The Price of Perfection by our Director of Community Relations Anne Gross

We live in a society where we are bombarded by images of lives that seem perfect – glamorous wives and handsome husbands effortlessly raising exceptional children.  So, when the unexpected happens – an illness, problems with our children, a divorce – we often become consumed by fears that we won’t be accepted by others if they know of our perceived imperfections.  Living in a society that puts a premium on silencing suffering, we instead project an upbeat, positive, and cheerful demeanor.  Not only do we withdraw and hide our problems from others, we often hide them from ourselves as well.

Although I’m certainly not recommending that we drown in our sorrows, we also need to ask ourselves if there is a price we pay when we focus solely on presenting the picture perfect family.  I know well the impact on a family when struggles are silenced in the hopes that this will lead to more acceptance by others.  Growing up in the 1950s, I was raised from birth by a paraplegic mother who lost the use of her legs after contracting polio at the age of two.  My family believed that if we could downplay the significance of my mother’s paralysis – by helping her accommodate to the world of the nondisabled, never discussing her disability, and always presenting a cheerful, upbeat attitude, we could “pretend” as if her paralysis didn’t exist. Although this philosophy helped my mother tremendously – she was an accomplished musician who married and raised two children – it also robbed our family of an opportunity to show compassion toward each other over our unique situation.  

Let me give you an example.  Several decades ago, my mother and I, in preparation for my upcoming wedding, headed down to the local florist in town.  Although I can count on one hand the number of times I broached the subject of my mother’s disability with her, in what I think of as a rare moment of courage, I expressed my wish that she could dance at my wedding.  My mother quickly rebuffed my desire with a curt “it doesn’t bother me,” which effectively buried the topic.  I felt a familiar anger toward her that my wishes – even in fantasy – had no voice.  Had we been able to acknowledge our loss – that it would have meant so much to have her be a part of the ritual first dance – it would have brought us even closer at such an important time in our lives.  Instead, we never discussed it and, at the wedding, everyone else in my immediate family participated while the mother of the bride sat alone at her table.  If we could have both expressed our feelings of differentness, together we could have arrived at a way to honor her by bringing her onto the dance floor for a special toast.  And, despite my mother’s words to the contrary, I could sense her pain that she was excluded. 

Image from Stockimages on http://www.freedigitalphotos.net/