The ‘authentic self’ - what is it, and does it help to try to find the elusive ‘real me’?

We live in a moment where the concept of ‘authenticity’ shows up just about everywhere. We might debate and denigrate the lack of real, raw and unfiltered versions of people showing up on social media platforms. We might see wall art and online posts (which may or may not be AI generated) encouraging us to just be ourselves. We might offer coaching and facilitation that, in part, is about supporting people to show up or communicate authentically – okay, that last one might only be applicable to a few of us, but it’s what led me to being curious about the concept of being our authentic selves and what that might mean. There’s potential for this thought thread to unravel to an existential level, so please consider this a disclaimer in case it leads you into vaguely cosmic territory.

I started engaging with a question around what our most authentic selves might be when I described a programme I was delivering to a wonderfully analytical friend. I used a phrase along the lines of ‘supporting people to show up as their authentic selves’, and we debated the meaning and usefulness of the term for a while. I felt sure that there was something meaningful and relatable in the idea of feeling safe and welcome enough in a shared space to be able to communicate openly and honestly, let go of excessive self-monitoring and masking, and feel valued for the unique combination of traits, skills, ideas and experiences we bring to the table. There’s something in this that, for me, is about being able to let go and just be. I’m both lucky enough to know what it feels like to experience this, and unlucky enough to have experienced dangerous environments where it was necessary to adapt, hide or try to proverbially puff myself up to seem intimidating in hopes of staying safe. So, on some level, it’s a question of safety and belonging – who are we when we don’t have to look over our shoulder, or squeeze our square peg self into a round hole in order to be accepted?

My friend agreed about the importance of developing spaces and communities where everyone can experience this feeling of letting go and being themselves. But digging into the concept of what ‘being yourself’ actually means, things got a little more complicated. We’re probably all aware of the ways that we adapt our language, speech patterns, tone, clothing, body language etc. to fit the culture and expectations of the different places and groups we find ourselves in. We might be aware of our brains’ use of specific neurons to subconsciously mirror others’ movements and expressions as a way to fast-track relationship building. That is to say, as humans, we’re interdependent animals who are profoundly influenced by each other. There’s a philosophical question here about whether one of the ways we present is the one that truly represents who we are, with others being adaptations that we’ve developed as a strategy for social cohesion. Is the ‘authentic’ self the one that shows up when nobody’s watching? This seems like an over-simplification - we are continuously changing as we learn from experience, adapt to environment and experience our bodies first growing and then ageing. And even if the unfiltered ‘self’ is the most authentic one, is there value to bringing that part to the front in any given situation? Like so many of the themes I’ve been reflecting on lately, this speaks to a dance between individualist and collectivist approaches – in other words, do the needs of the individual or the needs of the group take precedence here? I have spent many years supporting clients to advocate for themselves, speak up about their needs, be unapologetic about who they are, and (when safe to do so) share how they really feel. These are skills that I believe are essential for everyone, and doubly so for those whose voices and needs have been sidelined, dismissed or weaponised by people and systems driven by a need to keep a tight grip on power and resources. And yet, if we all focus primarily on ensuring our own needs are met and our own authentic responses are honoured in every situation, the balance of considering self and considering others is likely to be skewed. Sometimes, our most authentic response or way of showing up might be unhelpful – perhaps we need a little time to process and make sense of our feelings before sharing them. Or maybe something that would bring comfort, joy or a little more ease to our day is conflicting with someone else’s needs. This seems to suggest a dichotomy between self-interested authenticity and inauthenticity in the name of compromise. I don’t believe that it’s necessary to be less of ourselves in order to consider the needs of others, especially since many of the people I work with tend to have gone in the other direction and developed people pleasing tendencies as a strategy for maintaining belonging. What I am considering is the problem with an individualist construction of the ‘authentic self’ (you know, the one that all of those Instagram ads tell you that you can express more fully if you buy one more supplement). Going to the opposite end of the individual-collective scale, family, community, duty and tradition may be significantly more important than the needs, desires and idIosyncracies of any individual. In this context, the focus on interdependence is clear, but the potential pressure to suppress any aspects of self that don’t fit with cultural expectations can tip over into causing harm. This pressure to suppress aspects of ourselves is something I’m acutely aware of as a queer person. I’m tempted to wander down the rabbit hole of exploration about whether queer identity is a fundamental and fixed aspect of the ‘authentic self’, but perhaps the philosophy is less important than the ways that we make space for, celebrate and create safety for the different aspects of each other’s identities (especially when those identities and experience have been met with oppression). And we might extend this idea to the concept of the ‘authentic self’ in general. We might theorise that each human has an eternal, unchanging soul; that we are the products of a combination of environment and genetic inheritance; that there is no true ‘self’; or that our sense of reality and self is essentially a hallucination. It’s a fascinating and potentially destabilising thread to pull a little, and it’s quite possible that our beliefs and assumptions on this existential level have an influence on how we think and behave. But when it comes to allowing people to show up authentically, what seems more important is the intention and action required to create spaces that feel safe and welcoming enough for people to let their guard down and just be.

What might that look like in practice?

Some examples…

-Providing accessible spaces that offer accommodations and, where possible, pay attention to the sensory environment (can background noise be minimised, can lighting be adjusted, is there a quiet breakout space?)

-Getting into a practice of checking in and finding out how people really are (the boundaries and appropriate level of depth with this is context dependent)

-Developing a practice of encouraging compassionate and appropriate challenge

-Inclusive, diverse and non-tokenistic representations and celebrations of different identities in a space

-Challenging assumptions and thinking critically about how we police and restrict language, appearance/style, body language etc., especially in work contexts – consider who decides which dialects, clothing choices etc. are deemed the most professional

-Explicitly and equally valuing different forms of intelligence and skill sets

-Providing gender neutral spaces, not making assumptions about people’s gender or orientation

-Staying curious and developing awareness of assumptions about others’ experiences (e.g. asking questions that assume a particular family structure, experience of a cultural celebration or identity)

-Developing good negotiation and compromising skills to manage competing needs

-Valuing rapport building, while understanding that different people have different ways of making connections

In praise of discomfort (unlearning white politeness, masking and conflict avoidance)

I’ve spent a lot of time in the five years since being diagnosed with ADHD thinking about masking, and how I might consciously or unconsciously choose to modify my behaviour in order to be more socially acceptable. Lately, I’ve noticed a desire and a tendency to put less effort into this, though it feels risky and exposing to do so. At a certain point in the life of many neurodivergent people, especially those diagnosed later in life, the mask begins to slip, perhaps because we no longer have the capacity to spend energy on maintaining it, or because we choose to take it off. It’s interesting to look at how this is received in different contexts – the world is changing, and our understanding of different neurotypes is developing quickly, even though this feels like something that’s still in its infancy. In some situations, people are accepting of, and accustomed to unusual communication styles, movements, ways of thinking and requests for adjustments. In others, we might be judged more harshly (like the time someone on a training course told me that nobody will ever take me seriously if I continue to move my hands like that when I talk). Masking, or toning ourselves down in order to fit in or be ‘taken seriously’ is more about others’ comfort than the needs of the person wearing the mask. Sure, it might stem from a deep seated need to belong (or a less deep but equally crucial need to be employable). But holding back our need to manage our nervous systems and energy levels, admit that we’ve forgotten someone’s name, bow out of small talk, zone out or follow a mental tangent is largely about managing others’ comfort. We might try not to do something because we’ve learned that it’s received as impolite or thoughtless – a classic example of this being the tendency to relate to others by sharing our own equivalent story when someone shares an experience. It might be read as one-upmanship or self-centredness, rather than a genuine attempt to connect. This is an example of what has been referred to in recent years as the ‘double empathy problem’. Essentially, the neurodivergent and neurotypical person in this scenario might be trying to connect with each other in different ways, but we’ve tended to locate the ‘problem’ within the neurodivergent person. It might be assumed that an Autistic person is less capable of empathy, while in fact a lack of understanding exists between people who have different ways of mentalising and communicating. Since neurodivergence is generally a pathologised and ‘othered’ identity, there is often pressure to conform to social conventions that might serve to make others more comfortable. There are many ways in which neurotypical people might experience pressure to mask, adapt and suppress instinctive behaviours or needs in order to maintain a sense of social cohesion or ‘civility’.

During these last few years, I’ve also become increasingly aware of a link between this phenomenon and the idea of ‘white politeness’. Being ‘civilised’ was (and in so many ways, continues to be) a concept weaponised in colonialism, positioning white European societies as morally, intellectually and culturally superior to the global majority. This offered apparent justification for the violent and dehumanising practices carried out by colonisers, and assumed anything outside of the cultural mores of Britain and other northern European countries at the time to be ‘barbaric’ and in need of control and assimilation. Civility during the heyday of the British Empire was inextricably linked with a hierarchical, monarchist social structure in which those with inherited wealth and power separated themselves from the lower classes in part via a system of ‘good manners’ that involved indirect communication, repressing emotions and bodily sensations, presenting ‘modestly’ and avoidance of conflict. We can still see the legacy of this in the ways in which politeness is sometimes weaponised and used as a way to wield power – for example, the continuing positioning of Black women who are communicating directly or expressing an emotion as ‘aggressive’. This form of bias and prejudice is something I’ve been aware of for a long time, but I was less aware of how a culture of ‘white politeness’ was shaping some of the spaces I inhabit until it was pointed out to me. That’s not unusual - it’s so often the case that we can’t see what we’re in while we’re in it, and also a feature of privilege to not have to notice something if it’s not obviously disadvantaging us. Even in some spaces where care and communication skills are highly valued, I started to notice the slightly awkward ways that we unconsciously attempt to avoid discomfort. We might start to put masks on if things are getting a little emotional, heated or weird. We’ll often use small talk, humour or subject changes to take the edge off when things threaten to get a little uncomfortable. Even those of us who are well versed in therapy speak and big fans of emotional literacy will lean on our learned social crutches when something threatens the relative politeness of the space sometimes. And there’s nothing inherently wrong with this, if it’s a conscious choice that fits with the social contract of the space – maybe we’re in this space together as a way to have some respite from big feelings, or maybe it’s a workplace and there are limited opportunities to fully unmask, process our emotions and process what’s unsaid in the space. But what I’m finding less helpful is the unconscious post-colonial hangover that has us subtly policing our own and others’ behaviours, bodies and words in order to maintain a sense of decorum. There may be a time and a place for showing up in all of our flawed, messy, noisy glory, but if we haven’t found enough of these times and places, it’s likely that our repressed emotions, sensations, movements etc. will cause us harm in some way, whether we realise it or not.

There’s also the impact of all of this on our ability to communicate with courage and integrity. Growing up in cultures (whether family, community, country or all of the above) that prioritise immediate comfort over voicing dissent, setting boundaries and sitting with difficult feelings has the potential to push us towards avoidant, people pleasing and incongruent behaviours and communication styles. Avoiding conversations and situations that might involve challenge, conflicting needs, awkwardness or inconvenience is only likely to bring short term gain, while problems go unaddressed and unmet needs grow into resentments over time. It feels very familiar to me to provide facilitation in workplaces that prioritise a veneer of ‘niceness’ over tackling the far less pleasant challenges that are festering beneath the surface because it’s so difficult and not in keeping with a ‘nice’ working culture to address them. Employees who were grappling with how to raise their concerns and struggles in these situations have told me how scary it can be to consider speaking up in an environment that has become profoundly silencing. This is a direct example of a culture of politeness and ‘civility’ preventing issues from being addressed and upholding a hierarchical structure where people who aren’t in charge may not feel safe to share feedback, challenge, concerns or even ideas that deviate from the norm. This is something I find concerning when I see signs of it, and I’m always keen to unpack the assumptions, beliefs and fears that contribute to this culture. And in the spirit of honest communication, I’ll level with you… I’m not here to criticise or shame anyone who has (intentionally or otherwise) contributed to a culture like this, partly because I don’t think that would be particularly useful, and partly because my own tendency is towards conflict avoidance and over-adapting in order to maintain a sense of belonging. This is something that I’ve spent years working on, and will likely continue to work on for the rest of my life – I don’t have it all figured out by any means. I notice at times an inner conflict between my learned defence mechanisms (‘avoid conflict, rejection and upsetting others at all costs’) and the communication style that I value and need (direct, open, congruent, assumes a healthy balance of care for self and care for others). I believe that moving beyond repressive cultures of ‘politeness’ and towards deeper connections and more equitable communities starts with curiosity and critical thinking. Maybe it’s a feature of my particular type of neurodivergence, but I’m grateful to have never lost the instinct to ask ‘but why?’ that we tend to associate with exhaustingly inquisitive toddlers. I find social conventions and unspoken rules fascinating. I can’t help pondering where they came from, what purpose they serve, whether we’re finding them helpful, and what else might be possible if we’re not. Taking space to examine the cultural norms, communication preferences and expectations within a community might yield some rich insights and opportunities about how different people are supported, excluded, silenced or relatively unaffected by them. And the prospect of examining this might in itself provoke anxiety – there’s a distinct possibility that, in spite of our best efforts to prevent conflict and offence, we will discover ways in which avoiding discomfort is inadvertently causing harm. It seems important here to both take our capacity to cause harm seriously, and at the same time, hold it lightly. If we find out that we have contributed to someone else’s pain or exclusion, we can take the gift of that learning and apply it in future, rather than entering a shame spiral that seems to threaten our sense of identity and values. Sometimes that’s easier said than done - I’m sure most of us have been horrified at some point to discover that our well intentioned words, actions or contribution to a wider culture have been harmful. But getting comfortable with the short term discomfort that might arise from sharing or receiving challenges, needs, boundaries, concerns and emotions is likely to offer longer term gains. And a culture of compassionate honesty, valuing each other’s contributions and welcoming an array of different feelings and perspectives seems to me to be a great hangover cure for the last vestiges of Empire and its restrictive grip on the human experience.