To raise my children with empathy and respect for humanity is hard in times like these in times when everyone is selfish and individuality is praised In times when showing emotions is seen as week and there is still a stigma about seeking therapy but somehow, my firstborn got the message that money and selfishness are not everything and that finding empathy and compassion for his fellow humans is much more valuable than the idea of individualism and materialism society tries to sell him
An item of my youth I was incredibly attached to was my doll Dandee. I actually had two of these dolls given to me as a young child. The first Dandee was given to me by my aunt shortly after me and my family immigrated to the states when I was 5. This was in 1986. What happened to the first Dandee? Well, it’s a sad story of trauma. When me and my family first moved to the states, we moved into the apartment next to my aunt C and her family. The living situation there was not ideal. Actually that’s the understatement of the year. Here’s a poem I wrote about her:
Anyways my aunt C owned the apartment we were renting so she was our landlord. She was also the one who was giving sponsorship for our green card. At the time we immigrated, we had done so four years earlier than we were supposed to so we lived undocumented for four years. So my Aunt C took advantage of the situation because A) with a call to immigration she could deport all of us back to Peru and B) she was our landlord so she also held control and power over where we lived. It was a terrible situation. Aunt C had a massive 3 year old son J. He was probably one of the most terrible toddlers I’ve ever encountered. Aunt C would not control him and when he would bully me, either hit me or take away my toys, Aunt C would say, “dejalo, es chiquito” which basically translates to “allow him to do whatever because he’s small”. It was hard for my mom to say anything to her or protect me because of the living situation we were in with Aunt C. The best she could do was take me somewhere else. Shortly after Dandee was given to me, he became my most favorite toy in the world. He was given to me by my favorite Aunt Luz. That toy went with me everywhere. However, one day, Dandee was taken away from me by my cousin J, and he wouldn’t give him back. My aunt didn’t do anything to remedy the situation. According to my mom, this broke my little 5 year old spirit and I was inconsolable and cried and cried for days. My papi was upset that my mom wouldn’t say anything to Aunt C. He hated to see me cry every day for that damn doll so even though they really couldn’t afford it (it was an expensive doll), papi went to the toy store and bought a brand new Dandee for me. I was a happy child again taking that doll everywhere with me. Playing with him and my imaginary friend Calincha. Anyways, a few months went by and I was at my aunt C’s house with my mom. I was playing with Dandee and my cousin J came up to me and started trying to take the doll away from me. The adults weren’t doing anything and I got angry. My five year old self could not take the bullying from J anymore and was not going to allow him to take my doll away from me so I punched him and he fell to the floor. I wasn’t punished for it and went back to playing with my doll. My mom tells me that her and my aunt C were surprised by what I did and had no idea until that point that I had a temper. I was always such an obedient and quiet child, it was shocking to them that I had it in me to fight back. Needless to say, my cousin J never messed with me after that day.
So fast forward to 37 years later, that Dandee sits in my bookcase in my room next to the baby Yoda I bought for my youngest son a few years ago (that he didn’t want anyways cause it looked creepy). When I look at Dandee, I’m reminded of my fierce and fiery spirit at 5 years old that I’ve carried with me since then. When I told my sons the story of Dandee, my oldest son said, “Dandee carries your 5 year old warrior girl spirit” and that felt empowering to me. Dandee taught me a lesson in how to take my power back from a situation I thought I had no power or control in.
It’s been 4 years since I took an oath to become an American citizen. I took an oath specifically to Trump which makes me nauseous typing BUT I also took an oath because of Trump. Before making the decision to become an American citizen, I had never really cared about politics but that was until Trump got elected. If you were a POC or immigrant or both, you felt the shift in the racial tension in the U.S right before the election but especially after the election. Racists overtly made their ignorant beliefs known that immigrants were not welcomed in this country. DACA was in the process of being repealed. DACAmented kids who should have been protected were being deported and there was a rise in deportation for undocumented immigrants as well or well the media made it seem like that. I felt that as an immigrant with LPR (legal permanent resident) status, I could possibly be next. In February of 2016, I sent my paperwork to USCIS to solidify my relationship with America. One could say that for better or worse, I finally decided to make a commitment to this country. Here is my blog post about the process:
What has changed in the past 4 years since becoming an American and what does being American mean to me now?
Well, I’ve voted in 2 elections since I’ve become an American including the national election in 2020 (yay, no more Trump). In October of this year, I applied for my passport and have received it. Now, I can take a trip out of the country without any worries or concerns. While it is an immense privilege to be an American citizen since I now have a whole new world of opportunities opened up and I can travel anywhere; I feel that I haven’t really changed on the inside. I still see myself and identify as an immigrant but now I also call myself an American. But to be honest, my idea of being an American has changed. I used to think I needed a piece of paper to say “Oh, I’m American” but for better or worse, America is and has been ingrained in me since that hot September day in 1986 when I set my foot on American soil at the age of 5.
I was an American when every morning at school I would say the Pledge of Allegiance in my broken and terrible English at the age of 6 and 7.
me in 1987
I was an American when I went back to Peru at age 9 to get my resident alien status solidified with my family.
me at age 9 in Peru during my trip with my family to get our LPR status
I was an American when I met my childhood best friends in Hawaii at age 11.
me with one of my childhood best friends from Hawaii
I was an American when I had my babies at ages 17, 24, and 30.
me with my three kids right after their births
I was American when I started working for the government at the age of 18.
me at the age of 18 in 1999 working for the government
I was an American when I got my college degree in 2009 from the University of Georgia .
me in 2009 with my parents at my graduation from college
I was an American in 2016 and early 2017 when I attended protests and marches for immigrant and women’s rights.
me in January of 2017 at the Women’s March in Washington D.C
And I was an American when people told me, “my english is good for being a Mexican” or I’ve been discriminated against or oppressed in this country by the people that don’t want “my kind” here.
I used to believe that I didn’t belong here because of the racism, prejudice, and ignorance I’ve encountered but that’s no longer the case. This year, I finally let go of those beliefs because I’ve embraced that I am America and America is me. My life may have been harder in many aspects because I wasn’t the average “American born” citizen but I will tell you that I wouldn’t trade my experience as an American to be average. I I feel that working harder than the “average American” for my success has made me appreciate my success so much more and for that I am thankful. My parents had no idea of the many hardships they would endure making the decision to immigrate to this country but I am glad they made that journey. It’s taken me 35 years to get here but today I can honestly say that I’m proud to be an American.
me in November of 2021 telling my crazy story about being an essential worker
my aunt treated us like we were inferior and subhuman constantly pointing out our flaws with subtle sarcasm putting pressure on my mom to choose her over us insulting my father or sister what about us made her project her insecurities Was it my dad’s intelligence or my sister’s beauty? or maybe she really hated my mom for having everything she didn’t have a loving and doting husband and all healthy children What made us a target for my aunt’s abuse?
in first grade, I learned to be ashamed and embarrassed of who I was, and where I came from maybe the nuns were ignorant of the damage they were doing and since that time I’ve had identity issues for years, i gave up my language and my heritage in order to fit in- to have proximity to being an American but all it did was fuck up my identity and while I have forgiven the nuns for the damage done I have a hard time finding compassion for myself I have a hard time letting go the guilt For the pain I caused my family I have a hard time understanding I was just a kid desperately trying to fit in, to belong, to be accepted to conform of the standards of being American society fed me
Quiero lo mejor para ti-porque te lo mereces, porque tu no pediste ser parte de este mundo pero la sigo regando con mis decisiones impulsivas con mis estupideces y no se como voy a salir de esta última atrocidad cometida que afectará el futuro de los dos
I no longer believe in always and forever because everyone I’ve loved has always left Or I’ve stopped loving them always and forever is a fairytale programmed into me when I was a young girl It made me believe in the impossible dreams of true love and soul mates the only thing love has ever brought me has been anger, sorrow, and self destruction so my dreams of always and forever have burned to ashes I bury in my poetry
To my sons, when I leave the earth Remember I am with you always I am in my oldest son’s resilience I am in my middle son’s dark humor I am in my youngest son’s bright energy I exist in your laughter, in your cries, in your failures, in your wins I am and always will be with you
stuck between two divas-I was never meant to stand out my older sister shouted cries of continued injustice my younger sister just cried over any little thing my parents tried their best to give us individual attention but sometimes I got left behind between the shuffle of my sisters’ hysterics and while I hold no ill will towards my sisters or my parents I wonder what my life would have been life if I had been the first or last born
It’s been 2 years since my BPD diagnosis and some things have changed, some things have remained the same. I still have the same two jobs and still adhere to my strict routine of consistency and routine with exercise, writing, and therapy. I’m still on the same meds for my anxiety and depression. All of that has helped with my continued progress and growth. And I still continue to suffer from major depressive episodes but it’s not as bad as it used to be and here’s a blog I wrote about it recently:
What has changed overall has been me. I remember last year writing about how I was living an authentic life and while that was mostly true, there was still something I had to take care of to make this true, my divorce and telling my youngest son about it. I went back to therapy to navigate these big feelings in actually starting the process and following through and telling my youngest son about it. I’m glad to report, I filed for divorce a couple of months ago and told my son who took it better than I expected. After this, I felt like this major burden of guilt and grief has been lifted off from me. It was hard, really hard to have lied about this part of my life for the past four years to my son and to other family members. Three of those years, I felt like I was leading a double life as I had to be careful not to let one part of my life bleed into the other. It was awful and reflecting back on this, I think this was a major trigger for my mental health breakdown in the summer of 2021. Feeling guilt and shame with the immensity of emotions that comes with BPD is horrible and something I would never wish on my worst enemy.
me and my youngest son on his birthday
Another major thing that happened in year 2 is that I took two trips to my homeland, Peru. The first one was in September of 2022 and the second one was in March of this year. Both times I went, it was amazing and the first trip helped me reconnect with my roots and find a sense of identity I had been searching for all of this time. I hadn’t been back since I was 9 so it had been 32 years since I had been home. It was strange, glorious, amazing and overwhelming at the same time. It felt like I finally found a piece within me that had been missing all of this time.
Finally home after 32 years -September of 2022
The second trip was even better because I took my oldest son who hadn’t been on a plane since he was an infant and we got to visit my dad’s hometown of Oxapampa. I think I’m still processing that trip because it was so special and meaningful to take my son to Peru and show him his and my roots. I’m honestly still processing both trips and I’ll write about both of them later. What I can say is that both trips helped in my healing and recovery process from my BPD symptoms. Before, I was still floundering when it came to trying to establish a stable identity. That changed radically after I came back from my first trip.
me and my oldest son in Oxapampa, Peru in April of this year-the beer in Oxapampa is the BEST EVER-anything else is MID
It was April of 1996 and I had just broken up with my boyfriend of 3 months after he had grown distant from me. I was in a world of despair and teenage angst and longed to no longer exist. I was feeling this rush of intense sadness as I was walking home from school. I looked at the cars on the street and thought about how easy it would be to end my sadness if I got run over by one. As I was alone in my thoughts, I stopped paying attention as I crossed the street and wasn’t aware that a car was coming. It stopped within inches of hitting me and the driver honked at me and yelled at me. I continued to walk in shock of what had just happened. I didn’t know then but I would be walking into many more BPD episodes like this one.
Fast forward to the summer of 2021 and I’m 40, the mother of 3 kids, work 2 jobs, and have a complicated love life. I decide to go back to therapy due to some recent trauma and driving anxiety. I do a 3 hour assessment and when the feedback comes back, it’s there on my concept map: I have Borderline Personality Disorder. I expected the driving phobia but the new diagnosis of Borderline Personality Disorder was definitely unexpected.
What is Borderline Personality Disorder?
According to Mayo Clinic, “Borderline Personality Disorder or BPD is amental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes self-image issues, difficulty managing emotions and behavior, and a pattern of unstable relationships.“
What are the signs and symptoms?
An intense fear of abandonment, even going to extreme measures to avoid real or imagined separation or rejection
A pattern of unstable intense relationships, such as idealizing someone one moment and then suddenly believing the person doesn’t care enough or is cruel
Rapid changes in self-identity and self-image that include shifting goals and values, and seeing yourself as bad or as if you don’t exist at all
Periods of stress-related paranoia and loss of contact with reality, lasting from a few minutes to a few hours
Impulsive and risky behavior, such as gambling, reckless driving, unsafe sex, spending sprees, binge eating or drug abuse, or sabotaging success by suddenly quitting a good job or ending a positive relationship
Suicidal threats or behavior or self-injury, often in response to fear of separation or rejection
Wide mood swings lasting from a few hours to a few days, which can include intense happiness, irritability, shame or anxiety
Ongoing feelings of emptiness
Inappropriate, intense anger, such as frequently losing your temper, being sarcastic or bitter, or having physical fights
Causes for Borderline Personality Disorder:
Genetics. Some studies of twins and families suggest that personality disorders may be inherited or strongly associated with other mental health disorders among family members.
Brain abnormalities. Some research has shown changes in certain areas of the brain involved in emotion regulation, impulsivity and aggression. In addition, certain brain chemicals that help regulate mood, such as serotonin, may not function properly.
Risk Factors include:
Hereditary predisposition. You may be at a higher risk if a close relative — your mother, father, brother or sister — has the same or a similar disorder.
Stressful childhood. Many people with the disorder report being sexually or physically abused or neglected during childhood. Some people have lost or were separated from a parent or close caregiver when they were young or had parents or caregivers with substance misuse or other mental health issues. Others have been exposed to hostile conflict and unstable family relationships.
Learning about this disorder has been overwhelming and also life changing. Some of my friends didn’t think it was possible for me to have BPD because I’m too nice. I was also kind of in denial at first until I did the research and thought damn, my life finally makes sense to me. I’ve been coping with intense emotions since I could remember and have a pattern of risky and impulsive behavior and sometimes self sabotaging my own success and romantic relationships. One minute my mood can shift from happy and joyful to full on anger and sadness if I am triggered by feelings of rejection, abandonment, being criticized or judged. I also have a tendency to villainize people if I feel threatened by them. Also, when I feel like my life is “too normal” or “too boring”, I seek out an adrenaline rush and create chaos.
Throughout the years, I’ve leaned some healthy coping mechanisms like journaling, writing poetry or blogging, exercising, mediocre dancing and singing. I’ve also had some unhealthy mechanism like drinking, binge shopping, binge eating, having sex for only validation purposes. I’d like to think that I’ve gotten better with time because I’ve become more self aware of myself and my need to survive not only for my myself but also for my kids.
I’m hopeful that with this new diagnosis of BPD and therapy, I’ve have way better coping mechanisms to become a better version of myself. I’m hopeful that going on this new journey, I’ll not only be surviving but I’ll be thriving. I also hope that I heal the girl in the picture above who was a teenager trying to find love for within the arms of a any dude because she didn’t know how to love herself.
I wrote this poem in February of this year inspired by my oldest son.
me and my oldest son in March of this year
the guilt visits me over the mother I should have been I should have been older, wiser, married but instead you ended up with an immature teen mom who read you Stephen King instead of fairy tales who played you Matchbox Twenty instead of lullabies who wore you on my hip like a new fashion accessory who missed the signs early on that you were different because I was too self absorbed looking for love but what’s done can’t be undone- I hope one day you understand I did the best I could with what I had
Life on the BPD 