By: Linda Sapadin
The nation watched as Jackie bravely tried to protect her husband in that open convertible. We watched her calmly witness the swearing in of the next president to succeed her husband who had died only hours before. We watched her stand strong and tall at her husband's funeral procession, holding her children's hands and presenting herself, as always, with dignity and poise. Jackie received extensive praise in the media for her self-composure. She was lauded as brave, courageous, strong and an extraordinary model for the nation and for her family. Many of us wondered at the time, however, if she really was so strong or if she was putting on a brave front? Was Jackie a wonderful role model for other people in their times of grief or was she simply too good to be true? Well, we finally have our answer. A new book about the Kennedys describes how Jackie fared behind closed doors. These new revelations are based upon the conversations that Jackie had with a Jesuit priest who was her confidant and counselor. According to information that was obtained from the priest's personal notes, the former first lady's reaction to the death of her husband was just what we would have expected from anybody -overwhelming grief, desolate loneliness, unbearable pain, doubts about her faith, guilt about not being able to save her husband. Wracked with depression, Jackie contemplated suicide, believing that in her depressed state, she could not be any good, even to her children. She requested that the priest pray for her death. After reading an article about this book, I confess to two strong reactions. My first one: Nobody, not even the most courageous and most resilient person, gets through a terrible personal tragedy without suffering pain, grief and despair. People may express these emotions in different ways or in different time frames, yet no one escapes the suffering. Some people are very good at holding themselves together initially, then are wracked with pain later on. When we only see their well-composed public demeanor, however, we may mistakenly think that they are role models we should emulate. We are wrong. We cannot measure up, we will not measure up, we should not measure up. And so now that we know the inside story about Jackie's suffering, another fanciful role model is eradicated. And that is good. My second reaction: I was very curious to know how such intensely personal information becomes public. I believe that Jackie would have been mortified to know that her confidential conversations with her priest (who was functioning as her counselor and spiritual adviser) were now fodder for the front pages of the newspapers. What has happened to the sanctity of privacy? Shouldn't it extend beyond the grave? Who gave permission to this priest to talk to or to share his personal diary with the author? Isn't priestly confidentiality as sacrosanct as psychological confidentiality? No psychologist (or other mental health professional, for that matter) would dare to go public with confidential conversations or personal notes about a patient unless there was a subpoena in hand. Even then, that professional would do his/her best to fight the subpoena or, as a last resort, would only divulge what would be absolutely necessary for the court case. One last thought for the day. Know that when you compare yourself to another and find yourself lacking, be hesitant about concluding that you don't measure up. You may be only taking into account a person's public persona. You are not privy to the seams, faults and stress lines that remain hidden from public view. You are unaware of what goes on behind closed doors. As always, dear reader, I hope that you are kind and gentle with your own judgments - of yourself and others. Linda Sapadin, Ph.D. is a psychologist in private practice who works with individuals, families and couples. Copyright © 2003.
