Posts Tagged ‘borderline personality disorder’

The Blame Game.

I’ve made a realization over the past months that my biggest problem isn’t  that I grew up with a Borderline Personality Disorder mother.  Nope.  It’s that I’ve latched on to blaming her and her BPD for all that is wrong and unsavory in my world.

A year ago, I finally found out why I could never have the relationship i yearned for with my parents.  It was incredibly freeing.  ”Thank God, I’m not the crazy one”  But…I fixated on it.  I devoured countless books on BPD and Adult Children of BPD Parents, plus many more general self-help titles.

I was weary from this forced transformation I was attempting.  I wanted to be healed – right now.  RIGHT NOW DAMNIT!

I wanted to get to a point that I could look back from and say, “whew, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with/think about that anymore.”

I will always be that little girl with a whacked out mom.  I’m realizing that this journey of healing is so much like the recovering addict’s journey.  Once an addict, always an addict.  There is no magic pill, or mantra to clean your slate.

Letting go of the blame is part of the healing process for sure.  And honestly, it’s one I could never imagine being able to do.  I was happily loathing them from afar…wishing they would up and decide to move to Timbuktu.

I picked up SARK’s Transformation Soup a month or so ago.  And the words nearly pierced through my heart.  “Stop Blaming Your Mother.”

At first I scoffed, well you don’t know my mother.  Then as I read on, it began to resonate with me.  I was unwillingly for sure.  I stopped reading the book midway through, pulled my bookmark and buried that book behind some old high school year books.

Those words haunted me in my dreams.  In my dreams, my mom and dad were nurturing me, being the parents I have always wished for.  In my dreams, my mom and dad apologized, and in my dreams, I forgave my mom and dad.

The dreams I had previously frequented — the ones where I was yelling and screaming at my parents to get away from me and my kids, the dreams that sometimes even escalated to violence — made sense to me.  I was angry, hurt, confused and I wanted to keep my parents as far from me and my family as possible.

These new love-laced dreams were disturbing.  What was my psyche trying to tell me?

“Heal, sweet Salem, just heal.”

I will never get an apology in real life.  But it’s not relevant any more.  I know who my parents are, and I can accept it {or at least working on accepting it}.

Forgiveness is not about forgetting the past.  It’s about allowing yourself to stop blaming — yourself, your mother, your father…whoever.

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I have a fear of becoming my mother.

Probably a little more so than your average woman does.

Of course, the whole genetics thing is difficult to overcome.   The older I get the more and more I look like her (even though everyone always said I looked just like my dad when I was a kid – go figure!).  I hate catching glimpses of her while looking in the mirror.

I am realizing though, that I have very little control over physical traits – like how my face is shaped!

And that those traits don’t really matter much to my kids.

They just see their own mom when they look at me.

But my actions, my emotions, my parenting, and pretty much everything else – I do have control over.

And through those parts of myself, I try to give my kids the childhood that I wish I could have had.

The first and foremost being an emotionally stable mother.

 

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A wish list from my inner child:

hugs and i love you’s – everyday – heck, multiple times a day even!

books read to me – I don’t ever remember either parent ever reading to me, ever.

a healthy diet – I grew up on processed, refined and pre-packaged junk food – ugh!

cuddle time – like at bedtime or just while watching tv – I hated feeling so alone and disconnected all the time.

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Source: Pinterest

 

Healing.

That’s my keyword for 2013.

It’s taken me over an month to come to it.  I’ve never been big on New Year’s Resolutions. January and February are for hibernating, not hitting the gym!  I like to let the energy of the new year settle in for a while, before I decide where it is going to lead me on my journey.

In reflection 2012 was a little edgy.  Last January and February (in full disaccord to my own beliefs about hibernation) I bleached out my long brown tresses – like platinum blonde! – and then decided on a whim to cut those crunchy fried locks.  I weilded the scissors myself one afternoon during nap time!  I didn’t go all Britney Spears (remember the shaved head incident?)  But I did lop off about 6 inches and ended up with it at chin length after my shocked stylist fixed it all up for me again.   I was frantically trying to change myself and leave my past behind.  But I was only looking on the outside – which really is the easiest part to change.

Springtime brought with it an epiphany of sorts and I started going to counseling.  That’s when everything started making a lot more sense.  By Fall, I had finally decided to confront my problems rather than continue to avoid them.  And well, that was partially freeing, but mostly painful.  At least I spoke my truth.  Even if it was only met with more accusations of how wrong and horrible I am.

With winter just weeks old, the universe decided to throw me into the fire of grief, love, pain and hope.  I took lots of naps, but did very little writing.  I found solace in cooking and sewing instead.  The decided snaps while chopping vegetables.  The simple rhythm of the sewing machine.  It was very meditative for me, shutting down the crazy, babbling monkey in my brain.

I had lengthy and emotional conversations (and rants) with Owen.  I voiced my worries and fears for my sister.  I voiced my frustrations and disappointment and anger toward my parents and their actions (or inactions in most cases).

It all kept me from imploding into myself.  I wasn’t about to slip into that deep and dark hole.  I just needed to get through it all and find some time to breathe and just be.

I never got around to the healing last year.

The truth seemed to do a good job of crumbling the past (and some of the present).

Now it’s time to clean up the mess and make way for a new beginning…

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I’ve rediscovered SARK’s writing and am hoping to give this healing process a little extra help with her books Transformation Soup and Glad No Matter What. Have you read these titles? Do you have any must-reads on healing?

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“Your sister has been in a car accident and she is in critical condition.  We just thought we should pass the news on to you…and sometime you should just answer your phone.”

 

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For over two years I haven’t spoken to my parents.  And in early December, this was the message my mom leaves me.  Her voice trembling with emotion, yet she still managed to pull off the spitefulness with her last words.  Because, well, it’s always gotta be somebody else’s fault (good ol’ Borderline Personality Disorder!).  

 I did tighten it up a bit (she had left more details about the hospital and my brother-in-law’s condition) thus the usage of the “…” but otherwise it’s verbatim.

I’m looking forward to sharing more of this story in the future.  But for now, this is my way of breaking the ice.  

 

 

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July is waning…only about one week until August graces us with his golden presence.

When I started this blog back in April, I can honestly say I had no idea where I was going to go with it.  But I just had this pull – this nudging – to do it.  Gray Daisies was something that stayed in my head, directly related to the phrases, “my little garden of truth” and “…because life is not black & white”.

Source: goo.gl on Pinterest

 

I wanted to share my story.  My experiences as a child, young adult, and now a full-fledged grown-up (wife, mother, etc.)  There has always been a part of me that knew my situation was different than most.  Not completely horrific, like some stories you may hear, but still, completely unhealthy and completely dysfunctional.

During these past weeks, I’ve thought about closing up shop here.  Taking some time to sort through my recent realizations and confirmations about my childhood and my relationship (or lack thereof) with my own parents and my mother’s mental illness (Borderline Personality Disorder).

But that doesn’t feel entirely right to me either.  I want to document this journey for myself and hopefully for others out there that may have similar experiences.

The more I think about it, the more I am convinced that this blog of mine needs to become a sounding board for the adult children of borderline parents.  Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is something that is very prevalent in our society, yet is hardly ever spoken of, or even diagnosed for that fact!

While I realize that someone suffering from BPD has many issues to confront and overcome, I also know first-hand that someone who was raised by a BPD parent has many of their own issues to confront and overcome as well.

So…welcome to Gray Daisies – a place where I will share my story of being raised by a parent with Borderline Personality Disorder and my journey to overcome and thrive.

Gray Daisies is still my “little garden”.  It won’t always be so serious and depressing here.  I certainly don’t like to wallow in misery – and having a sense of humor is essential for surviving this world of ours!  But this BPD thing has certainly defined my life and who I am (for better or worse!) and it will be a strong theme in my posts.

Enjoy the last days of July!

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{taken early morning, August 26, 2010, from my living room window}

It seems like only yesterday I was sitting in this living room, thinking how my life was feeling more and more like that movie Groundhog Day.  I was waiting for E .(nearly 2 weeks overdue) to arrive and part of me was completely terrified for his arrival because deep-down I knew that somehow, someway, giving birth to him was going to be a monumental pivot point in my life – my family’s life.  And not in the typical-new-baby-fashion.

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{my big E. belly! also on August 26, 2010}

Sometimes things just feel indescribably more important than what you think they should feel like.

I felt that it was the one event in my life that would suddenly click into place and “poof”, my Groundhog Day would end and a new course would begin.

(Boy, did it ever!  A near-death experience, traumatic post-partum issues, discovering the whole BPD thing)

I’m so very grateful for my wonderfully simple yet utterly profound life.  My husband.  My kids.  My house.  My dog.  Even my car.  My entire life – in general – in its entirety – from the miniscule to the extraordinary.

I feel like a warrior now – a weary one at times – but still a warrior.

I have returned home from my battles to heal, inside and out.  There will be scars.

There are scars, inside and out.

I will continue to heal, knowing with confidence that I am stronger than I could ever have imagined.

My sword, my shield, hanging proudly above my heart’s mantle.  A reminder to myself and a warning to any threatening forces.

–> I am a warrior <–

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I’ve been reading through some of my old, personal journal entries lately.  Partly for my therapy sessions and partly because I like to be reminded where I’ve been from time to time.  This one struck me as pretty important, and I think sharing it with the world (you!) is pretty important too.  Just so you know, this is pretty much verbatim from my journal…I’ve only edited out the mis-spellings and some grammar to help it flow better.

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Wednesday, August 27, 2008

The future is now.  And here I am…8 months later and I’m still avoiding a decision.  Stay or Go?  I’m still in the holding pattern.  Probably the biggest, most in-your-face-reason why I avoid this journal.  Fear.

Fear of making a decision.  Fear of making the wrong decision.  Fear of making the right decision.  I never thought I feared change, but this change is so big and life-altering…the best kind of change out there, really.

Transformation lies ahead of me.  I worry.

I worry if “they” will accept my transformation.  I worry if I will be able to stay a good mother and a good wife.

It (this change) will set me free.  At least that’s what I’ve heard.  You know, from those countless intuitive/soul-searching books?  I am FREE.  Who says I can’t continue to live in abundance?

Source: mr-little.com on Pinterest

Sometimes letting go of things no longer needed is the best way to “have more”.  Be more.

I cleaned out half my clothes in my closet over the course of the past year.  Letting go is so invigorating.  But it is so hard to let go of my paycheck.  I feel silly and stupid and greedy all for the same reason.  I want to be with my babies.  I don’t want my parents to have such a major role in my daily/weekly life.  I don’t want to be stuck in the same dysfunctional parent-child relationship as an adult.  I want to feel like I am important.  I am a mother.  And a damn good one to boot.  My parents don’t really see me for who I am.

I want freedom.  But I fear that freedom I crave will imprison me in other ways.  Financial, and as a result, emotionally with Owen.  He says he supports me.  And I think that he really does.  I think that my fear is skewing my judgement, as fear so readily and easily does.  I want to jump down the rabbit hole.  I want to do so with wild abandonment –> I won’t look back.

Owen wants me to ask about a “leave of absence”.  And – really – it does make logical sense.  But emotionally, it is just a connection to the past.  Will it be a strong enough connection with the past to affect my life?  Hmmm….?  Hard to say, really.  I have learned through writing and reading and many serendipitous encounters that I have the sole key to my own happiness.  And I’m finally “getting it”.  Slowly (and sometimes in big waves and rushes of inspiration) I now SEE ME.  I honestly think I NEED to cut the ties of my job, my career.

All of this stuff that surrounds me…it’s just stuff.  My fear is just the “sad-bad-mad” little pill living inside my head.  It’s followed me from my past.  Sure, nothing’s perfect, but it seems like I have been choosing, searching for ways to wallow in pain and wallow in misery.  Seraching for reasons to feel more pitiful.  What a crock of crap!

I am truly blessed.  And I don’t need to find any missing pieces of my soul/my self in this life.  I AM WHOLE.  I was born WHOLE.  Just like D. and B. are whole, pure little souls.  I have that power within me.  I Am Free To Be Me.  I know that I am with who I need to be with on my journey.  Owen, D. and B.  We will travel this journey together.

Anyhow – I just want to purge – everything around me.  I know it doesn’t sound rational, but it’s just spilling out of me.  I want to be in nature.  The pressures of “having” can be overwhelming.  It takes up precious time and precious energy and precious, precious moments of bliss and love.

I don’t want to be so connected to the chaos of the internet and the TV. It’s addictive – and I feel the yearnings and cravings for my “fix” even while I am outside playing with my babies.  I don’t like it.  It makes me feel black and moldy on the inside.  It’s not real.

I want to feel real, present.  I want to feel invigorated.

I am ready to take the leap.  Right now.

I want to purge & release & change everything.

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It still took me another 6 months to finally cut the cord to my career.  My parents were watching my two kids during the two days each week that I was working, which I knew wasn’t healthy for any of us…but I just couldn’t put my finger on exactly why.  This  was written nearly 4 years ago, and it is amazing to me how much has changed since then.  Perhaps this entry was the catalyst for me to finally listen to my intuition and do what was right for me and my family?  

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When the inspiration for this blog came about in early Spring, I really had no idea where it was going to lead me.  I just knew that I needed an outlet for my writing, because keeping my words tucked away in my private journal just wasn’t feeling right for me anymore.

I came up with {gray daisies} for two reasons:

1.  Gray – because beige or neutral or plain didn’t sound quite right, and I was looking for an expressive word to define “the ordinary”.

2. Daisies – because they are my all-time favorite flower.

And there you have it  - {gray daisies} was born.

At that time, I had no idea what Borderline Personality Disorder was – in fact, I had never even heard of it.  Since then, I’ve only had a handful of counseling sessions, but coming to terms with being an adult child of a Borderline parent, well, it’s been interesting to say the least.

Probably the most interesting thing to me in the reading I have done is how BPD defines life only in black and white.  For those who suffer with this illness, there is no gray area.

It’s ironic to me that I chose to blog about how life is not black and white, and how there is so much gray area – months before actually talking to my counselor about my mother and my childhood.  My inner self knew, just as it always has. But, still,  I had to write it down for the world to see, to prove to myself that I wasn’t the crazy one.

Living a lifetime with a parent who sees everything as right or wrong, good or bad, black or white, etc. skewed my perceptions of this world.  While the gray area exists in abundance in my rational mind, my emotional mind still struggles with pushing everything into one tidy little category of “good’ or “bad”.  

{gray daisies} will not become exclusively about Borderline Personality Disorder, but I do plan on sharing bits and pieces of info and insight, as well as some of my childhood memoirs.  This is part of my little garden of truth…my truth.  And I look forward to sharing it with you.

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…you probably think this blog is about you.

Well, you’re wrong! It’s about me! (I’m the vain one here!)

Vanity & Aging.

It happens to the best of us. No matter how hard we try to defy time (and gravity!) our bodies insist of sagging and wrinkling and discoloring (age spots, gray hairs).

And I think it’s one of those things – like having kids – that you don’t fully understand until it happens to you. Until more recent years, I never really understood why women would spend hundreds of dollars on those anti-aging elixirs…or even cosmetic surgery!

I always thought I would “age gracefully” – which meant that I would look years younger than I actually was! But, today, at 36 years old, when I look in the mirror, or I see photos of myself, I think, “Who is that woman?!”

I don’t feel old…but I sure do look old!

I know that part of my problem stems from my tumultuous relationship with my own mother. Instead of seeing myself, I see my mom. Damn you, genetics! Don’t get me wrong, she is an attractive woman, but she’s the last person I want looking back at me in my mirror!

This aging thing feels like it just snuck up on me.  I was busy for the past 7 years being a wife and mother (I even juggled career for the first four years!) and unfortunately, I lost myself along the way.  Not entirely, mind you.  But I certainly lost the part that swore she would never “let herself go“.

I have let myself go.  I wear elastic waistbands (oh how I heart thee yoga pants!) 95% of the time…because they’re so comfy and I still have about 15 lbs of baby fat to lose (my baby is almost two now, so that baby fat excuse is getting pretty thin!).  I seldom wear makeup…and my freckles are starting to morph into age spots, not to mention the wrinkles around my eyes and forehead.   Can you say, “Laser surgery is my friend”?

I am fully aware of the “You’re only as old as you feel” adage.  And mentally, I am feeling better than I have in so, so long.  I am very grateful for that.  I do realize that maybe my outward appearance has slipped because I’ve been doing lots of restructuring and sorting out on the inside.  I also realize that I am certainly not alone in my wishful vanities and anti-aging battles.

I’m still me.  That mom-like person looking back at me in the mirror…that’s still me too.  I am a mom (but that does not mean that I am my mom).  Who I am on the outside is not nearly as important as who I am on the inside…but I have a sneaking suspicion now that my insides are humming along my outsides want some much needed (and missed!) attention!

 

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It seems a little shallow and silly to be talking so much about my outsides…but the outside and the inside both play a part in what makes me a whole person!  Society is so hypocritical – expecting supermodel beauty, but telling you how shameful vanity is!  Do you feel like your insides and outsides match/work together?  

Just Write is already in it’s 40th weekly installment…go read some more!

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