter syndrome, self-doubt, therapy, and the inner critic.
Take the Next Step
You do not have to keep performing your way through self-doubt alone. Support can help you understand what the mask has protected and what your real self may need now.
Find a Therapist Near You >
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About the Author Amanda Frudakis-RuckelLicensed Clinical Social Worker, TCTSY-F Amanda Frudakis-Ruckel, LCSW, TCTSY-F, is a licensed clinical social worker and psychotherapist practicing in New Jersey and New York. She trained clinically at Memorial Sloan Kettering, Weill Cornell Medicine, and through New York City’s Mental Health Service Corps, and holds a Master’s in Social Work from Fordham University. Her practice, Person to Person Psychotherapy, specializes in trauma, identity, life transitions, grief, and existential anxiety. She draws on existential, humanistic, and narrative frameworks and is a certified Trauma Center Trauma Sensitive Yoga facilitator. |
Imagine these people: a professor at an elite university, a stay-at-home mother, and someone with depression. Labels like these are abbreviated ways of describing prominent aspects of ourselves and others, each one evoking a specific image in our minds.
Using labels in this way, as we all do to some degree or another, helps us make sense of a complex world. Yet attaching too much significance to these labels can limit personal growth and inhibit relationships. What is it that these labels really tell us about these individuals or, for that matter, ourselves?
How Labels Can Limit
Consider the professor who has defined himself largely through his career but is soon retiring. Perhaps the idea of no longer teaching and being viewed as a subject-matter expert elicits feelings of inadequacy. Or think about the stay-at-home-mother whose life circumstances force her to take a full-time job. Although her choice may be what’s best for the family, she may struggle with feelings of guilt for being less present for her children. Maybe the depressed individual has difficulty even acknowledging non-depressed facets of their life, such as moments of contentedness or even neutrality.
Impacts of Emotional Attachment to Identity
If the professor is unable to step out of the “professor†role, how might this impact his life after he retires? If the stay-at-home mom is unable to come to terms with her new role, will she behave differently? If the person with depression overly identifies with this label, how will this influence their behavior? At minimum, there would be some narrowing of choices, and perhaps losing touch with what’s actually important.
The tendency to label ourselves and others can blur the lines between truth and fiction. It can create tension between who we think we are supposed to be and who we actually are.
The tendency to label ourselves and others can blur the lines between truth and fiction. It can create tension between who we think we are supposed to be and who we actually are. If unchecked, it can lead to mental health issues that can compromise our quality of life and relationships with others. Any thought or emotion that opposes our self-assigned labels can trigger an avalanche of unhelpful narratives and actions.
The more emotional the attachment to the label, the more difficult it often is to act in ways that challenge expectations. Over-attachment to one’s own label is like putting on a pair of glasses that you can’t take off. If not brought into our awareness, this tendency severely limits our ability to choose more effective ways of responding. How do we cultivate that awareness in ourselves?
Examining Your Own Labels
The approach of one of the founders of the acceptance and commitment therapy (ACT) approach, Steven Hayes, provides one helpful starting point. He suggests posing three questions to yourself to loosen the grip of self-perception. Using the stay-at-home mother label as an example, ask yourself:
- Am I a stay-at-home mother everywhere?
- Am I a stay-at-home mother with everyone?
- Am I a stay-at-home mother all the time?
For even the most dedicated caregiver, the answer to these questions is no—no one acts out a label, no matter what that label is, everywhere, with everyone, at all times.
This simple exercise helps to remind us that our identity is not nearly as fixed as we sometimes come to believe. In reality, each of us represents a sea of labels through which we shift fluidly on a daily, even hourly, basis. Over-identification with any one label can constrain possibilities and inhibit relationships. Building an awareness that allows us to identify this pattern of thinking is the first step.
Why Are We Attached to Our Labels?
The next step is learning to explore from a place of openness and curiosity what it is that compels us to over-identify with a particular label. Is it the power you can exercise or the competence you can exude when acting out your primary label that you find more difficult to project in other circumstances? Is it the fear of rejection from others? Finally, ask yourself: what values, rather than the shifting sands of labels, can serve as a guide for meaningful action?
This is not an easy process, but it’s rarely the easy road that leads to the beautiful vista. If you feel entangled by the labels you or others have placed upon you, consider seeing a therapist to explore the topic.
Life does not always turn out the way we’d like. We carry our stories. In some moments, we might feel like kings. In others, we feel like failures. We feel grotesque. For some, the story says, “I’m too much.†For others, it might say, “I will never be enough.†In certain states, every line of the story reminds us we are defective, unsafe, lacking power to choose our life. Some stories empower and open up the world before us. Others isolate us, from people or from goals that seem unattainable.
Some stories confirm themselves. Despite our best intentions, some might appear to play out again and again as our behaviors sabotage our desires or elicit the reactions we fear most. It might seem as if we’re doomed to repeat the play forever.
 Meaning-Making and Automating Our Reactions
“The real connection we long for is the connection with ourselves; the connection with where we are here and now…When the connection with our own presence is broken everything just starts to feel empty.” —Jeff Foster
We carry stories. These stories are about our identity in the world, our connection to others, our purpose, what we are allowed, what they are permitted, our motives, and their intentions. These stories are the underlying codes that dictate the most mundane of choices. These choices might include what we eat, how we present our bodies when in public, or how we react to a romantic partner’s facial expression. These stories, created in response to experience, shape our predictions of every interaction between Self, Other, and World. While only occasionally accurate, they become the automatic, unquestioned backdrop of life. [fat_widget_right]
Subconsciously, we keep watch at an animal level. We track bodily reactions and micro-expressions of others, internalizing these as reflections of our identity in the world and creating rules around the best ways to navigate social interactions. At every emotionally charged moment, we are either building new stories or confirming old ones, and confirmation is easier.
We adapt, invisibly—especially in childhood as our templates are being set—to the surrounding culture and climate. We take it in and recreate it internally. And often in that process we separate from parts of Self. We reject or contain parts that threaten our survival in those settings, opting instead to present or create parts that harmonize with our environment.
This is the original trauma: disconnection from Self.
And in those overwhelmed, transformative moments, we forget our choices. We forget the parts we’ve exiled. We land in other parts of consciousness, and we often fail to recognize that our experience has changed because our relationships have changed. We don’t remember any other way of being. We simply go on, saying, “This is who I am.â€
This is a dissociation, a disconnection. It’s also a new story, now running in the background, invisibly directing our play.
The parts of Self we contain remain present at some level. Unchanged, hidden within, they insinuate themselves into our daily choices. They are present in the ways we respond to emotion, our confusion, our unwanted thoughts or behaviors, our nameless depressions or anxieties, our reactive tantrums or withdrawals in romantic relationships.
These are the lower layers of experience. They’re the real agents behind our choices and behaviors.
When it comes to trauma, we cannot change the past. There is no do-over. Our storyteller simply weaves our experience into our narrative.
But while we can’t change the past, we can change its meaning. We can change the stories. And if we have patience and intention, if we bring the secret stories up to awareness, we can change our connection to Self, Other, and World.
Parts Framework
A parts framework simply echoes what we know from neurological studies: the brain is constantly making sense, forming a story, building a cohesive picture out of scattered and unrelated fragments. It finds patterns and creates the illusion of a cohesive whole.
In mindful exploration, we come to recognize that we are both the judge and the judged. We experience both simultaneously in our bodies. With practice, we can actually land fully in either position. We might be the abandoned or oppressed child one moment and then flip to become the part that hates that child or some part that feels love and empathy for the child.
By separating our experience into parts, we can observe the relationship between parts. We can recognize and mediate internal conflicts. We can step in and out of states, accessing them for the purpose of learning about them and finding empathy for them.
This is the work.
In these tiny moments of genuine empathy for the parts of Self that have survived trauma, we integrate. We acknowledge, accept, embrace, and join. In these moments, we are feeling what could not be felt in the past. We are seeing it through new eyes and gifting it a new story. This new story, something more palatable, releases us from the need for internal containment. We are providing some hurting parts with the love they need, the relational connection that should have happened after a traumatic moment.
The framework itself invites curiosity, decreases judgment and conflict, and opens up windows of access through which we can provide this missing experience. The end result is a felt sense of gentle witness. We feel seen, heard, felt, known, accepted, and loved.
Regulation First: External, then Internal—Other, Then Self.
“A friend is one to whom one may pour out the contents of one’s heart, chaff and grain together, knowing that gentle hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping, and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.†—George Eliot
At a subconscious level, we track surroundings and social connections for physical and interpersonal threats. Doing with others utilizes our sympathetic nervous system. Being with someone is healing. Accessing our parasympathetic branch allows us to rest and digest, both physically and metaphorically.
External regulation occurs when we can witness the body of someone else in close proximity, remaining externally present to our experience without physical overwhelm on their part. When their body calms, smiles warmly, looks back at us with soft eyes, and remains connected to ours, our body calms. This is co-regulation. This is where we feel free and welcome to express ourselves with the knowledge that an Other is not burdened by us, wants us, will see the best of our intentions and “get” us. This is also an antidote to shame, an invitation to reveal those parts we thought we had to hide in exile.
Someone else can provide the regulation, by remaining calm and offering verbal assurance, validation, and permission, for example. But once we have internalized this experience at some point in life (whether with another person or even through watching movies), we can also provide our own calming as an internal process.
Many of us default to dissociation, controlling, fixing, placating, distracting, or other methods of internal management. These are often reactions internalized from early life caregivers. But our bodies naturally calm when internal parts are finally met in the ways they have yearned to be met.
Mindfulness and Distancing: States, Transitions, and Cycles
As trauma is stored in parts or states, with particular networks formed during traumatic periods, the way to heal is to head toward and access those states. By doing so, we bring new energy and kinder eyes. We amend an old story that was written with limited perspective. Each state comes with its own state-dependent memories, perceptions, expectations, rules of engagement, emotions, physical posture, and beliefs. Meeting each as a part—as a different version of you with its own persona—requires development of an observer. In other words, a part that is outside and separate that can provide empathy and support.
With practice, many people find state-shifting becomes easier. Quick shifts might require nothing more than remembering a friend’s smile or imagining a favorite place in nature. Longer-term shifts come when actually bringing novel experience, or missing experience, to some part of self that is expecting and preparing for negative outcomes.
Life becomes a bit easier when we recognize we are not our thoughts, not our sensations, and not our emotions. We can do this through mindful awareness, or by observing mind and bodily reactions. These will all play out on their own, and we can observe them safely, from a chosen distance. When we start to actually feel our own physical responses to each internal/external stimuli, when we give each response a name, we remove the mystery from these micro-transactions. Things may then become a bit more predictable, a bit more understandable, a bit more acceptable. We recognize that we’re okay, that things are as they are and nothing more. We recognize a story that makes sense, coming from a source we trust, and our body calms.
When it comes to trauma, we cannot change the past. There is no do-over. Our storyteller simply weaves our experience into our narrative. But while we can’t change the past, we can change its meaning. We can change the stories.
This in itself is a missing experience.
For many of us, there was nobody in childhood just sitting with us, looking at us with soft eyes, saying, “This is what you’re feeling in your body… It’s okay to feel this. It makes sense. Everyone feels this. This is a word we use to describe it… This is what you can expect… It will pass. You will be okay. I’m here with you. I’m not going anywhere, and I’m not burdened at all by your experience. Let’s just sit and feel it together.â€
In working mindfully, we can observe all of these processes in real time. By accessing states, we can witness physical reactions, notice changes in perception and expectation, and begin mapping out the different parts that arise in response to triggers and resources. (In this case, triggers describe anything connected to defeating beliefs and resources describe anything connected to empowering beliefs.)
We come to see patterns in the way we relate to others, by observing internal reactions in triggered moments. We notice protective parts that seek confirmation of our worst fears, present evidence by bringing up memories, and project old fears into present experience. And in this, we find choice points: windows of opportunity to respond instead of react.
We can begin a relationship with these parts, once we differentiate from them. When we meet a stranger and feel our body constrict, we can recognize this reaction as that of the child inside, reacting to meeting a male that reminds it of its father. We can talk to the child, meet it, give it assurance and validation.
Transitions, too, come with stories. Transitions between physical settings, between internal states, or between modes and strategies used to navigate present needs. With practice, we can feel our body respond. Maybe it contracts to protect or expands to connect. In this, we can learn to tolerate uncomfortable states for longer periods of time, even breaking them down to simple bodily sensations. Those who are avoidantly attached may find peace in physically calming with an Other. For those on the anxious end of attachment, we can find genuine connection internally, ever present and responsive.
Distancing allows both space and connection. This is the process of stepping out of a hurting part and landing in a more safe or neutrally-observing part. We separate in order to meet, in order to experience an Other at an internal level.
In moving toward more cognitive distancing techniques, we might notice ourselves calming as we head toward “big picture” thinking. Outside of our present states, we may elicit curiosity, awe, and wonder when stepping back to observe patterns and cycles. From the simple in-and-out of our breath to the contractions and expansions of our life and the universe, to the rhythms of connection and disconnection in the present moment.
Sometimes just imagining hovering above our own body can create a distance that helps us differentiate from internal parts that are experiencing intense emotion. And this separation is actually what gives us the ability to come back and be with those parts in a healing manner. [amazon_affiliate]
Rather than being in the pain, we learn to be with it.
If you would like help beginning this process, contact a compassionate counselor today.
Read on for Part 2: Mindfully Heading Toward Discomfort
References:
- Gendlin, E. T. (1981). Focusing. New York: Bantam Books.
- Kurtz, Ron. (1985). The organization of experience in Hakomi Therapy. Hakomi Forum Professional Journal, 3(1), 3-9. Retrieved from http://www.hakomiinstitute.com/Forum/Issue3/OrganizationExperience.pdf
- Lewis, T., Amini, F., & Lannon, R. (2000). A general theory of love. New York: Random House.
- Noricks, J. S. (2011). Parts psychology: A new model of therapy for the treatment of psychological problems through healing the normal multiple personalities within us: Case studies in the psychotherapy of mental disorders. Los Angeles, CA: New University Press.
- Porges, S. W. (2011). The polyvagal theory: Neurophysiological foundations of emotions, attachment, communication, and self-regulation. New York, NY: W. W. Norton.
- Schwartz, R. C. (1995). Internal family systems therapy. New York, NY: The Guilford Press.
- Siegel, D. J. (2010). Mindsight: The new science of personal transformation. New York: Bantam Books.
- Van der Kolk, B. (2014). The body keeps the score. New York, NY: Viking.
I had a conversation with a friend the other day regarding authenticity—a value that I place close to my heart. It seems, in these times of “fake news†and the questioning of the integrity of many of the systems around us, the idea of living an authentic life is sometimes met with a shrug.
Our society is built around the façade of masking our true selves to please others, to build our “brands,†and to be the face of whatever role we are playing in that particular moment—parent, partner/spouse, worker, boss, coach, friend, neighbor, caregiver. No matter what is actually happening inside us or in the other pieces of our life, we are taught to compartmentalize each section in order to be successful.
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As a clinician, I am able to see the effects on those who have to put on these masks, to the detriment of their inner happiness. I see the toll it can take on those who feel pressured to act as if they are a certain way, feel a certain way, or believe a certain thing that isn’t a reflection of their true self.
It can be heartbreaking.
It hurts to see a spouse pretend she has been happy for years in a stagnant marriage because she couldn’t stand the idea of judgment from being vulnerable with peers or family members.
It can be devastating to watch someone realize their shallow friendships are the cause of a deep feeling of loneliness despite constantly being around people.
It is horrible to see someone’s creative energy drained by a workplace that expects a happy face and a butt in a chair regardless of their ideas and desire to better serve.
So how can we better connect with who we are—even when there is a role to play?
There is often a fear of being authentic, especially within relationships. From a young age, we are told to “just be ourselves†without any additional prompting of who we are or should be. So often, we try to figure out who we are based on who everyone around us is, and how they respond to us within a situation. We spend our adolescent years “trying on†different identities, and then just going with the pieces that are accepted by those around us.
So when we are “being ourselves,†we are actually often being the person that the world has molded us into, for better or for worse.
When you can put responsibilities and roles aside to spend time doing things that fill your cup, you have more energy to spend on those responsibilities and roles over the long term—and they are less likely to suck you dry.
As adults, we get sucked into our routines with career and family life, often to the detriment of our creative minds and physical bodies. We begin to identify with those roles, often forgetting about our true value systems and the ways our idealist younger selves wanted to impact the world.
When processing with people in therapy about self-care, it can be revealing to talk about that idealist younger self. What did they love to do? What kind of people did they enjoy being around? What did they want for their future self? How are they different from who they are now?
While we often think of self-care as sitting in front of Netflix or getting a manicure, the most impactful self-care is finding ways to get back to our true identity and being authentic about what that looks like.
In other words, our responsible adult selves are good at taking the fun out of things.
If we go back and revisit that younger self, we often can find pieces of our identity that we can bring back into the picture to give ourselves more joy.
For example:
- If you enjoyed creating or spent time just listening to music as a child, or wrote short stories for fun, those are things that could bring a note of authenticity back into your life. In taking time for yourself to create in this way, you can bring more enjoyment into your life.
- If you were an athlete, but now find yourself at a desk job, you may want to find ways to incorporate the sports that you loved. Even if you can no longer physically play those sports, coaching them—or finding another way to be involved—could help you to reconnect with who you are.
When you can put responsibilities and roles aside to spend time doing things that fill your cup, you have more energy to spend on those responsibilities and roles over the long term—and they are less likely to suck you dry.
Learning about who we truly are, what we enjoy, and what really brings us to life can make those self-care moments go so much further. Because if you’re going to take time away to focus on doing something for yourself, it should be something that truly brings you joy.
If you’ve lost touch with who you really are, meeting with a licensed therapist may help.
Sophia Dembling wrote, “One of the risks of being quiet is that the other people can fill your silence with their own interpretation: You’re bored. You’re depressed. You’re shy. You’re stuck up. You’re judgmental. When others can’t read us, they write their own story—not always one we choose or that’s true to who we are.â€
But sometimes even when others could choose to “read†us—by being curious, asking questions, and collaborating with us and honoring what we value—they choose to write over us instead. This is particularly true when one person has more social power or when their values are already maintained by external forces. They have more permissions already; they have more of a voice. In these situations, we might not be quiet by nature so much as silenced.
Asserting Experience and Identity
Some aspects of our lives come more pre-packaged and scripted than others—namely, our stories about gender. And we haven’t got a fighting chance to tell our own gender story if it’s been decided for us before we are even able to speak or choose our own adornments—for most of us, this takes place before we are even born. Ideally, babies would come into a home where love can be flexibly provided for many variations of expression—but many of us will be subconsciously “shaped†into something “More Appropriate†if we deviate from culturally-sanctioned ideals. [fat_widget_right]
If you are cisgender, this may not feel oppressive. If your community affords men and women (and your gender is one or the other) a great deal of fluidity, flexibility, and freedoms, this may not feel so bad.
But even if this is your experience, it is not everyone’s—or even most people’s—experience. Keeping this in mind, listen for stories that differ from your own.
Transgender and gender non-conforming folks claim the permission of asserting (not choosing) their gender identity and sense of self rather than accepting what has been assigned to them. This becomes increasingly necessary if what has been given to them (“prescribed†gender, typically based on the sex category assigned to a person at or before birth) never fit that person, no longer fits that person, or sometimes doesn’t fit that person. Transgender and gender non-conforming people are claiming their own power over their bodies and voice.
It is here I want to assert my position: unless a person is directly harming another person, how they want to speak or adorn themselves is not for us to decide—unless we are that person’s parent. When we take on a parental role with a person we are not parenting, we are indicating we have decided we are not equals with the person, that we cling to a sense of power over them. (For instance, when we become the “gender police.â€)
Narrative Therapy: Co-Creating Meaning
The following description of narrative therapy comes from the Dulwich Centre in Adelaide, Australia: “Narrative therapy seeks to be a respectful, non-blaming approach to counselling and community work, which centres people as the experts in their own lives.†I distinguish here between therapy styles that give people expertise over their own lives vs. the power our mental health system has traditionally exerted over those who come for help. Narrative therapists co-create meaning with the people they are treating; traditional therapy prescribes meaning onto the experiences of the person in therapy.
Narrative therapy acknowledges the power discrepancies between therapist and person in therapy but seeks to minimize them as much as possible. This modality is a collaborative, democratic style of therapy where what something means to the person in treatment is equally or more valuable than what something means to the therapist.
(I don’t want to pretend a truly democratic relationship can exist between therapist and person in therapy. Not only is there a transaction of money, but—in the case of individuals advocating for their own gender transition and especially in the case of those desiring hormone therapy—therapists are also in a position to determine whether or not the individuals they are treating are “of sound mind.†Thus they are the gatekeepers of access to desired medical treatments.)
Narrative therapy acknowledges the power discrepancies between therapist and person in therapy but seeks to minimize them as much as possible. This modality is a collaborative, democratic style of therapy where what something means to the person in treatment is equally or more valuable than what something means to the therapist. It involves listening to the words of the person receiving therapy, tracking the themes relevant to their life, and determining which stories were authored authentically by the individual and what stories were told to them and enforced by the Powers That Be.
Tactics Used in Narrative Therapy
In an attempt to subvert some of the gatekeeping power that has existed within my profession since its origin, I wanted to write about some narrative therapy tactics that can be self-taught and used by the chosen family and communities of transgender and gender non-conforming individuals in order to support and enrich their loved ones’ sense of self! Chances are, you are already using some of them.
- The “Constitutionalist Self.†This term refers to a view of the self as malleable and continuously de-constructed and re-constructed through interactions. Who we are is largely determined through relationships and dialogue. Before engaging in the process of “deconstruction,†explained below, this sense of self is often derived from experiences fitting into the dominant narrative. Others—parents, teachers, etc.— often inadvertently “guide” this sense of self without even realizing it.
- The Dominant Story. This is a name for the story with the most influence and power, often uncritically accepted as “true.†It tends to reflect societal values and might feel oppressive in nature, telling us what “should” be true but often isn’t. For example, girls should be quiet and submissive; boys should be aggressive and assertive.
- Subjugated story/stories. This term refers to stories obscured by The Dominant Story, such as when someone cannot see the ways in which they are hard-working and supportive because they are bombarded with messages that they have failed in some other way (by being handicapped, by being unemployed). Another example might be someone who wants to view and present themselves as feminine, maternal, and nurturing but keeps focusing on (and being reminded of) their “mannish hands†and “broad shoulders.” These traits, often associated with manhood and masculine posturing, serve as distraction from the stereotypically “feminine†traits they are attempting to story. Somehow, certain stories are allowed and valued while others are not. Exceptions to normative stories are discouraged, often in subtle ways.
- Deconstruction. This term refers to the postmodern process of constructing new meanings by examining hidden (often cultural/political) agendas and assumptions. Deconstruction begins when someone is able to tell their story in a context where the dominant cultural story can be viewed as a highly influential text the person did not totally author.)
- Building Leagues. Narrative therapists assist the people they work with in the linking of resources and community—groups of people facing similar problems, sometimes called “Leagues†or “Communities of Concernâ€â€”to develop a sense of solidarity and power in numbers. League members learn from one another as peers rather than experts. For many, joining a gender support group or having other friends who are trans or gender non-conforming eliminates some pressures to educate and sometimes allows people to let down their guard in different ways than they might with a cisgender peer.
- Identifying “Outsider Witnesses.†Narrative therapists assist people in identifying those who will affirm and support their new story. Which people in a person’s life are interested in learning their correct pronouns, their own unique style, the origin of their chosen name? Who values them for their chosen values and the ways in which they express them? It is a beautiful moment when our loved ones can see us in the ways we want to be seen.
- Re-authoring. When we re-author our lives, we are choosing which elements are important and which are not. When we practice this narrative, we live our preferred story “as if†it were true. Over time, with enough traction and support, it becomes true. (This is different from being disconnected or living in delusion; we don’t fail to account for others’ experiences of reality. Rather, we seek out ways of living that are conscientious, critical, and authentic to what we value.)
In Practice
How can we do this? One of my favorite exercises to facilitate with multiple people in therapy is to ask them to think of a time they felt confident and tease this out. I have them name what they valued about that version of themselves and what made it possible. The other person (or people) is/are assigned to “track†instances of when they caught that person exhibiting those traits in their present life, in their present interactions. This can be effective for people battling depression, when they feel the “old†them is lost, as this can serve to remind them their “true” self still exists—but this exercise can also be of great benefit in affirming the gender expressions of those we love!
If your friend or loved one is transitioning, find out the values of the gender identity they are looking to embody and affirm them! If your friend’s experience of self exists outside of the language surrounding gender, don’t praise them for being “rational and fair†or for being “so pretty and thin.†Instead, figure out what matters to them and make an effort to witness them living these values authentically in the world. See them in the ways they need to be witnessed and affirmed.
References:
- Blakeslee Salkil, S. E., & Goff, J. D. (2014). LMFT Exam Preparation Workshop [Powerpoint]. Self-Published: Family Education Resources, LLC.
- Dembling, S. (2012). The introvert’s way: Living a quiet life in a noisy world. New York, New York: Perigee Books.
- Dulwich Centre. (n.d.). What is narrative therapy? Retrieved from: http://dulwichcentre.com.au/what-is-narrative-therapy
- Family Solutions Institute. (2011). Marriage and family therapy national licensing examination preparation: MFT glossary. Jamaica Plain, MA: Self-published.