"You must learn to tolerate the humiliation of taking your child out in public. Try to ignore the stares and insensitive comments of the people around you."

I don't remember where I read these words but I know exactly when. It was February 11, 1988, three months before my son, Adam, was born, one day after an amniocentesis revealed he had Down syndrome. In 24 hours, I'd gone from daydreaming about my perfect baby to bracing myself for "stares and insensitive comments."

My first reaction to that pamphlet was to throw up. Things went downhill from there. I already loved my unborn son, but I had no idea how to "tolerate the humiliation" of being his mother. Avoiding humiliation was practically my religion. Now, it seemed, I would be obviously and publicly shamed in the all-important role of mother.

I didn't realize that I'd just been handed the key to freedom from the humiliation—and the fear of humiliation—that had always governed me. I was about to learn that my level of shame was always under my own control, that I would endure exactly as much humiliation as I consented to feel, and that instead of tolerating this awful feeling, I could simply dispense with it. All of this is equally true for you.