Beauty in our Blemishes

Photo by Mark Gutman/Daily News

Last week, I had the pleasure of hearing (and seeing) David Kaczynski, brother of the notorious "Unabomber," Ted Kaczynski, speak during an event promoting awareness of the challenging effects of mental illness on families. 

I was impressed and very moved by his quiet dignity, his strength of character, and, most of all, his brave, compassionate willingness to share his (and, by extension, his family's) story. He didn't have to, and as he explained, while recalling his memories of growing up with and later growing apart from his brother, his and his wife's growing, gnawing suspicion that his older brother, whom he loved and once admired, might be a terrorist whose violent actions caused multiple fatalities, he hoped he and his family would remain anonymous after his brother's arrest. 

But that was not to be. In an era where it seems every attention-seeker is allowed (at least) 15 minutes of fame, he seeks no fame for himself. Instead, he lives a quiet life with his wife as the executive director of a Buddhist monastery in Woodstock, N.Y., seeking long-awaited peace. His willingness to tell his story is motivated by his desire to help others understand those with mental illness (who, he emphasized, are often, unlike his brother, nonviolent) and enable them to get the treatment that his brother desperately needed but, unfortunately, did not receive. 

Hearing his story made me realize that every one of us has a story to tell. And when we find the courage and strength to tell it, no matter how personal and painful, we can heal and, hopefully, help others find healing through it. 

His story has done that. As one notable example, he has bonded with Bill Babbitt, a man who faced the same gut-wrenching decision to turn in his violent, mentally-ill brother to police after realizing he had killed an elderly woman, in an effort to protect other innocent people from his destructive reach. Babbitt, who contacted him following Ted Kaczynski's arrest, knew that this man understood his anguish. In a beautiful, though perhaps not surprising, display of cosmic justice, the two men have become like brothers. The pain of losing their biological brothers, of course, has not been extinguished, but in this bond they've found solace. 

 When we choose to make ourselves vulnerable enough to tell our stories (warts and all), there is a reward for ourselves and for others who hear our stories. There is liberation, peace, power, and healing. There is beauty in our blemishes.