Max Littman, LCSW
May 13, 2025
Authenticity is one of those words that gets used often, but when we pause and actually sit with it, its meaning is more illusive than it first appears. What does it really mean to be authentic? And how do we know when someone else is? Or if we are? From an Internal Family Systems (IFS) perspective, authenticity isn’t a trait or a fixed identity; it’s something that emerges within us and something we make contact with when there’s enough Self energy available in our systems. It isn’t necessarily when we have total calm, compassion, or clarity, but when we can stay with ourselves rather than abandon what’s real inside.
That’s not always easy. Especially for those of us who’ve learned that authenticity, emotional honesty, vulnerability, and embodied truth comes with a cost.
Authenticity as a Biological Need
In his work on trauma, addiction, and the nervous system, Gabor Maté describes authenticity not as a luxury or personality trait, but as a biologically wired necessity. He writes:
“But then we have this other need that’s also determined by evolution, which I call authenticity . . . being in touch with ourselves, being in touch with our feelings and our bodies and our emotions . . . Gut feelings are essential for survival.”
The catch is that this need for authenticity often clashes with our other core evolutionary need: attachment. When we were young and it wasn’t safe or welcomed to express our feelings, truths, or needs, we adapted. Parts of us developed out of necessity that kept us connected to caregivers or peers at the expense of staying connected to ourselves, our body, our minds, our spirits. We learned to perform, suppress, monitor, or even abandon parts of our inner world in order to get our basic biological and emotional needs met.
And these parts of us persist. Many of our protective parts were formed in that gap between the authentic inner signals we once felt and the outer world’s refusal or inability to meet them.
Authenticity in IFS: It’s Not a Performance
In IFS, we recognize the multiplicity of our internal systems. We have parts that try to manage how we show up. Parts that carry shame, confusion, or grief. Others that rush in to numb or distract. None of these parts are the problem. And none of these parts are defined by the roles they assume. They’re doing what they know to help us navigate a world that hasn’t always been safe.
When we talk about “being in Self” or “being your authentic Self” it can sound too clean or idealized. In real life, it’s more like a moment when the volume lowers just enough for something clearer to emerge. When we feel even a small opening of spaciousness or clarity, we might begin to respond from a place that isn’t hijacked by fear or performance. That’s the critical mass of Self energy we’re aiming for; not perfection, but enough of an internal shift to let truth come through.
Somatic Cues: The Body Knows First
From a somatic lens, authenticity is inherently embodied. When there’s enough internal safety and trust, our body often signals it: through a drop in muscle tension, a breath that feels less constricted, spaciousness in the chest or belly. When our protectors take over, we might feel tightening, dissociation, shallow breath, or a kind of static, blurriness across our awareness.
Some of our parts, and the external culture we live in, may see somatic cues of a protector takeover as mistakes, when in fact they are simply data. Noticing when our stomach flips before speaking a truth, or when our jaw clenches before setting a boundary, can help us identify when parts are stepping in to manage risk.
That awareness, especially when met with genuine curiosity and a benefit-of-the-doubt attitude, can shift our system. It’s often in those micro-moments that we can start to notice: “Oh, something in me doesn’t feel safe to be here”. That gives us choice, agency, power.
How We Perceive (and Project) Authenticity in Others
Most of us have a sense when someone’s being real with us. Our nervous systems are wired for this. We pick up on tone, pacing, posture, eye contact. When someone is speaking from a place with enough Self energy, something tends to resonate. It lands. We may not always know why, but we feel it.
At the same time, our ability to sense authenticity in others is never neutral. It’s filtered through our own protectors.
I have parts that scan for phoniness like it’s their full-time job. One part loves to mutter, “Bitch, please” when she senses something off. Another is more guarded, quietly watching for any cues that someone might be dangerous or performative. Both protectors serve a purpose, but they can also block connection. They’re responding not just to what’s happening in front of me, but to old stories and earlier wounds.
Some of us have parts that want connection so badly they overlook red flags. Others see red flags everywhere. The work isn’t to override these responses; it’s to understand where they’re coming from and what they’re protecting.
Digital Spaces and the Authenticity Paradox
Social media adds another layer to all this. We’re interacting in environments that reward polish and curation, where performance is built into the platform design. And yet we’re also being told to “be real” and “authentic” while navigating algorithmic pressure to be endlessly visible, engaging, and palatable.
It’s confusing. And it activates parts.
I’ve had moments scrolling through Instagram where I can feel protectors come online. In the past, before my parts banned me from making personal posts on social media altogether, I had parts wondering if I was being “authentic enough” or if I should post something more clever, more heartfelt, more whatever. There’s a subtle pressure to optimize even vulnerability. That’s not authenticity. That’s a survival strategy shaped by a digital culture of comparison and performance.
Recognizing that helps. So does pausing. Checking in. Asking: What’s happening in my body right now? What parts are active? Am I sharing from fear? What agendas do I have in sharing?
Even that pause can be a reclamation of our authenticity.
When Parts Are Authentic Too
Sometimes authenticity gets described as a Self-only quality, like we can only be real when we’re speaking from that spacious, clear place inside. But that’s not quite how it is always experienced. Parts can be authentic too, especially when they’re unburdened, or when there’s enough Self energy present to support them.
An unburdened part might still have its own flavor or role, but it no longer carries the weight of shame, fear, or internalized expectations. It can show up with clarity and confidence. A playful part might speak freely, without bracing for judgment. A protector might set boundaries, not out of reactivity, but from love and conviction. A deeply feeling part might cry, not to manipulate or collapse, but because the tears are real and ready to be seen.
That’s still authenticity.
Self energy makes this possible. It doesn’t erase our parts or their feelings. It relates to them. It listens, steadies, holds space. And that support allows our parts to be more fully themselves, without having to take over or act out. When a part feels witnessed by Self, it often relaxes. When it feels welcomed, it may reveal something more vulnerable or beautiful underneath its strategy.
So when we’re tracking for authenticity, it’s worth remembering: it doesn’t have to look calm or perfectly regulated. Sometimes it looks fierce, emotional, even messy. The key is whether the energy beneath it is real, and whether the system is resourced enough to let that realness come forward without drowning in it.
Parts are not obstacles to authenticity. In many cases, they are the ones carrying the most honest stories we have.
When “Be Authentic” Becomes a Burden
For many of us, the directive to “be authentic” doesn’t always feel freeing. Sometimes it lands like a demand, like new version of the same old pressure to be better, deeper, more real, more healed.
Some parts may hear that phrase and tighten immediately. They brace for judgment or failure. They try to figure out what “authentic” even means, and whether they’re doing it right. And under that effort, there’s often a quieter message: the way you are right now is not enough.
I’ve seen this in clients, and I’ve felt it in myself. The message to “just be yourself” can feel less like an invitation and more like a test, especially when there’s a history of being misunderstood, unseen, or rejected for who we really are. For some systems, authenticity was never safe. For others, it was only allowed in narrow, palatable forms. So when we’re told to be authentic, our protectors may jump in, not to block truth, but to shield us from pain we remember all too well that can come from being authentic.
And sometimes the push to “be authentic” comes from within. A striving part may believe that if we could just be more real, more vulnerable, more open, then we’d finally be okay. But when that pursuit is fueled by pressure, fear, or shame, it’s not actually authenticity. It’s a burden dressed up as liberation.
That’s why it matters how we hold the concept. Authenticity is not a performance goal. It’s not a fixed identity. It’s not something to achieve or prove. It’s a natural emergence that arises when the system feels safe enough. And that includes safety from the demand to be authentic itself.
Radical Resonance and the Field of Authentic Relating
In Somatic IFS, one of the core practices leading to embodied Self energy is radical resonance. It refers to the felt sense of how our internal system is affected by others and how others are affected by us. It’s not just about empathy or mirroring; it’s about attuning to the relational field; what’s happening between bodies, between systems, between parts that are subtly or overtly interacting in the space.
When there’s enough Self energy available in both of or a group of people, something begins to materialize in the shared field. The space feels more spacious, less managed. Breath deepens. Eyes soften. Words slow down. Parts relax just enough to allow some deeper, more organic expression to come through. Sometimes that’s emotional truth. Sometimes it’s silence. Sometimes it’s laughter or warmth or ache or tears.
This is part of what makes authentic relating possible; not just speaking our truth, but sensing the relational impact of our presence and receiving the impact of another without losing ourselves. Radical resonance helps us feel into what is alive and moving in the connection and whether there’s enough internal and external safety to stay with it.
Our parts may block resonance. Or misread it. Or become overwhelmed by what they pick up. When that happens, we can help our parts to notice they have choices: to unblend, to pause, to turn inward. Our Self can ask: What is this part of me feeling in response to the other person? What is it protecting me from? What does it need?
Practicing radical resonance is a way of being in conversation with authenticity, not just as a solo act, but as something that lives, moves, and breathes in the space between us. It invites us to stay rooted in our bodies while staying open to the impact of another. When two or more systems are willing to engage that way, even briefly, authenticity stops being a goal. It becomes the earth beneath us and the oxygen around us.
My Own Parts That Scan for Realness
I have parts that are constantly scanning for authenticity in others. Not just lightly observing, but deeply tuned in, like they’ve got antennae up at all times. One of them is quick, sharp, and doesn’t hold back. She gets irritated when someone seems performative or calculated, especially when the tone doesn’t match the message. She rolls her eyes. Internally mutters things like “bitch please” or, sarcastically, “try harder.” There’s a kind of impatient intelligence in her. She’s discerning, cutting, and allergic to insincerity.
Another part is more restrained but equally vigilant. Less snarky, more stoic. It watches. Assesses. Looks for incongruence between what someone says and how it lands energetically. It’s not always wrong. But it doesn’t leave a lot of room for nuance either.
I know these parts formed for good reasons, even though I do not have clarity yet about their histories. Whatever the reason, these parts learned to read between the lines, to track for tone, facial microexpressions, bodily cues, and energetic mismatch. They’ve helped me stay safe, helped me know who might be emotionally available and who might not. And in some ways, they help keep me aligned with my own value of truth-telling.
But these parts don’t just scan outward. They turn their attention inward too, sometimes harshly, sometimes with quiet urgency. They want to make sure I’m not slipping into performativity, even subtly. They pay attention to what I say, how I say it, how it feels in my body. If something feels off, they’ll give me a nudge with a sense of pressure, or sometimes outright criticism: “Is that really what you mean?” “Are you saying that because it’s true, or because you think you should?” “Is this actually aligned with what you care about?” “Does that match the truth inside?”
These parts are obsessed with integrity, not as a moral stance, but as a kind of energetic alignment. They don’t want me to betray myself, or others, in small, habitual ways. They want me to be able to live with myself. To feel congruent. To know that what I say, how I move, and what I stand for are actually coming from someplace real.
And when I’m writing or speaking publicly, they can get especially active. They want my words to match my inner experience. They want me to mean it. If they detect a hint of self-consciousness or posturing, they’ll let me know with a tightness in my chest or nauseaness in my throat and trachea. They’re not trying to shame me, though it can feel that way. They’re trying to protect something sacred: my own sense of self-respect and integrity.
Still, these parts can get intense. When they’re blended, they can slip into perfectionism or freeze me in place. But when I’m able to be with them, and really listen to their concerns without being enveloped by them, they become wise companions. They help me track my own truth in real time. They remind me that authenticity isn’t about being liked or polished. It’s about being real with myself first so that authentic connection may happen.
Authenticity and Attunement as Friends
Authenticity is not a static achievement. It’s a relational, energetic, and bodily process that changes depending on our context, our history, and what’s available in our internal system at any given moment.
It asks us to stay in connection with our parts, our bodies, and our boundaries. To recognize that sometimes, authenticity means saying less. Sometimes it means showing more. And sometimes it means sitting with the tension of not knowing what’s true just yet.
As Gabor Maté reminds us, gut feelings are essential for survival. But many of us have learned to ignore them. Rebuilding that connection is slow work. It’s not always elegant. But it is healing. It is a step toward home, toward wholeness. When we begin to trust our inner signals again, when we can feel enough Self energy in the mix to be with what’s true, we’re no longer choosing between secure attachment and authenticity. We’re choosing both.
For feedback and comments, I can be reached at max@maxlittman.com.
I provide private practice mentorship, consultation, and therapist/practitioner part intensives.
