Max Littman, LCSW
January 25, 2026
I’ve been noticing a particular way my own authenticity shows up that feels true, and also incomplete. What I say is not false. The words are accurate. The meaning and information are intact. And yet something in me knows I’m not fully here when I say them (or write them).
It’s an authenticity that begins below the neck, but through translation from above the neck, loses contact with its source.
I can name what’s happening quickly. I can track my thoughts, my values, my interpretations, my parts, my internal bodily sensations. I can articulate what is happening with clarity. When I speak from this place, I often sound grounded, measured, and sincere. Others tend to receive it as clarity.
Inside, though, my body isn’t fully joined.
I’ll notice it afterward. A flatness in my chest. A slight buzzing in my limbs. A sense that something important was left out, even though nothing obvious was missing. It’s not that I lied. It’s that I spoke ahead of my body.
This is a familiar pattern for me. Authenticity accessed cognitively first, somatically later, if at all.
When I slow down enough to feel into it, I can sense the move happening. There’s often a moment where something stirs in my body, subtle and not yet legible. Before it has time to organize, another part steps in and translates it into language. Clean language. Reasonable language. Language that keeps things moving and strives for visibility and connection.
That translation is not wrong. But it’s premature.
I think this way of being authentic developed as a skill. A smart one. It allowed me to stay connected to truth without getting overwhelmed by sensation. It helped me remain coherent in moments where dropping fully into my body would have felt too exposing, too disorganizing, or too risky.
So I don’t experience this as a failure of integrity. It feels more like a protective sequencing issue. My system learned to let meaning speak before sensation was done speaking.
The challenge is that when authenticity is expressed this way, it lacks texture. It lacks weight. It lacks the subtle aliveness that comes when words are shaped by breath, posture, muscle tone, and feeling. It can lack coherence, presence, and connectivity. It can also lack resonance.
Sometimes I’ll hear myself say something true and feel almost surprised by how untouched I am by it, and by how disconnected I feel from it and from anyone witnessing it. As if I’ve delivered a message without fully receiving it myself.
When I’m authentic from this place, I can feel slightly out of sync with whoever I’m speaking to. Not disconnected exactly, but not fully attuned either. I’m present in content more than contact. In meaning more than somatic resonance.
I notice that my body can lag behind my declarations.
Later, maybe minutes, hours, or days later, the rest of me catches up. Sensations arrive. Emotions surface. Nuance appears. I’ll realize there was fear there. Or grief. Or longing. Or tenderness that never made it into the original expression.
That’s usually the moment I feel the discrepancy. Not regret, but a quiet recognition: That wasn’t the whole embodied truth yet.
Disembodied authenticity often feels efficient. It resolves things quickly. It provides closure before ambiguity has a chance to linger. There’s a sense of relief in that. A sense of being done.
Embodied authenticity rarely offers that kind of clean finish. It stays open longer. It invites pauses. It sometimes asks me to say less, or to say something unfinished. That can feel unsettling, especially in moments where I’m expected to know what I feel or what I want.
I’m learning that for me, embodiment doesn’t mean waiting until I feel calm or clear. It means allowing my body to be present while things are still forming. Letting sensation coexist with language rather than be summarized by it.
Sometimes that means naming what’s missing instead of filling it in.
“I know this is true, and I can feel there’s more underneath that I don’t have words for yet.”
“I’m aware I’m saying this from my head, and my body is still catching up.”
“I want to slow this down because something in me feels slightly out of step.”
These moments feel more vulnerable than simply stating my truth. They expose process rather than product. But they feel closer to me.
I don’t want to stop being articulate. Or reflective. Or clear. Those are parts of who I am. I just don’t want them to eclipse the quieter signals that take longer to arrive.
My authenticity doesn’t become less true when it slows down. It becomes more inhabitable.
Lately, I’m paying attention to the difference between speaking from truth and speaking with my whole system present. The difference is subtle, but my body always knows.
When I’m fully here, there’s usually a sense of warmth or density. A feeling of being inside my own words rather than standing just beside them.
That’s the authenticity I’m learning to wait for.
When Authenticity Doesn’t Create Connection
There is another layer to this for me that has been harder to name. Even when my authenticity feels sincere, thoughtful, and accurate, it does not reliably produce a feeling of connection with other people. Sometimes it does the opposite.
I have parts that are deeply oriented toward authenticity as a pathway to closeness. They learned that if I could name what was true inside me, clearly and honestly, connection would follow. Being known would lead to being met. Transparency would invite reciprocity. Saying the real thing would reduce distance.
Those parts still reach for authenticity with hope.
And yet, I’ve had many experiences where I express something that feels genuinely true and still feel alone afterward. Not misunderstood exactly. Just unaccompanied. As if the bridge I thought I was building didn’t quite reach the other side.
When I look more closely, I can see how much effort those parts put into getting the words right. Into making sure what I say is precise, thoughtful, unconflicted. There’s an implicit belief there: if the truth is well formed enough, connection will happen.
But connection seems to require something different than accuracy.
I notice that when authenticity is expressed without my body fully present, it can land more like information than invitation. Even if it’s personal. Even if it’s vulnerable in content. Something about it remains slightly sealed.
The other person may understand me better, but we are not necessarily closer.
This is a painful realization for the parts of me that equate authenticity with intimacy. They can feel confused or discouraged when honesty doesn’t result in warmth, resonance, or mutuality. When the response is polite, intellectual, or quiet. When the exchange ends cleanly but without depth.
What I’m beginning to see is that connection seems to arise less from what is shared and more from how my system is present while sharing it. When my body is engaged, when there is visible uncertainty or affect or pacing, there’s more room for the other person to feel me, not just hear me.
Authenticity without embodiment can still be true, but it can be oddly lonely.
I think some of my parts have been asking authenticity to do a job it can’t do on its own. They’ve been hoping truth would guarantee connection, when in reality connection seems to require co-regulation, mutual presence, and a kind of shared timing that can’t be forced by clarity alone.
There’s grief in that for me. Grief that I can do something honestly and still not feel met. Grief that being real doesn’t always protect against disconnection. Grief that effort and integrity don’t ensure closeness.
And there’s also relief in naming it.
It softens the pressure on authenticity to perform. It allows me to notice when my body is bracing for a particular outcome. It helps me differentiate between expressing myself and actually being with someone.
I’m learning that connection, at least for me, emerges when authenticity is accompanied by vulnerability in real time. The vulnerability of staying embodied while accessing and expressing authenticity. When I let myself be affected while I’m speaking. When I allow my nervous system to be visible. When I stay open to how the other person is responding, rather than staying focused on whether I said the most accurate thing.
Authenticity may open the door to connection while embodiment walks me through it.
For feedback and comments, I can be reached at max@maxlittman.com.
I provide consultation and therapy for therapists.
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