About the Core Self
We’re born with a Core Self—but what happens when life makes it harder to see? Read more and notice what comes into view. Maybe all we need is a glimmer.
Read or listen… and learn more.
People often ask me to tell them more about the Core Self.
I usually tell them that we are born with it. It's the person we were always meant to be—the light within us all.
I might ask them to imagine what that’s like… and to give themselves some space for an image to arise.
Depending on what they say, I might add, “The Core Self is our capacity for change or transformation. It enables us to know ourselves—good and bad—and to be aware of our humanness.”
The question sometimes comes up: if we are born with a Core Self, why can‘t some people access it?
I say that the Core Self is always there because it’s our internal wiring. And then, as we grow, we develop what John Bowlby calls our internal working model—which takes shape through relationship and experience. Those experiences can either help us remain connected to the Core Self or obscure it.
That's where child development comes into play—in combination with loss and trauma.
If you’ve spent some time with the littlest ones, you may recall how easy it is for them to lose track of you when they don’t have you in sight.
Then the brain eventually develops what is known as object permanence—the growing awareness that you’re still there even when they can’t see you.
Maybe that’s part of what makes peekaboo so much fun. You disappear… and there you are again.
But knowing someone is still there isn’t necessarily the same as feeling that they’re there.
And sometimes the littles get even more scared when the adults who are supposed to be looking after them aren’t around.
In time, we begin to experience ourselves as separate beings, increasingly able to venture out into the world—with the help of others along the way.
And that’s just the beginning. The brain then lights up our growing capacity for self-awareness, allowing us to begin recognizing the Core Self that was there all along.
To make things more complicated, loss and trauma can often come into the picture in a couple of different ways. There’s the kind where we know what‘s happening to us, along with the more relational kind that can be right in front of our eyes without us seeing it.
Perhaps the latter can be especially damaging because we can’t see what was missing—or how much it is hurting us. But both can leave their mark even if we weren’t old enough or needed to bury what happened to survive.
In other words, the body keeps the score. The meaning stays with us over the years—as the fear sticks along with the imprint on our self-esteem.
This relational trauma is what the “Still Face” experiment is all about.
Here, the nice and attentive mommy is instructed to put on a still face, no longer reacting to their sweet baby who is expecting her to play with them.
If you can imagine, kids are quite surprised, at first reaching out and doing things to get their mom's attention.
Then they become dysregulated… and in some cases, can even start to cry and hit themselves. After getting no reaction, the baby eventually withdraws and covers their eyes.
This all takes place in a matter of a couple minutes—and it's really hard to watch, to say the least.
Then the mother is told to go back to normal. The baby fortunately also comes back to normal... and all is well in the world again. At least we can hope.
It's all nice and dandy in the experiment, but in real life, it doesn't always work that way. Instead, the correction may never be made by the parent… or only inconsistently. And the child learns to adapt by shutting down their emotions—not feeling safe to express themselves if they fear it will upset the parent… or themselves.
It's like they learned to survive by being still face and not feeling when someone wants them to get close, or they need it themselves.
You get the picture? Not a pretty one.
But it’s one that has become a pervasive part of our experience that gets repeated over and over again… and gets passed on through the generations. Sadly, it becomes a normal part of our culture—making us susceptible to those who tell us they have all the answers.
People will sometimes say, “That’s the way it has always been. Should it be any different?”
I think therapists can also lose sight of who the person is in front of us when we label people—the labels getting more precise, but sometimes losing sight of the bigger picture.
My job is to gently help them experience—client or therapist—that it could be different. And it is, as they are now having a corrective emotional and relational experience with me… and within themselves.
Pretty cool, huh. It really is. It’s the light of invisibility showing up in another form—bringing therapy to life.
I hope you can feel it too in the moment and in your work, no matter where you’re sitting in the room—regardless of whether you’re simply witnessing someone going through this process, or needing it yourself.
So what do you think? Does that answer your question about the Core Self, or open some new doors—maybe even raise some new questions?
Give it some space and notice what‘s happening now. That's the gift of the Core Self and you can't top that.
Even if just a glimmer, it’s more than enough.
Catch it… and spread the word in your own special way. Maybe you can save a life… and help a kid know what to do if they or a friend is ever falling apart.
Me too... We’re doing this work together—and I never want to forget that.
I hope you don’t either.
Dedication: To a special child and family in the UK who helped me bring this one home. And to all those on this journey of heart, moving from room to room, remembering themselves—and who we are together.
Gratitude: With appreciation for those who have shared their light and sweetness with me over the years—and received mine in return.
Confidentiality note: This piece was inspired by someone close to my heart, but is a composite of many people I know—inside and outside of therapy. Any resemblance to your own life or our shared experience is both coincidental and universal—reminding us that our stories echo one another in the fabric of human experience.
Comments or questions? You’re welcome to reach me at mcecilvt@aol.com. Feel free to share these words—and this blog—with anyone you hold close… or long to be closer to.
About me: Besides being a writer, Marc Cecil is a doctoral-level licensed psychologist, certified AEDP supervisor, approved EMDR consultant, and senior CSRT consultant. An experienced psychotherapist, supervisor, consultant, and teacher, Marc uses an integrated experiential model called Core Self Integration Therapy (CSIT)—grounded in our capacity for adaptive change—to help people heal from complex relational, developmental, and transgenerational trauma. Some refer to it as Elephant Work—standing solidly in the healing power of accompaniment.
Dr. Cecil lives in Vermont near the shores of Lake Bomoseen, where his heartfelt stories and images of connection arise from the light of invisibility—bringing life to therapy and therapy to life.
Stay tuned for more—as this living model continues to grow—with self-compassion leading the way around the world… and back home.