Before my husband, Daniel, and I climb out of our car parked in front of our friend’s Baltimore home, I ask him how he wants to answer the question that we both know is coming.
“I’m not going to lie,” he tells me. “We don’t have to go into every detail of James’ latest episode. Let’s just say he’s struggling. He is 29 years old and struggling to find himself.”
“In the woods, at a therapeutic living community, in Brookline, Vermont,” I add from the passenger seat, just to complete the picture.
“Sure, if you want to tell them that. They’re not going to ask for more details. They’ll probably ask to pour you another drink at that point.”
Kevin and Eliza are friends of ours, but we have not known them for long.
“So, how are the kids?” Kevin asks, emphasis on the word kids. “Bring me up to date.”
Parents of children who suffer from substance use disorder, anxiety, depression or mental illness in general have two choices when faced with this question: lie and deflect the question or be blatantly honest.
Researchers call this “stigma by association” – the quiet social pressure and judgment that families absorb simply by loving someone with mental illness.
If I decide to avoid this hardball by lying, I could speak in generalities and say, relatively speaking, all three of my kids are well. They have food on their plates; they live safely with roofs over their heads. They have parents who support and care about them. They are loved.
And all that is true. But that doesn’t answer Kevin’s question.
I know what he means. He wants to know specifics: Where are they working? What city do they live in? He wants to know what their plans are for the future, whether they have partners, who those partners are. These are subtle subcategories hiding within the larger question, “How are the kids?”
Photo Courtesy Of Judy Sandler
Studies show that many families respond to mental illness with silence or partial truths, withdrawing to avoid judgment. I find lying about how my children are doing more exhausting than telling the truth.
I want to give people the benefit of the doubt and assume the statistics I have memorised as a soothing balm are correct. Chances are, Kevin and Eliza have a family member who suffers from mental illness or they know someone who does.
I ask my son how he wants me to answer this question. After all, it is his life I’m talking or not talking about. When I ask how he feels about the issue, he doesn’t flinch. “I don’t think promoting dishonesty is wise. That’s all I have to say. Lying by omission is still dishonest.”
Apparently, I am the one with the hang-ups. Yet I know I am not alone.
“Kids are good,” I tell Kevin, with a tilt of my head. “Nathan loves his new school, he’s so glad he made the switch. Julia is living with her boyfriend in Denver. She’s in her second year of graduate school at the University of Denver School of Social Work. Not sure how long they will live there though, she tells us it’s expensive in Denver.”
“And James.” I pause here and glance at Daniel, raise my eyebrows and give him a half-smile. “James is living in Portland, Maine, and is figuring out what he wants to do and what he wants to be. He is our struggling one, but he’ll figure it out. We have faith.”
I say this to Kevin with more confidence than I feel, but I tell myself I technically did not lie. But I didn’t give them the benefit of the doubt. They might have a child with addiction issues. We could have shared stories.
Mental health experts assure me I’m allowed to avoid the subject. I am permitted to draw boundaries. Psychologists tell me to remember I alone do not shoulder the responsibility of representing all mothers of children with mental illness.
I have become an expert at flattening the details of my son’s life. I say things like, “He’s doing well, I mean these are tough times for kids, right? How about your kids?”
But those words only perpetuate the lonely feeling of having a child with mental illness and substance use disorder. Lying shuts the door and closes all the windows.
Over 450 million people suffer from a mental illness or neurological disorder at some point in their lives. That is one in four people in the world. Research shows that stigma often affects the whole family of a person with mental illness and is one of the most persistent barriers to open conversation about the topic.
For that reason, I vow to be blatantly honest next time someone asks me, “How are the kids?” Because silence feels disrespectful to the incredibly hard work my son is enduring to become a resilient, empathetic and wise adult. But even more so, secrets keep my family lonely.
Lying about how my child is doing only preserves the stigma attached to substance use disorder and mental health issues.
Furthermore, members of families like mine have reported that interacting with other families with a mentally ill relative is one of the most helpful ways they cope with it. By telling our story honestly and connecting with others as a result, I will not only reduce my own shame connected to that stigma, I will be working to dissolve its stain.
Judy Sandler is a writer and educator living in mid-coast Maine. Her memoir, What Kind of Mother, A Reckoning (West Virginia University Press), will be out Sept. 8. See more at www.judysandler.com.
Help and support:
- Mind, open Monday to Friday, 9am-6pm on 0300 123 3393.
- Samaritans offers a listening service which is open 24 hours a day, on 116 123 (UK and ROI – this number is FREE to call and will not appear on your phone bill).
- CALM (the Campaign Against Living Miserably) offer a helpline open 5pm-midnight, 365 days a year, on 0800 58 58 58, and a webchat service.
- The Mix is a free support service for people under 25. Call 0808 808 4994 or email help@themix.org.uk
- Rethink Mental Illness offers practical help through its advice line which can be reached on 0808 801 0525 (Monday to Friday 10am-4pm). More info can be found on rethink.org.
