I’ve been writing for five years about what I term perfectly hidden depression — when you’re leading a perfect-looking life and not a soul recognizes that you’re carrying around a tremendous amount of silent despair.
Maybe not even you recognize it, until you see the term. And perhaps you begin to wonder if you should tune in to that tiny voice in your gut that signals something’s not right, something hurts more than you’re letting on.
So you look up the criteria for depression. And you don’t fit. And you shame yourself even more for looking. What is wrong with you? Your life is so blessed. And you pick up the load you carry once more. You go on.
But what seems is far from what actually is.
And without realizing the full impact of turning your back, once again, on that pain and returning to your perfect-looking life, you’re more at risk for suicide.
Perfectionism and its relationship with depression and suicide…
In talking about this kind of perfectionism,, I’m not offering the absolute, never-has-been-considered-by-anyone-else warning signal for depression or suicide. Perfectionism research is ongoing and it’s known to be correlated with depression and suicide.
But nowhere in the criteria available to the public is perfectionism discussed. So if you look, you won’t find it there.
What I am offering is the awareness that “seems” can hide much more pain than you realize. Perfect-looking people are just that. Perfect. Looking. Perfect. Seeming. And seeming is not the same as actually being.
What follows is an excerpt from my upcoming book Perfectly Hidden Depression. The stories are real, told to me by my patients or people who came forward to be interviewed — many of whom were talking behind closed office doors or in their garage — because they were still hiding. These are people at huge risk — and they could be… you.
An excerpt from my new book, Perfectly Hidden Depression…
One day as Brittany—a tall, attractive young woman—came into my office, I wondered (as I always do in a first session) what problem or issue would come forth.
“I saw you on Periscope talking about perfectly hidden depression,” Brittany said. “I’ve never been to therapy. But I know that you’re describing me, and I’ve got to get help, because things are getting worse.”
She stopped abruptly, seeming to immediately regret telling me even that much about herself. Smiling brightly, she sat a little sheepishly on the sofa, one of her legs nervously pumping up and down. She didn’t know what to do, and she waited for me to respond.
“Well, if you identify with PHD, you’re not used to openly talking about yourself. So, I bet being here is hard.”
She nodded, looking down at her feet.
I reassured her, “We can take all this very slowly. I’m here to listen, but you’re in charge of just how fast or slow this goes. So, is there something that’s happened recently that’s made you more worried about yourself?”
Brittany didn’t tell me everything about her life in that session. In fact, it was months before I knew her whole story. Occasionally, she’d blurt out a hurtful secret that she’d been keeping, all the while very closely watching to see my reaction, as she gradually took more and more risks in sharing her real life. Still, her ability to openly express the emotions connected to those secrets was very limited. I’d see only an occasional tear, quickly covered by a blank look or a change of subject.
And that’s perfectly hidden depression. Shame, trauma, hurt, anger—so many of these experiences and feelings have been kept under wraps that opening up can be a slow process.
Brittany wasn’t the first person I’d seen with this kind of emotional disconnect between the pain of what she was saying and the feelings she would allow herself to express. Others before her had shown this same kind of denial or detachment:
- Elizabeth recounted a story about waking to find herself lying naked on a beach, having been drugged and raped. “I’ve never thought the story was all that important. It was a long time ago,” she told me, smiling hesitantly.
- Linda hadn’t cried in years, even after her mother’s sudden death. “Crying makes me uncomfortable,” she said. “I think it’s a sign of weakness.”
- Jackson talked about strange, secret impulses to drive off the road, then followed his confession with, “I have a good wife and family. I’m just a little stressed.”
Like the others, Brittany didn’t look depressed in the classic sense. She was extremely rational and highly organized (if a bit rigidly), her planner stuffed with sticky notes and extensive to-do lists. She stayed very busy with dinners with girlfriends and a steady boyfriend. She was professionally successful, although highly anxious about making the right decisions for her future. She didn’t look sad; in fact, she was often quite jolly and funny. What Brittany allowed others to see looked pretty perfect.
If you experience perfectly hidden depression, you don’t equate what’s going on as depression. Depressed people are sad. Depressed people have no energy. Other people notice that they’re listless or agitated, or that they sleep all the time. The very idea of you being depressed may seem ludicrous to you—at least before you started reading about PHD.
If you’re completely honest, you can confess nervousness about what others would think if you admitted feeling down or hopeless. You fear the stigma against mental illness. You’ve said to yourself, Oh, my gosh, I’m not depressed. Crazy busy maybe. But not depressed. You’ve handled pressure after pressure, loss after loss, and you’ve carried on. You’ve worked hard, parented hard, volunteered hard. You’re always upbeat.
Most important, admitting depression would be admitting a flaw. And if you’re perfectionistic, flaws are to be hidden.
You’re like Brittany. And Elizabeth. Linda and Jackson. Because yours is not the classic presentation of depression.
No one suspects anything is wrong. Yet you’re the person who might kill yourself, and no one would know why. Brittany told me months after our initial session that she’d been planning to take her own life before she walked in my door. She knew she couldn’t live like she was living anymore, hiding so much pain and hurt, feeling hopeless and trapped underneath all that smiling.
It’s depression all right. Perfectly hidden depression.
In this book or any writing that I’ve done on the subject, I’m not offering the absolute, never-has-been-considered-by-anyone-else warning signal for depression or suicide. Perfectionism has been known to be correlated with depression
What I am offering is the idea that “seems” can hide much more pain than you realize. Perfect-looking people are just that. Perfect. Looking. Perfect. Seeming. And seeming is not the same as actually being.
I’m offering the idea that not only through accepting yourself can you achieve, but by letting go of shame, you’ll lead yourself away from the voices that tell you your life isn’t worth fighting for… if it’s imperfect.
If this is you, risk what Brittany and Elizabeth and Linda and Jackson risked. They began talking. They risked looking imperfect. And they lived.
I’ve heard too many times than I want to hear, “If I hadn’t done this work, if I hadn’t come in, I wouldn’t be alive now.”
Please don’t wait.
Important links for immediate help…
It’s Suicide Prevention Awareness week. Please reach out.
Call for The Suicide Prevention Hotline
My new book entitled Perfectly Hidden Depression will be arriving November 1, 2019 and you can pre-order here! Its message is specifically for those with a struggle with strong perfectionism which acts to mask underlying emotional pain. But the many self-help techniques described can be used by everyone who chooses to begin to address emotions long hidden away that are clouding and sabotaging your current life.