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.”

There,
he
said
it.

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?”

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
memorized
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


1
in
4

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.

Need
help
with
substance
use
disorder
or
mental
health
issues?
In
the
U.S.,
call
800-662-HELP
(4357)
for
the



SAMHSA
National
Helpline.