In the West, neuroscientists and therapists write that one of the main things that separates our minds from those of animals is that we know we exist. As Mark Solms and Oliver Turnbull (2002) state in The Brain and the Inner World, our brain is the unique, enigmatic organ that gives us that sense: “The brain…is the seat of the mind, somehow producing our feeling of being ourselves in the world right now”.

And pediatrician and analyst Donald Winnicott (1986) writes in Playing and Reality that we must have that experience of “just being” before we can act, create, explore, relate, or do. Winnicott’s “false self”—rigid and inauthentic—will emerge if an infant has to adapt to her care¬giver’s needs. The false self covers over the true self—which is fluid and authentic—if that’s what’s needed in order for the child to keep her mother’s love.

Buddhist thoughts about the self contrast with Western ones, as described above. As Mark Epstein (1995) tells us in Thoughts Without a Thinker, Buddhist scholars write that it is only when we stop trying to find a true self that we experience life in a real way: “In the Buddhist view, a realized being has realized her own lack of a true self”.

In the following section, I include ideas about the self described above and blend them with others to form my own definition of self: our experience of being, which can be free or thwarted depending on how we experienced our primary caregiver’s traits. Her flowing traits would allow for a truer self-image and freer self. Her imposing traits would encourage a distorted self-image and thwarted self.

We’ll explore three major “selfs”: physical, relating, and working. I place the sexual self at times with the physical self, and at other times with the relating self; it’s an experience of the self that easily crosses both boundaries. Let’s now turn to the physical sense of self: how we experience our body’s appearance, frame, motion, sensuality, sexuality, and connection to our mind.

physical self

With a sheepish look, her eyes averted, Gerri, a menopausal woman, hesitated and stroked her hair a few times before telling me about making love with her husband the night before: “I had a good time…but…and…” When I said I sensed her difficulty with telling me that she had enjoyed her sexual experience, I asked if she thought I’d disapprove. She replied, “Well wouldn’t you? My mother, Carolyn, always gave me the sense when I was a teen that if I had any sexual pleasure I was bad. She let me know that through silence rather than direct messages.”

We explored that time in Gerri’s life, which led us to look at her mother’s teen self-image. Carolyn was taller and lankier than her older sister, Melanie, and viewed her body as second-rate next to Melanie’s. This was a distorted self-image; Carolyn had a fine body, just one that was different from Melanie’s. Carolyn’s mother, Pearl, favored Melanie’s neatly proportioned, petite body and rejected Carolyn’s, because it resembled Pearl’s own tall and lanky one. One day after Pearl and her two teenage daughters came back from a run with their dog, Pearl whispered to Melanie something that Carolyn overheard from the other room: “When you run, you have that graceful way about you that’s all neatly stowed in that cute little shape of yours. I wish I could look like that. Your poor sister. She got stuck with the same ostrich legs I have.”

carnival-mirror roadblocks

Carolyn once told Gerri that at puberty she’d felt she had to be seductive with boys in order to be desired. And she expressed guilt about getting the guys that way.

But when Gerri entered puberty, instead of helping her daughter to celebrate her blossoming, she reacted with anxiety. She’d often bite her lip and furrow her brow when Gerri talked about going out on dates. Sensing her mother’s discomfort with her sexuality, Gerri echoed her mother’s teen social situation. She developed a negative view of her body—a distorted self-image, since she had a fine body also—and wound up seducing the boys to win their favor and then felt guilty. The carnival-mirror legacy had been passed to yet another female generation.

Now, as an adult in menopause, even though she was in a loving relationship with her husband, Gerri’s guilt about her past “assertiveness” with boys carried over to her present sex life. When talking with me, she felt she had to hide the fact that she enjoyed herself or that she had desire, because she assumed I would be like her mother and disapprove of the experience.

We can more fully understand Gerri’s situation with her mother if we compare a freer physical self with her thwarted one.

the open road

A freer physical self can appear in a ballerina’s leaps across the stage, a basketball player’s awesome jumps, or a mother’s game of hide-and-seek with her child. But the freer physical self isn’t always shown so dramatically. Sometimes it’s just about an inner openness of motion, feeling free within while hardly moving at all.

When a mother’s flowing traits—pleasure in her daughter—come through, the daughter not only gives back to her mother what’s been given to her but sees herself as a beauty, the way her mother has portrayed her. She gives of herself freely to her mother. In Beyond the Reflection, Paulina Kernberg (2006) illustrates this concept. She writes about a secure two-year-old (let’s call her Hannah) looking in a mirror with her mother, who asks, “Who is that beautiful girl in the mirror?” And the girl answers with a smile, “Two beautiful girls” (18), meaning her mother and herself. If we picture Hannah moving toward the mirror, we might also imagine a freedom of motion.

Like the physical sense of self, the relating sense of self—the part of us that interacts with others—can be freer or thwarted.

it’s about the relationship

Zoe would often giggle, even when she talked about something upsetting. Each time, I sensed neediness below the surface when she gazed at me for a few minutes afterward with imploring eyes. As a “change of life” baby, she’d grown up with a feeling that she was a pain for both parents to raise. The only way she could hope to have her needs met was by making believe nothing bothered her much, even when she felt hurt by her parents, who had little patience with her: “Go with your sister to the store; I need a rest,” or “Can’t you ask your brother to help you with the homework? I’m too busy.” Zoe would often put on a smile after each of these interactions and walk away.

So, in my consulting room, she was showing me that same easy¬going exterior while her deeper hunger to have her needs met, which would make her feel more valued, was revealed in her look. Her self-image was skewed, because she felt she wasn’t worth her parents’ time, which carried over to others, like me. Her fear of rejection caused her to give confusing messages that said she was content when she was far from it. As a result, she didn’t get what she wanted. Zoe’s relating self was guided by her distorted self-image. If she viewed herself as more valued, she would have given clearer messages and gotten more of what she desired from others.

Let’s discuss how a restricted relating sense of self like Zoe’s leads to a restricted choice of relationships—and usually not the best relationships.

Many of us are familiar with the idea that a woman “marries her father.” Fewer realize how frequently a woman is unconsciously drawn to a man who reminds her of her mother. By partnering with him or marrying him, on some level the daughter holds on to her mother and to the relating patterns she had with her as a child.

excerpt from My Mother, My Mirror: Recognizing and Making the Most of Inherited Self Images by Laura Arens Fuerstein, Ph. D.