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Hi Reader,
Recently I’ve been exploring themes around being perceived — especially publicly. This week, I want to turn the lens inward and explore what it’s like when we perceive ourselves... and the many parts that make up who we are.
Lately, I've been thinking more about how my Autistic and ADHD parts relate to each other. This is something I've been sharing in bits and pieces, and it’s sparked some rich conversations — both with others and within myself — about multiplicity and the complexity of our inner worlds.
So for today… let’s widen the lens a bit and talk about multiplicity — the experience of perceiving our dynamic, layered selves, and what that opens up for us.
From Consistency to Complexity: The Case for a Multiplicitous Self
Multiplicity is the idea that we are not one cohesive, unified self — but rather, many selves that show up in different ways, at different times (1).
I notice this most in the moments when I ask myself, “Why do I feel so different depending on where I am, what I’m doing, or who I’m with?”
There’s the relational part of me that shows up while podcasting. The childlike part that emerged while meeting new friends in the rainforest in Belize — wide-eyed, open, silly, and unguarded. The semi-poised trainer holding space in a workshop. The reflective writer who feels most at home in my mind. The nurturing and playful part that surfaces in parenting. And then there's the dopamine-seeking strategist deep in a game of Rise of Kingdoms — while the psychologist-educator part of me sheepishly reminds her that it’s 12:30 AM and probably not great sleep hygiene to be playing Rise of Kingdoms while listening to Pod Save America in bed. 😅
Even the music I listen to can invoke different energies, emotions, and motivations. Each of these parts feels real. And yet, they can feel so different it’s hard to believe they all live in the same body.
And yet, many of us grew up in a culture that told us we’re supposed to be one self — stable, consistent, and clear. Modern Western ideas of identity often center on a kind of inner “true self” we’re supposed to find and express across all settings. Philosopher Charles Taylor talks about this as the “inward turn” — a belief that authenticity means aligning our outer life with some hidden, inner core (2).
But what if there isn’t one singular self waiting to be uncovered? What if we’re made of layers, parts, moods, roles, and needs that shift depending on the context we’re in?
Postmodern thinkers offered a different lens — one that sees identity as something relational, flexible, contextual and shaped by our environments. That framework really resonates with how I experience myself (3).
Trying to hold a single, coherent self across settings can feel unnatural — and exhausting. And of course for neurodivergent identities it can be a bit more complex – many of us have masked for so long in certain roles, we start to wonder which version is “real” and who is the “real me.” And if we are gifted with a side of OCD the quest to find the “real me” can be a real doozy. But what if the idea of a core/stable/coherent self has created too much pressure? What if naming and honoring our multiplicity is actually a pathway to authenticity?
When We First Try to Know Ourselves
Long before I discovered parts work, I remember trying to make sense of the contradictions inside me — especially as a teenager. I recall the angsty, restless searching for “Who am I?” — and the confusion that came with noticing how differently I showed up depending on the context. The me on the basketball court, the me at a friend’s house, the me in church or in class… they felt like entirely different people. I worried it meant I was inauthentic. Or worse, fake.
It wasn’t until my psychology training that I found language for this experience. Psychodynamic and psychoanalytic theories have long talked about competing drives and unconscious forces. And then moreso when I came across parts work, especially through Internal Family Systems (IFS), that gave me something concrete to hold (4).
IFS describes how we all have parts — some protective, some wounded, some playful, some strategic — and how these parts relate to each other within us. For someone like me, with a pretty complex inner landscape, this framework was incredibly grounding.
It gave me a way to name the inner conflict without pathologizing it — or feeling shame for some of the impulses that surfaced. “This part of me wants to burn everything down and chase novelty.” “This part wants to get things under control — tighten, structure, contain.”
When I could externalize these parts — even giving them clever names or images — they became easier to approach with curiosity rather than shame. Instead of a muddy, overwhelming swirl of wants and fears, I could begin to see the distinct, often competing, desires and needs at play. I could start to notice how they related to one another — and how they made sense.
Some of these parts are fun to perceive — charming even. They’re creative, ambitious, full of momentum. And some... some are much harder to perceive. The parts that are wounded. The ones that want to stay hidden. The ones that are clever at staying hidden.
There’s a different kind of vulnerability in perceiving ourselves — especially the parts we’d rather not see. It's one thing to be perceived by others; it’s another to witness our own inner world with honesty and openness.
Multiplicity In Relation To Others
The framework of parts and multiplicity also gently reshaped the way my spouse and I understand each other. My spouse has a strong people-pleasing part — wired to sense any emotional shift in the room and move toward soothing it. I, on the other hand, often move through life with a baseline of gray melancholy, which I tend to escape by chasing novelty, ideas, and the next shiny thing.
I’ll leave it to your imagination on the fun ways these dynamics could hypothetically play out when two people build a life together.
Neither of us are conflictual people — but when the conversation did come up, we lacked precision and curiosity to be able to talk about the experience. So conversations could slip into broad strokes. “You’re never happy.” “You always want change.” “You never want change.” We were both trying to make sense of something, but the tools we had were dull and limited. It was hard to disentangle what was actually happening underneath those broad-strokes conversations.
Once we began naming and understanding our parts, our dynamic shifted. Instead of “you’re never happy,” it became, “your restlessness is activating something in my fixer part.” (Okay we don’t actually talk that clinically about it … it’s a bit more embodied). But suddenly, we had more room for nuance — and more space to hold each other’s internal worlds with care and curiosity.
Parts language gave us a way to understand our interactions not as fixed traits or personal failures, but as layered responses shaped by needs, histories, and relational patterns. It invited curiosity and compassion — both for ourselves and for each other.
When we perceive ourselves in parts, it doesn’t mean we’re fragmented — it means we’re dynamic. Complex. Alive. Shaped by, and continually being shaped in, relationship to our environment and to one another.
And maybe — just maybe — being perceived by ourselves, with curiosity and nuance, is a path to deeper compassion and agency. And when we can extend that same kind of perception toward one another, it can open the door to something else: the slow, sacred work of rupture and repair.
(My writer part is quietly delighted to bring this month’s theme of perceivedness full circle with last month’s reflections on relationality and repair.)
Warmly,
★彡 Neurodivergent Insights Weekly Roundup ★彡
🖥️ New On The Website
Now that the website is (mostly) back to semi-normal, I’m easing back into a more regular rhythm of article posting. I’m also experimenting with inviting more guest authors to share their insights and perspectives.
This week’s piece comes from my colleague Dr. Dan Wendler, a fellow Autistic psychologist. I really appreciate the way Dan breaks down complex ideas into accessible frameworks that support agency and self-understanding.
When I read his essay on the two forms of self-care — self-soothing and self-nourishing — I knew it was something I wanted to share with this community. Sometimes a simple framework like asking, “Do I need self-soothing or self-nourishing in this moment?” can help shift us from stuckness into gentle momentum.
🧠 You can read his article here.
💬 Upcoming Speaking Events
I’m honored to be joining AANE’s 2025 Daniel Rosenn Symposium. The theme is one I care a bit about: Neuro-affirming Mental Wellness.
AANE is committed to accessibility — they never turn anyone away due to financial barriers. If you’d like to attend but need assistance, you can email events@aane.org, and support will be provided. 💚
🎙️ Divergent Conversations
Many people find themselves in the in-between — that space between identity exploration and formal assessment.
In this week’s flashback episode, we chat with Jak about the complexities of navigating identity while exploring the possibility of an autism diagnosis. We also dive into the impact of internalized ableism and the influence of external input throughout the assessment process.
🌟 Tip Jar
I’m keeping this tip jar here this month (you can read the backstory here). My team and I have felt so held by your care and support — thank you. Please only ever give if you are in a position to comfortable do so.
📩 Pass It On
If you're finding value in these weekly insights, you can share this newsletter with friends and colleagues. You can just forward this email or send them here to sign up.
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Stay Kind. Stay Curious.
Dr. Neff
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