When Others’ Perceptions Define Who We Are

There are people who seem to live by looking at themselves through the eyes of others. Not just to see if they’re beautiful, successful, or young enough, but to feel that they exist. The question “How do they see me?” gradually becomes more important than “Who am I?” and life can turn into a ceaseless effort to construct an image worthy of being loved, admired, and desired.

The gaze of the other is indeed of immense importance for our psychological development. People are not born with a complete and stable image of themselves. They need others to recognize themselves. The gaze, care, responsiveness, and affirmation of the early environment contribute decisively to the creation of the sense that “I am someone” (Winnicott, 1967).

The problem begins when the gaze of the other ceases to be a mirror through which we recognize ourselves and becomes the mirror—or, more contemporarily, the screen—within which we must constantly exist. Then, our inner sense of worth depends on something outside of ourselves.

Jacques Lacan described with particular acuity the significance of the gaze and the image in the formation of the subject. The image of the self is not merely what we see. It is something within which we learn to recognize ourselves and, at the same time, something that exposes us to the gaze of the Other (Lacan, 1949). From a very early age, we learn, in one way or another, that we are not only what we feel we are, but also what we imagine others see in us.

Somewhere along the way, a need for perfection may arise, dictating that we “be beautiful,” “look young,” “be desirable,” “succeed,” and “not show our age.”

Beneath these “musts” often lies a much deeper difficulty: the inability to accept an imperfect self—a self that cannot be everything. The psychological mechanism of omnipotence is linked precisely to this denial of limits.

In the early stages of development, the infant experiences a relative sense of omnipotence. The world seems to magically respond to its needs, while dependence on the caregiver has not yet been fully perceived as a separate reality (Winnicott, 1960). On the path to maturity, however, we need to gradually let go of the illusion that we can control everything.

This is one of the difficult yet essential transitions of human life. It is the transition into adulthood and the understanding of the transience and fragility of human nature.

We cannot decide whether we will grow old. We cannot prevent every loss. We cannot control how others see us. We cannot ensure that we will always be desirable, young, beautiful, or important.

And yet, modern culture often offers us the illusion that we can negotiate even these limits—that with enough effort, discipline, technology, or money, we can indefinitely delay whatever is part of the natural course of human life. To fix the body, to erase the signs of aging, to preserve the image of youth.

The desire to take care of oneself is, of course, not pathological. It can be an expression of love for the body and for life. There is, however, a crucial difference between “taking care of myself” and “I can’t bear to look at who I am.”

In the latter case, the body becomes the site of a constant battle. A wrinkle is no longer just a wrinkle. It is proof of loss. A gray hair is not merely a change. It is a reminder that time passes, and the image in the mirror can feel like a betrayal: “I am no longer who I used to be.”

Then, the great tragedy and danger lie in focusing on the outside, on the image. Existence becomes more about how one appears than how one feels. A massive investment in appearances, to the point where contact with one’s true self is gradually lost.

In this case, a person may appear full of self-confidence while at the same time basing their self-esteem on a series of external validations. Kohut described the importance of the need for mirroring and recognition in the development of a coherent self (Kohut, 1971). When this need remains fragile, validation through the gaze of others can become almost vital.

And then a paradox emerges. The more a person tries to please others, the further they drift from their true self. Because, in order to constantly adapt to the gaze of others, I must continually ask them who they want me to be.

 

When others’ perspectives cloud one’s judgment

But there is yet another, even more dangerous consequence of this estrangement from the self. When the need to remain acceptable in the eyes of others becomes dominant, we risk not only losing our authentic connection to who we are, but also beginning to lose confidence in our own judgment.

A person who feels the need to constantly conform to an external ideal may find themselves in a state of confusion. They may see, but not allow themselves to acknowledge what they see. If something threatens the image they must maintain, it can become difficult to let it take on its full psychological meaning.

“I know this might be going too far, but I have to do it.”

“I know it’s hard for me, but I can’t stop.”

“I know there are risks, but I don’t want to think about them.”

“I know this might not be good for me, but I can’t stand looking different.”

Denial isn’t necessarily conscious. It can act as a defense against something that is emotionally difficult for a person to bear. When reality clashes with the need to maintain a certain image, the psyche may try to protect that image rather than process the conflict.

And then something tragic can happen. The desire to be accepted can become stronger than the desire to protect ourselves. And this is particularly important when maintaining that image requires actions that involve real dangers.

This does not mean that every aesthetic choice is a risk, nor that anyone who chooses to change their appearance lacks judgment. The issue runs deeper. What happens when the need for acceptance becomes so pressing that a person finds it difficult to recognize, weigh, or even allow themselves to see the risks associated with what they are doing?

That is when the relationship with the Other can become one of dependence, from which it is difficult to break free. Because if the other’s acceptance has become a prerequisite for feeling worthy, then even a reasonable warning may be experienced not as protection but as a threat.

The voice that says “stop” may clash with another, deeper voice that says, “if you stop, you won’t be enough anymore.”

In this situation, reality may become distorted not because the person has failed to recognize the dangers, but because they cannot psychologically bear the consequences of taking them seriously.

This is perhaps one of the most subtle points of psychoanalytic thought. It is not enough to know something in order to be able to accept it. We may be consciously aware of a reality and at the same time psychologically deny it, when accepting it threatens an important need or a fragile self-image.

 

When we defy the limits of human nature

Herein lies one of the most difficult issues of our time. It is not just that we struggle to accept our age. It is that we find it increasingly difficult to accept that we are human.

A human being is a creature with limitations. We have a body that changes, wears out, and eventually dies. Humans have needs, dependencies, and weaknesses. They need others; they feel pain; they lose; they fail; they become disappointed. They cannot remain forever young, forever attractive, forever productive, forever strong.

These are not failures of human nature. They are its laws. And when we attempt to defy them, the price may not be merely physical, but deeply psychological—and potentially dangerous even to our very existence.

Denying the natural passage of time can turn into a never-ending quest for correction. The body becomes a work in progress that is never completed. There is always something else that needs to be changed, corrected, or delayed.

The desire never ceases, because the image can never offer what the soul truly seeks: the feeling that I am enough, that I belong, that I am worthy of love.

Because the problem—for which a solution is sought in the body and in appearances—actually lies elsewhere. The face may change, but the insecurity remains. The body may change, but the fear of rejection remains. A sign of aging may diminish, but the fear of time may remain even greater.

From a psychotherapeutic perspective, the issue is not to condemn the desire for change, but to listen to it and mature through this understanding.

Maturity means being able to desire without becoming enslaved to the desires of others. It means being able to love ourselves without being perfect. It means being able to desire without constantly needing to be desired. It means being able to look at our bodies without viewing them as works that have failed to remain unchanged over time.

The rejection of time is perhaps the deepest form of omnipotence.

Time is not our enemy. It is an inevitable condition within which we live. The body changes because we live, and the face changes because we have laughed, cried, loved, lost, and grown older. Their wear and tear does not always signify the opposite of life, for they are also traces of vitality.

Accepting the laws of human nature entails letting go of the omnipotence that promises victory in the battle against time, decay, and loss. A letting go that can, paradoxically, be extremely liberating and life-giving.

For when we no longer need to constantly fight against who we are, there is more space and time left to simply live.

This is truly one of the most difficult psychological transitions—the transition from omnipotence to maturity. To accept that one cannot be everything, cannot look young forever, cannot be liked by everyone, cannot control how others see us—and, despite all that, to be able to say:
“This is who I am. And I can desire, love, and live.”

 

Tuesday, 27 October 2026