Beyond the False Self
Reflections on identity, responsibility and the path to healing in a divided world
Introduction – Between person and mask
What if who you’ve become is not who you truly are? What if the way you move through relationships, regulate your emotions and protect yourself was once a life-saving strategy — but has now become armor?
In my work, in my relationships and within myself, I see time and again how people get stuck in patterns that once helped soothe pain, but ultimately disrupt the connection to the true self. We call these personality disorders. But that word doesn’t sit right. It reduces a complex web of experiences, defense layers and longing into a broken label. As far as I’m concerned, the DSM could be thrown overboard tomorrow.
This essay is an attempt at a different approach. Not a pathologizing gaze, but an invitation to re-understand. I want to write about the false self as a survival structure, about how destructive personality dynamics come into being — and what true healing actually asks of us. I draw on my own experience — as a caregiver, a lover, a thinker and a human being. But I also weave my vision together with the voices of others: Jung, Winnicott and Levinas. Because we are not alone in this search for what it means to be truly human.
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Why the word ‘disorder’ falls short
In the dominant psychological discourse, we speak of personality disorders — borderline, narcissistic, avoidant, histrionic and so on. That language suggests something static, something ‘broken’. But personality is not an object. It is a living constellation of beliefs, coping mechanisms, attachment wounds, desires and inner voices. It is something shaped in relation to the other. Every person develops within a context and if that context is violent, neglectful or unpredictable, then structures arise that offer protection — at the cost of connection.
Fortunately, change is underway. Within the organization where I work, we’re already experimenting with what we call pattern diagnostics: instead of labeling symptoms, we search for recurring patterns and their origins. Personality structures are then no longer seen as disorders, but as stuck dynamics. Not defects, but developmental scars. And that makes a difference. Language shapes reality.
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The False Self – A temporary truth
British psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott introduced the concept of the false self as a survival structure. When a child does not feel safe or seen in their environment, they develop behaviors and postures that soothe the external world — at the cost of the true, spontaneous self. The false self is more than a lie — it is an intelligent compromise: the child remains connected to their caregivers, but loses a part of themselves in the process.
This is also visible in schema focused therapy. People develop schemas — deeply rooted beliefs about themselves, others, and the world — born from early childhood experiences. These schemas activate modes: inner states such as the vunerable child, the punitive parent, or the detached protector. We all carry these modes within us. But when the false self becomes dominant, these modes lose their flexibility: they solidify. People stop living from inner alignment and begin acting out survival scripts.
In my view, the false self is a temporarily necessary truth. It arises to protect. But if it goes unrecognized and unfelt, it becomes a prison. Many people don’t even realize they are living from their false self — until something breaks: a burnout, a depression, the end of a relationship — and cracks appear in the mask. These are vulnerable, yet hopeful moments.
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Healing as a path to the True Self
To me, healing means returning to the core. Not to replace the vulnerable child, but to learn how to carry it. Not to destroy the punitive parent, but to recognize it as an echo of old pain. In the schema mode model, the healthy adult is the one who can recognize, regulate, set boundaries for, and comfort these inner voices. In my view, the healthy adult is not a final destination, but an embodiment of the true self — that part of us that is willing to be conscious of, and take responsibility for, what lives within us.
The true self is not perfect. It is not an exalted state of enlightenment. It is rooted precisely in imperfection — but it meets that imperfection with compassion. The true self may get lost, but it always finds its way back. It recognizes projections, takes distance when needed, and seeks closeness when it can. The true self is constantly in motion, but never loses its direction.
Carl Gustav Jung also described this process of returning to the core as a lifelong task. In his theory of individuation, he explains that we only become whole when we embrace not only the conscious parts of ourselves, but also the shadow — what we prefer not to see, yet undeniably are.
For Jung, the Self is not an ideal image, but a dynamic whole that becomes more complete as it dares to become more complex. The true self is therefore not only light and love, but also rawness, rage, grief, and instinct. Those who dare to face these shadow elements find a firmer ground within. Jung reminds us that healing is not about becoming better — it’s about daring to be more fully human.
Responsibility in relation to trauma
Anyone who recognizes their false self and dares to face their protective structures inevitably encounters an existential question:
Am I responsible for behavior that stems from my wounding?
It’s a painful, yet necessary question. Because while it’s true that destructive patterns originate in early childhood trauma and deprivation, we still remain responsible, as adults, for what we do with them. Trauma explains, but it does not excuse.
This distinction is essential. It enables compassion without slipping into justification or victimhood. People with destructive personality structures often know very well the difference between right and wrong. But the false self — and the survival modes connected to it — can become so dominant that reflection is avoided and correction is perceived as a threat.
And yet, the possibility of choice always remains. And it is precisely the capacity and willingness to take responsibility that marks the first step on the path to healing.
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In my experience, this sense of responsibility often awakens at breaking points: a burnout, a breakup, a confrontation with reality. But also love, genuine mirroring, and a safe therapeutic relationship can spark that awareness. There are moments when the mask cracks — and the choice presents itself:
Will I continue living from my defense structure, or will I dare to bend toward the pain beneath it?
The true self doesn’t say: “You had no choice.” It says: “You have a choice now.”
Healing begins when we not only acknowledge where we come from, but also decide who we want to become. In that moment of choice lies something deeply ethical — an act of love, toward yourself and the other.
This notion of responsibility in the face of pain and history echoes the work of philosopher Emmanuel Levinas. In his thinking, the Other stands at the center as an ethical call: the face of the Other appeals to me — before any conscious choice, before any judgment. Levinas argues that responsibility is not optional, but a condition of existence: I am responsible, even for the responsibility of the other.
This radical view does not bypass guilt or morality — it precedes them. In light of the false self, this means that we are not only responsible for what we do, but also for how we are present. For how we respond, reflect, and recognize.
When someone begins to recognize their false self, a space opens for ethical self-confrontation. Not from pressure, but from encounter. Not because it must be done, but because the true self longs for truth. Levinas reminds us that responsibility does not arise from strength, but from openness. And maybe that is exactly what healing requires: the willingness to be touched.
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The Other as mirror
No one lives in a vacuum. Our personality takes shape in relation to others, and our defense mechanisms persist largely through how others respond to them. The false self is sustained not only from within, but also through the dynamics of the external world. That’s why healing is never a purely individual process. It requires a systemic lens.
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People with destructive personality structures — or rather, people who primarily identify with survival modes — often attract relationships in which their dynamics are mirrored or reinforced. Partners, colleagues, or family members may — often unconsciously — play an enabling role. They avoid confrontation, walk on eggshells, or try to ‘save’ the other. In doing so, the false self is fed, while the true self is starved.
Codependency also plays a role here: when two people affirm each other’s wounds instead of challenging one another to grow, a closed system forms in which destructive dynamics are normalized. This is painful — but not hopeless. The first step is awareness. The second is taking responsibility — not only by the person with the dominant survival structure, but also by those around them.
A systemic approach means we also examine the role of family structures, workplace dynamics, social circles, and therapeutic systems. How are masks being maintained? Where are boundaries missing, where is recognition lacking? It is precisely within safe, loving, and clear relationships that room for change can emerge — not by fighting the false self, but by inviting and making space for the true self.
Society as a mirror of the False Self
The patterns that take shape within the individual are reflected in the larger whole. Our society is not a neutral backdrop, but an active participant in the formation and reinforcement of the false self. In a world where performance matters more than feeling, where vulnerability is seen as weakness, and success as proof of worth, the false self thrives. We construct personas, curate identities and learn early on that we only count if we prove, achieve or produce something.
The economic logic of neoliberalism intensifies this further. The human being is reduced to consumer and product: visible, efficient, useful. In such a world, there is little room for the vulnerable child, for the shadow, or for inner slowness. Society organizes itself around speed, competition and control — precisely the characteristics of the false self.
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The stigma surrounding psychological suffering also makes this visible. People with personality difficulties are often seen as difficult, manipulative or hopeless. We judge, label and isolate instead of seeking to understand. In doing so, we reinforce the very message the false self has feared since childhood: that there is no place for who you truly are.
What is needed is a cultural shift — a revaluation of inner processes, relational ethics and humanity beyond functionality. We need institutions, schools, workplaces and therapeutic spaces that don’t just treat, but truly acknowledge. That have the courage to allow room for complexity — and thus for not-knowing, for slowness, for the story behind the behavior.
Maybe it starts with language. With how we speak about disorders, about behavior, about responsibility. Maybe it starts with listening. To the child in ourselves and in the other. Maybe it starts with Love — not as a romantic ideal, but as a radical principle of recognition and holding.
Conclusion – The courage to be truthful
Behind every false self lies a longing — a longing to be seen, to love and be loved, to live truthfully rather than merely survive. The path to the true self is not a straight line. It is a winding journey through shame, resistance, pain, sorrow, longing and insight. It takes courage to descend into one’s inner world, to take responsibility for destructive patterns and to stop looking away from the shadow within.
But that courage is also hopeful. Because those who dare to look open the door to transformation — not because everything will become perfect, but because space is created for authenticity. For soft boundaries. For inner alignment. For love that does not claim or manipulate, but carries. Healing is not a destination — it is the ongoing process of choosing truth over illusion, connection over control.
We live in a time in which the false self is celebrated collectively. Where masks are the norm and inner truthfulness feels rare. And precisely for that reason, it matters that we keep writing, speaking, reflecting. That we continue to make space for the child in ourselves and in others. That we keep believing in the possibility of healing, even where the damage runs deep.
Those who dare to shed the false self are not left exposed — but free.
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Free to be human. In all her complexity, beauty and brokenness.
Perhaps that is the most radical act of love there is.
