The Struggle to Belong and the Search for a Sense of Self

About Author: Hi, my name is Arthur Sullivan and I am a clinical social worker at Mind Over Borderline Therapy. I have been a therapist for eight years. I specialize in gender and sexuality, (ranging from 2SLGBTQ identities, poly and kink communities, as well as  development of healthy masculinity and processing misogyny,) neurodivergence, and attachment and developmental trauma. You can read more about my work and my colleagues work here: Meet Our Online Therapists | Mind Over Borderline

More about me: One of my majors in undergrad was philosophy. As a result, I love defining a word in the context of a conversation before offering my theory. Today I am interested in talking more about identity integration and identity diffusion in the context of autistic people, gender nonconforming and trans people, and individuals living with borderline personality disorder.

A thoughtful person sits apart from a group at sunset, reflecting themes of belonging, connection, and identity.

Identity Integration: Identity integration is a psychological concept in which a person develops a comprehensive, holistic, and integrated view of themselves, encompassing their various identities and experiences shaped by their neurobiology, embodied lived experiences, and social identities within their communities. Through this integrated view of themselves, a person tends to feel a greater sense of belonging and peace regarding their choices. Identity integration is a lifelong process for most people that can be halted or damaged by sociological factors (e.g., ableism, sanism, and transphobia/homophobia) that result in experiences of external or internalised bigotry. These experiences may lead to the development of low self-esteem in individuals. From this adverse experience someone may try to avoid or change parts of their identity to receive greater acceptance. They may also avoid social spaces and opportunities for fear that they will be rejected or misunderstood.

Identity Diffusion: Identity diffusion describes when an individual does not have a stable and integrated sense of self. This is often marked by a period of distress. When someone is experiencing identity diffusion, they often rely on other people to define their values, emotional experiences, preferences, etc. This can mean either aligning yourself with someone/a community you admire or defining yourself by being contrary to someone/a community you disagree with. Without a firm sense of identity, people tend to feel less confident in the decisions that they are making, less in control of their relationships, and a greater sense of separation and emptiness in their day-to-day life. It can also lead to unhealthy social states such as (co)dependency and lack of clear boundaries.

I believe that to integrate or release something that is part of our identity, it must be expressed—sometimes loudly. In my daily practice, I facilitate this process for individuals through various therapeutic interventions. In this article, I have interconnected several identities that may not seem to share much in common at first glance. We are discussing a social identity (gender nonconforming and trans identities), neurodivergence (autism), and a psychiatric diagnosis (BPD). While the roots of identity diffusion may vary across these groups, there is a fundamental similarity: societal invalidation. Trauma can prompt individuals to react to reminders of past pain even before they fully comprehend what has been triggered. When that pain stems from persistent societal invalidation, protective responses can become deeply ingrained. Identifying the pain and understanding these responses can assist someone in discovering new coping mechanisms. However, first, consider how someone might repeatedly learn that a part of their identity makes them less likely to belong. This process might begin as early as six years old:

A six-year-old is getting ready for school. They want to wear their Spongebob Squarepants boxer shorts that they sleep with underneath their jeans today. Their mother tells them “no.” Only boys can wear boxer shorts. They feel a sense of shame, but the urge does not go away. One thing they know about themself is they really want to wear those boxer shorts to school. When they manage to do so one day, they are able to sneak past their mom but the boxers bunch and show for part of the class. Their classmates notice on the rug and start asking the six-year-old why they’re wearing boxers if they’re a girl. The six-year-old avoids eye contact and self-soothes until finally the poking and probing feels like too much, and the six-year-old pushes one of their peers off the reading carpet. Their teacher brings them over for a talk and sends them home with a letter for their mom to sign about why they got in trouble at school today. The six-year-old learns there is something wrong with them wanting to wear boxer shorts, and this becomes a part of themself that they try to hide until the feeling emerges stronger in adolescence.

A child sits with clasped hands and a downcast gaze on a classroom rug, apart from classmates gathered behind them.

An eight-year-old is stimming at an amusement park—they have just seen their favorite cartoon character. They are wiggling their fingers and swinging their body weight back and forth from their left leg to their right leg. Their younger brother is exuberant next to them and is trying to get the actor to come over to talk to them. When the actor does, the eight-year-old flaps a little harder and presses into their brother. The actor asks their names and how they are enjoying the park. When the eight-year-old tries to speak, it comes out much louder than they were expecting and so quickly that they can’t process it. The actor turns their head to the side and asks them to repeat again. The eight-year-old thinks about the time they spent with their best friend’s grandparents and how cranky they were when the eight-year-old tried to play dinosaurs with them. Their mom explained later that for some people they play a little too loud, a little too close, and a little too animated. Someone next to them pulls on their Velcro shoes loudly. The eight-year-old scrunches their face up, shakes their head, and covers their ears. The two kids’ mother comes and places two hands on the eight-year-old’s shoulder and pulls him over to the side. Their brother gives them a sad smile. In this overwhelm the eight-year-old is too confused to know what they learn. It feels like there is something intrinsically wrong with them, and it feels painful to exist in the world how they do—to want to play how they want to play, to talk the way that they talk. They realize there is something different between their brother and them and people just like their brother more than them. They spend the next ten years trying to figure out how to be more like him.

A child hugs a stuffed rabbit and watches anxiously as a friend unwraps a framed photo at a birthday sleepover.

A ten-year-old is at a friend’s birthday sleepover party. They have already made ice cream sundaes, watched the new Lego movie, and are now looking up quizzes to determine what type of supernatural power they are. With some pressure from the group, their friend decides to start opening gifts. There is a small flip in the ten-year-old’s stomach, and they grab for their stuffed animal, gaining one side-eye from someone sitting next to them. They think to themselves that everyone else is excited about the movie theater together and adhere to the ticket to see their friend’s response, and they can be too. Their friend gets a lot of expected gifts—things many people in school have been talking about. When their friend reaches their gift, the ten-year-old takes in a deep breath and unconsciously holds it. They got them a framed photo from their first time going to the movie theater together and adhered the ticket to the movie theater together and adhered the ticket onto the frame.

They’re scanning their friends’ faces intensively while they are looking over the gift. Someone says “hm” in the crowd, and their friend looks back at the ten-year-old, sharing a small smile. The center of the ten-year-old’s chest starts to ache—it is turning on them in an overwhelming and uncomfortable way. They want to leave to go to the bathroom, but they aren’t sure if they can get onto their feet. Their friend’s eyebrows furrow. “I really like it,” they say. The ten-year-old murmurs, “Yeah, it’s fine,” and ambles onto their feet and awkwardly leaves the room and heads to the bathroom. On the way out they can hear their friends saying, “What was that?” They spend the next eight minutes in the bathroom uncertain how they can even return to the room after that display and telling themselves that there is something seriously wrong with them. The sensitivity that they already have towards people’s approval solidifies into something more shameful that day. The ten-year-old learns to hide their sensitivity and ask less of others. Over time, this sensitivity, paired with adverse life experiences, crystalizes into something much larger.

Imagine this occurring repeatedly throughout someone’s development, in both significant and subtle ways. The individuals involved in this type of invalidation do not have to be inherently unkind or uninformed. A misunderstanding of oneself, combined with adverse experiences and a lack of correction regarding that misunderstanding, can lead to pain and suffering that lasts a lifetime. These narratives aim to illustrate how easily someone can experience a developmental rupture, resulting in deeper identity diffusion, rather than suggest interventions for these moments. These examples shed light on why some individuals find it challenging to access their internal wisdom and sense of self, as their differences often go unnoticed and misunderstood. Consequently, these individuals may become more dependent on others to define their sense of self, complicating the natural processes of differentiation and self-actualization.Identity integration is both an art and a psychological process that deserves study and understanding.

I want to leave you with this: I understand the shame and pain of feeling disconnected from parts of who you are and from what you desire for yourself. I recognize how much effort it can take to begin listening to those parts again. If you see yourself reflected in this article, I hope you can approach that recognition with kindness. The parts of you that learned to hide still deserve to be known and loved. If any of this resonates with you and you would like assistance in working through it, please reach out to us to schedule a consultation.

An adult holds a stuffed rabbit beside an open keepsake box filled with childhood drawings, photographs, and colourful clothing.

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