At a fundraising event, I looked across the crowded room and saw a woman with a cleft – a gap in the lip (and sometimes the palate) where a baby's face doesn't fuse properly during pregnancy. She was standing alone, and I beckoned her over to join my group. She politely declined, and before I fully realized what I was doing, I crossed the room to speak to her.
I too had been born with a cleft. Over the years, I had talked to doctors, my parents, my wife, and friends about it to varying degrees. But as I walked toward her, I knew this would be the first time in more than 60 years that I would have a conversation about living with a cleft with someone who also has one. I was terrified I might offend her, but I said something like: "Isn't it scary walking into a crowded room? Because it feels as if everyone is looking at us."
An Emotional Connection
Rose and I then dove straight into one of the most emotional, joyous, exciting, and edgy conversations I have ever had. We talked about the insecurities that come from living with a facial difference, the bullying and traumas, and the way we shaped ourselves to navigate a normal life – psychologically and physically, including surgery. Rose spoke so openly that it allowed me to realize and share things I had never discussed with anyone. Neither of us had ever had such a deep conversation about our clefts before. I finally felt as if I could connect with someone on a subject I had tried to ignore all my life.
The conversation was so intense that we skipped the call to go in for dinner – the staff had to come and collect us. Then we realized we had been seated together, and we carried on talking. The next day, I cried for the first time about my cleft, releasing a lot of sadness and emotion that I had never given myself space to reflect on.
A Lifetime of Avoidance
When I was five, I had an operation to close my cleft lip. At 19, I had two more operations to fill out my upper lip, which involved having my lips stitched together for nearly two months – I had to eat blended food through a straw. Then I went off to university with quite a lot of noticeable scar tissue. The surgeons had done a good job, and although my teeth remained a mess, I thought: I'm done with having a cleft. So I just tried to ignore it. Over the next few decades, whenever I met people with clefts, through work or socially, I would never mention it. I managed to get into my 60s without ever really talking about its impact on me or anyone else. It felt as if I had ghosted myself and the whole cleft community.
Finding the Courage to Embrace My Cleft
By the time I attended the dinner last October, I was happily married with three grown children and had enjoyed a career in public relations. But I had also recently started seeing a therapist, keen to unravel feelings and beliefs that held me back. Over our sessions, I realized how being born with a cleft may have made me hold back – I wouldn't put myself forward at school, and at work I have been a company director but never the CEO. I missed opportunities, such as turning down a TV appearance or not joining team sports, even though I love them.
I have always had a desire for approval and a fear of being bullied (which I have been). I never felt fully comfortable walking into a crowded room. I seem sociable and gregarious, but underneath I feel as if I have to work harder because I fear rejection.
When I realized I was ready to embrace my cleft more, I became a regular donor to Smile Train, a cleft care nonprofit. Later, I joined their advisory council, and it was at a Smile Train fundraising dinner that I met Rose. I had expected the event to be full of other people with clefts, but I think she was the only one. It was the first time I met someone who truly understood what it is like to live with a facial difference – and it was a relief to discover I was not alone in my long-held insecurities.
Building a Bridge to the Past
After that evening, we kept in contact. Since then, I have been able to talk to others more freely, including my wife and friends. Many have said they don't "see" my cleft, or that it doesn't define me. That is a wonderful thought, but it also doesn't acknowledge my feelings about it and the way I mask them just to function. Rose was a huge part of me being able to build a bridge to the past and find a way forward.
