This psychological theory of the True and the False Self is the work of the English psychoanalyst Donald Winnicott (1896–1971). In Winnicott’s eyes, we are all born with a true self. The baby’s true self isn’t interested in the feelings of others. It isn’t socialised. It screams when it needs to, even if it is the middle of the night or on a crowded train. It may be aggressive, biting and – in the eyes of a stickler for manners or a lover of hygiene – shocking and a bit disgusting. Winnicott added that if a person is to have any sense of feeling real as an adult, they need to have enjoyed a period of letting the true self have its way. Gradually, a false self can develop, which has a capacity to submit to the demands of external reality (school, work, etc.). Winnicott was not an enemy of a false self; he simply insisted that it belonged to health only when it had been preceded by a thorough earlier experience of an untrammelled true self. Unfortunately, many of us have not been given a chance to be our true selves. Perhaps our mother was depressed, or our father was often in a rage. Maybe there was an older or a younger sibling who was in a crisis and required all the attention. The result is that we will have learnt to comply far too early; we have become obedient at the expense of our ability to feel authentically ourselves. Therapy gives us a second chance. We are allowed to regress before the time when we started to be false, back to the moment when we desperately needed to be true. In the therapist’s office, safely contained by their maturity and care, we can learn to be real once more. We can be intemperate, difficult, unconcerned with anyone but ourselves, selfish, unimpressive, aggressive and shocking. The therapist will take it, and thereby help us to experience a new sense of aliveness that should have been there from the start. The demand to be false, which never goes away, becomes more bearable because we are regularly allowed, in the privacy of the therapist’s room, once a week or so, to be true.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a normal person in search of a holiday will enjoy skiing; they will delight in bracing mountain air, thrill at going down mogul dotted slopes and feel pleasantly exhausted after a day of parallel turns. This assumption about pleasure joins a host of others proposed by the modern world. Normal people will equally enjoy white wine, the Amalfi coast, the novels of Margaret Atwood, dogs, high heels, small children, Miami beach, oral sex, Banksy, marriage, Netflix and vegetarianism. We may legitimately delight in all of these elements; the issue lies in the immense pressure we are under to do so. The truth about ourselves may, in reality, be a great deal more mysterious than the official narrative allows. Whatever our commitments to decorum and good order, we may in our depths be far more distinctive than we’re supposed to be. We may — once we become sensitive to our faint tremors of authentic delight and boredom — hate the idea of jogging, the the...

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