When I first tell people that I have D.I.D., they usually give me a really long look, like they’re trying to look inside my eyes to try to see if they see anyone unfamiliar in there, and then they say some variation of, “Yeah, I don’t really see it.”

Sometimes, people will ask, “Have I met any of them?”

The answer to that question is, invariably, yes. Almost everyone in my life has met some version of me that is not truly me, and almost no one knows it.

This, understandably, spooks people. But the reality is that it’s not spooky at all.

Dissociation and the splitting off of a core personality into parts or alters is, at its core, a protective and adaptive response. It allows different parts to hold different memories and experiences that would be fatally overwhelming to a person were they stored in one unified consciousness. The child with D.I.D. is able to survive an unsurvivable environment because of this advanced compartmentalization. They are able to function in their everyday world without the pain of those traumas, because it was not truly them who bore the brunt of the experiences.

As a child with D.I.D. grows into an adult and enters a safe and stable environment, these parts become no longer adaptive because the situation which they adapted to endure has changed. This is often when a diagnosis is obtained and true healing, for all of the parts, can begin.

I have 11 personalities co-existing inside my body, including my own. Most were formed in adolescence and childhood. Only one appeared after the age of 18. By the age of 22, my personality system as I know it today was complete. The D.I.D. diagnosis I obtained this summer did not create any parts that were not already present and functioning; it only drew my attention to them. Once my attention was on these parts, I was able to ask them questions about themselves, and they identified themselves to me by name. But even before this identification, they existed, and they functioned in my day-to-day life without my knowledge.

If you think about it, having different alters come out and identify themselves by name as separate from the “host” personality is the absolute opposite of an adaptive response. In the work of healing, these parts must identify themselves as separate and work through the traumas they hold individually. In the work of doing the job they were created to do, however, it is absolutely not adaptive for them to identify as separate. In fact, even when there is no external danger, identifying as separate and individual personality parts can create external danger. This is why, outside of the therapy room, all of my alters answer to my name and generally behave in ways that lead people to believe that they are simply different facets of a well-rounded personality, instead of well-rounded personalities themselves.

“Switches” look different for every person with D.I.D., but mine personally are very subtle. Sometimes I don’t even notice until I realize that I have been receded into the back of my brain for quite some time, watching a force outside myself operate the machine of my body. I switch mid-conversation very often, and it usually appears completely seamless, even to me. If I do have a “harder” switch, the only visual tell is that I become very still and have a soft gaze focused somewhere around the midpoint oft the horizon. I may jump or shudder a tiny amount when a new personality takes over or when my personality regains control. But you would have to be watching very carefully to see that.

Some parts of mine, specifically younger parts who hold more severe trauma, have more obvious behavioral tells. They are often mostly mute, seek places to hide where they feel safe, and put on specific clothing because it feels safest and least triggering. They may appear to be irrationally angry or afraid. However, because they are so skittish, not many people in my life see these parts unless they are very close to me.

My older parts have a few distinct mannerisms, vocal inflections etc., that may lead to people being able to recognize them independently of me, but only if they have extensive knowledge not only of me as a person but of my parts as persons individually. Generally, only my therapist and people who I have met in D.I.D.-focused treatment programs have this kind of knowledge.

On occasion, people will tell me “not to switch”. I think their intent with this is to minimize disruptions to our relationship that could be caused by some Hollywood-inspired type of dissociative drama. The reality is, if I had that much control over my switching, the D.I.D. would be less of an issue. The absolute best I can offer them in terms of “not switching” is that I will try my best to be as much Katelyn as I am in my day-to-day life, which is really about a 40/40/20 split of Katelyn/Clara/Brutus. At worst, being told not to switch actually intensifies the switching and makes it more disruptive, because the parts read that as them not being safe in the situation and, having been well trained in responding to unsafe situations, react accordingly.

D.I.D. switching is not inherently dangerous. It is often not noticeable to the outside observer. It is just an everyday fact of living with D.I.D. and is not something to fear.

Lots of D.I.D. patients wonder privately if they are faking or exaggerating some aspect of their dissociation. The proof I offer myself personally when these doubts set in is that my alters exist whether or not anyone externally sees them. If I was faking or exaggerating my symptoms I’d be doing a pretty horrible job of it. My internal experience is much more fragmented and chaotic than what the external world sees of me.

No, you don’t see it, but that doesn’t mean it’s not there.