Identity Disturbance and BPD: Not Feeling Real, and Finding Your Roots

Identity disturbance is one of the core and most painful features of BPD. It’s the experience of having an unstable sense of self - a persistent feeling of not being quite “real,” or not knowing who you are. People describe it as feeling like a chameleon, a mirror, or a ghost - constantly shifting depending on who they’re around or what environment they’re in. It can make life feel disorienting and empty, as if you’re always performing but never actually being. For me, this feeling started long before I had the words for it.

When I was a tween, my mom found a babysitter I absolutely adored - her name was Hannah. She was an artist, always carrying around notebooks, sewing her own clothes, and teaching me how to draw. I thought she was the coolest person in the world.

One day, on an outing to the park, we stopped by her house so she could grab a sweater. In her room, I sat on her bed and looked around. Her dresser was covered in small, meaningful things - a copy of a Maya Angelou quote alongside a watercolor of a geometric design, a handwritten card from a friend, a photo of her and her mom wearing matching scarves, a small bowl filled with blue and green glass beads.

I remember feeling what it meant to see someone - to see all the tiny pieces that made up their life. The trinkets and mementos, the objects that carried memories, preferences, significance. I also remember realizing that I didn’t know what my dresser would look like, if I were to have one. I didn’t know what color I’d want it to be, what quote I’d place there, what story I’d tell through my things. I could see so clearly what a “person” was - and though I don’t mean to suggest that a person is the sum of their belongings, or that a person could ever be captured or conveyed in mere objects - I felt blank and formless realizing this.

When You Can See Everyone But Yourself

That’s one of the earliest memories I have of the feeling that would follow me for years: the quiet panic of not knowing who I was. The strange hollowness that comes from being able to see other people so clearly - their style, their way of speaking, their sense of self - while feeling like you have no inner outline of your own.

It’s disorienting. You wake up and can’t tell if the person you were yesterday will still feel like “you” today. You find yourself studying others, unconsciously mimicking, borrowing, trying on personalities like outfits. You want to feel real - like you’re actually here and functional - but most of the time you just feel empty. Being alone feels unbearable because there’s no “you.” It feels like there’s nothing there.

Sometimes it feels like you’re constantly adapting and performing - being who you need to be in each moment, trying to anticipate which version of you will be most acceptable, most safe, most loved.

People who experience identity disturbance often describe it in strikingly similar ways:

“My favorite color changes every day. I don’t know what I actually like at all.”

“I don’t know what I want, which makes me feel aimless - like I have no direction or path. I don’t know what I want to do with my life.”

“When I get into a relationship, I start to act like them - liking new music, dressing differently, etc.”

“Getting compliments feels like an out-of-body experience. It’s like they’re talking about someone else.”

“My feelings and opinions swing wildly. I’ll feel something so deeply one day, and the next it’s gone.”

“I don’t feel like anyone actually likes me because no one really knows me. I don’t even know myself.”

“I feel like a dysfunctional chameleon. I feel like my personality is just borrowed from the people around me.”

It can make you feel like you don’t really exist outside of the people or things you attach to - relationships, jobs, communities, ideas. Like you’re only real when someone else is there to see you.

Why Identity Matters

While many spiritual or religious traditions talk about letting go of the idea of “self” altogether, I’ve found that for people with BPD, building a sense of self is actually deeply healing.

And when I say identity, I don’t mean a fixed, rigid role you have to perform forever. I mean a living sense of your character, resilience, and values - something internal that you can return to. Something you can anchor in when everything else shifts. (And if the word identity doesn’t resonate, you can think of it as your core essence, your center, the language that feels right for you.)

Because how can you care for someone you don’t know?
How can you love yourself if you don’t know yourself?
How can you meet your needs if you don’t even know what they are?

Moving through life without that grounding - without a sense of what you value, how you handle challenge, what feels true for you - can leave you feeling unrooted, always searching for something to define you. But the truth is, this rootedness is something innate - something that’s already there, waiting to be reconnected with.

That’s where we begin.

Identity is like the roots of a tree.

A tree moves through seasons - blooming, shedding, resting, growing again. We do too. We move through seasons of creativity, connection, isolation, transition, new beginnings, grief, and change. Who you are today might not be who you are a year from now - and that’s natural.

The branches and leaves are the parts of us that shift with time - our interests, eras, and phases. The trunk is our lived experience, everything we’ve survived and gathered that gives us shape.

But the roots - roots are what tether a tree to the earth. So when life happens - when the elements rain down, when a storm comes - the tree can stay steady and connected.

They keep us grounded when everything above us changes. In nature, roots spread through the soil, gripping rocks and balancing against the pull of wind and gravity. They absorb nourishment - water, minerals, oxygen - everything the tree needs to live. And they store energy, holding reserves the tree can draw from in hard seasons.

Our roots do the same. Our values and sense of self hold us steady when life gets chaotic, when relationships shift, when plans fall apart, when uncertainty hits. We draw nourishment from the people, places, and practices that feed us. Healthy soil - supportive relationships, creative outlets, stable routines - helps us grow. And our experiences, acts of resilience, and hard-earned lessons become the reserves we draw from when life feels barren or bleak.

I made a video about how to start working with this - practical, gentle ways to begin feeling more rooted. You can watch it here. The guidance I share is:

• Notice when you shift. Are you doing it to feel close to someone, to feel accepted, or because it’s actually true for you?

• Track your energy. Pay attention to what drains you versus what replenishes you. When we don’t know what we “like” or “want,” energy is a neutral place to start. Often, we’re so focused on connecting outward, that we stop noticing how things actually feel.

• Start with your values. Creativity, curiosity, service, kindness, adventure, learning, wisdom, perseverance - whatever feels authentic and inspiring for you. Notice how your life already reflects those values, and where it could reflect them more.

When we start to reconnect with these roots - through values, reflection, care, creativity - we begin to feel more grounded, more real. We stop needing a reflection to prove we exist. We start to feel our own aliveness from the inside out.

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If you’re looking for support in reconnecting with yourself or helping your teen find their footing, please reach out to schedule a call here.