In 1956, my uncle, John F. Kennedy, then a U.S. senator, wrote a book that is probably more famous for its great title than its contents. It was called Profiles in Courage. It was about eight U.S. senators whom JFK felt had made particularly courageous contributions to American history.
For a while now, I have been thinking about what courage means to me. While growing up with my father, Ted Kennedy, in the Senate, and then serving in the House of Representatives myself for many years, I saw quite a bit of bravery in politics. But the truth is, the most courageous people I know qualify not for what they do in public but what they are able to endure and rise above in private. This is especially true of people who struggle every day with mental illness or addiction, or both, or who help loved ones or family members in their struggles.
The details and daily dramas of these struggles usually remain private, hidden. And even when people discuss them publicly, it is often in a brief or very cautious way—enough to admit to having a diagnosis or a problem, or "issues," in order to support advocacy, but rarely enough to inform a public that wants and needs to understand what living with these illnesses is like every day. When I was younger, and first outed for substance use disorder treatment in the tabloids by someone with whom I was in rehab, I thought this was all harder for people in the public eye. But I have since learned better: We all live with the same stigma and pay the same price for our silence.
Please select this link to read the complete article from TIME.