Years ago, I moved into a newly built, suburban neighborhood of mostly young upper-middle-class families. Everyone seemed happy. They had plenty of money. They were successful. They had housekeepers and went to yoga classes. It was pretty idyllic.

Except in my house. My marriage was terrible by any definition. I was living with a mentally ill alcoholic who had on various occasions threatened to kill me and many others, who was verbally abusive, and who genuinely enjoyed making people feel bad. Nothing idyllic about that—but no one knew, because we were masters at hiding it.

I spent years living my secret, imperfect life surrounded by people I was sure were doing better. I was too ashamed to talk to anyone about it.

Seeing the truth

One day there was a traffic accident in front of my house. A group of neighbors had gathered to see what all the cops were doing on our street.

We were sharing theories about what was going on, when one of the women started talking about the day she’d called the police to have her husband removed after he angrily smashed his car into hers. I was absolutely shocked—they had seemed so happy.

I’d heard gossip about others over the years, but for some reason it didn’t make me feel any better about my situation… The couple down the block who’d each been arrested for violent behavior during arguments. The guy who shot himself with his wife and kids at home. The two families whose houses were taken back by the bank. The woman openly cheating on her husband. The kids with behavior problems. All the divorces.

If I were to work my way down the block house by house, I could tell you how messed up each and every family was. But on the surface, all of them seemed so perfect… because they were all pretending. And so was I.

It wasn’t just me

It was while standing there in front of my house that day, along with a bunch of neighbors I knew were just as messed up as me, that I finally realized a simple truth. Everybody’s messed up. It’s a shared experience. But we feel alone in it because of all the pretending. You have to get to know people really well before you start to learn the reality of their lives, because only then do they feel safe enough to open up.

I’ve come to see all this secret-keeping as truly destructive. Because we’re all pretending things aren’t what they are, everyone thinks they’re the only ones whose lives are messed up. Worse, the pretending creates pressure for others to pretend their lives are great too. No one wants to be the only messed-up person, right?

This is especially true for kids. When they are pressured by their families to not “air the dirty laundry,” it makes them feel broken and alone. They have no idea their experience isn’t abnormal, because they’re being told it’s something to be ashamed of… to hide. It is unreasonable to ask them to lie about the most-important things in their lives and then expect them to be honest the rest of the time—but that’s exactly what we do. And then we wonder why they end up confused and making bad decisions?

Why keep pretending?

Wouldn’t it be better if we could all just be open and honest? That would enable others to offer us the love, support, and advice that might help us with our struggles. And it would create a safe space in which they can share their problems—without fear of judgment—because they would know they aren’t the only ones with dysfunctional families.

Sounds like a better world than one in which everyone is feeling alone and ashamed, pretending everything’s ok. Wanna help build that world? Try answering honestly the next time someone asks, “how’s it going?”

And tell your kids to do the same.