within a span of a few minutes, I became my dad and my son became me he rolls his eyes at me as I give him practical advice on buying a car is this place reputable? think of the interest rate how many miles are on it? He loses his patience and accuses me of hovering over him and for the first time I feel empathy and compassion for my dad Understanding that this parenting gig isn’t easy and no matter how grown your kids are It’s hard to let them go and live life according to their own terms
is it the gods of bpd and pmdd or the men in my life with 3 of swords energy making me extra hateful and moody today are my standards too high because I’m obsessed with conan gray, joji, and yung gravy and none of the men in my life seem to hold a flicker of a flame to the Gods of music I worship is is the gods of bpd and pmdd or my chronic pain making me a moody bitch today or is it me not being selective enough with who I’m allowing into my inner circle and allowing clowns to pollute my energy because lately my poetry isn’t hitting like it used to or maybe I just need to uninstall all of my social media apps, turn off my phone for a few days, and read books and listen to my vinyls to reset and recharge
I tell my son I’m proud of you and he’s like why, because I’m alive I nervously laugh even though my heart aches over what he said Why does America like to play Russian roulette with its children Why can’t I have a normal conversation with my kid over too much screen time and reminding him to brush his teeth instead of conversation over what he should do in a mass shooting
this time it hits too close to home this time it feels like a matter of when in America my children learn run, duck, and cover before learning to spell the word “Gun” but this is the deck of cards dealt to all of parents living in America safety in schools is an illusion long gone since the days of Columbine but with each massacre we all break a little more and our anxiety skyrockets even more the closer this epidemic gets to us this time I’ll hug my teenager as tightly as possible when he gets home, even as he rolls his eyes at me and says, “ew”this time I allow my fury and rage at this continued senseless violence to pour out of me and on paper collective and personal grief covers me accepting once again, no matter what I do or how hard I try or how much I love my child I can’t shelter him, I can’t protect him from the epidemic of violence in this country
there are days I don’t feel strong enough to be their mom maybe it’s insecurity that weighs heavily on me after every fight, after every conflict it was easier when they were small and I was their favorite person the one they ran to the moment I opened the door nowadays I work much and they have their own interests to have much to do with me nowadays they bring up grievances of everything I’ve done and am doing wrong is this karma for being a bad daughter to my mom is this karma for being selfish and self absorbed for a few years of their lives Who knows- maybe it’s not about being strong, being right, or being respected maybe it’s about them knowing they are loved
me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence accepting we were always meant to be friends no longer harboring resentment about our failed story of romance Focusing on the long road ahead of us Divorced and raising kids in a world full of oxymorons, in a world that will try to make them fit into unrealistic expectations of what it means to be human me and my ex drive towards the moon in silence putting away our differences and any conflicts And putting our childrens’ best interest first understanding they’re the best thing to come out of the failure of us
the freedom and independence in my son brings me a sense of pride with so much happiness I see his fiery spirit shine from within and his light is so bright- I know I’ve done something right he’s not afraid to take risks, he’s not afraid of failure He’s not afraid to be himself and I breathe a sense of relief he will not bear the sense of forced obligations or burden of expectations I had- instead he’ll make himself and his happiness a priority above all else while still caring for humanity it’s the beginning of breaking a generational curse of obedient and silent martyrdom that’s been inherited for generations
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
Around September,I started to logically understand how out of control my behavior was at times. The strange thing about it is it doesn’t feel like me when I’m acting that way. I’m a person who has always tried to have control over all aspects of my life. For example, when I was first diagnosed, I was naive enough to think that I could somehow “fast-track my healing” . I quickly learned that’s not how healing or therapy works. It didn’t matter how quickly I read my DBT workbook or did the exercises from there, how many poems I wrote about grief in one day, or how many healthy coping mechanisms I picked up along the way; healing and changing my behavior was going to take time and patience. I couldn’t speed up the process if I truly wanted to get better.
that DBT workbook I’ve started 5 times and I still can’t get past chapter 8-lol
I needed to learn to sit with my grief, anger, mania, self-hatred, and any other uncomfortable and painful emotions and learn a healthy way to process and cope with them instead of chasing it away with booze, sex, or binge shopping. It’s been hard to do, and I’ve stumbled along the way and have made many mistakes. One thing I’ve learned this year is that changing unhealthy patterns in my behavior had to be the most arduous and difficult work I’ve ever done. For example, maybe one day I’m feeling fat and ugly, the old me would have gone binge shopping on Amazon for a pretty dress or reached out to one of the casual Joes in my life for validation; the new and healthy version of me had to ask myself the whys of why I’m feeling fat and ugly and what triggered this reaction in me, do I need to write about it, what can I do to make myself feel better that doesn’t involved shopping or the validation from others? It’s way harder to face my insecurities head on than chase them away with a quick and temporary adrenaline rush or serotonin fix. Throughout all this it helped to have an incredible support system who gave me what I needed emotionally to process, grow and move forward in my journey. Part of that support system was my therapist who was kind, compassionate, knowledgeable, and patient with me. I was really tough to deal with at times and I wanted to break up with her at times cause she pushed me a lot when it came to my driving phobia. I remember having a panic attack in front of her because of a driving exposure but she calmed me down enough so I could do it. I got paranoid after thinking she would leave me but she didn’t. She stuck by me through the end of our therapy sessions in January of this year. The few times I’d missed a session, she would call me to check in and talk to me for at least 10 minutes to make sure I was okay. She was also respectful of me and my experiences. I’ve had therapists in the past who talked down to me and were condescending and she wasn’t one of them. People talk about finding “the one” at the “right time”; well in my case, I found the “right therapist” at the “right time” in my life. Here is a poem I wrote about her:
The Healer
From September to January, there was so much progress in my healing and mental health journey thanks to having the adequate resources and tools because of my therapist. I did beat a driving phobia (but that’s a story I’ll tell in depth later on) and I was free from suicidal ideation until May of this year. What was strange to me during these months was how I was learning to really live and enjoy my life. I remember that before my diagnosis, I’d get annoyed sometimes at having to spend time with my kids. During the months of September to December, something switched in me to have this new appreciation for motherhood and spending time with my children. My relationship with my three sons got better and I grew closer to them. I feel like I’m finally the mom my children deserve. Here is a poem I wrote about them:
My Three Kings
My first king, I met at 17 when the nurse placed an alien like being in my arms She was like “feed him” and I was like “how do I do that?” What should I do with him? Eventually I figured it out
My second king, I met at 24 as a birthday present, just like me he had to make a dramatic entrance but it was love at first sight No one could take him from my arms I knew what to do
My third king, I met at 30 He was a dream delivered After a dream lost the previous year He was planned, he was awaited, he was loved He was welcome by everyone with him, I felt a completion of love
1/24/2022
As I’ve also mentioned, my therapy sessions ended in January and after that I was on my own with my maintenance plan making sure I didn’t do anything to sabotage the progress I had made.
Video taken 1/5/22 and 1/16/22-during this time, I really started to thrive-it felt like years of progress within a span of 6 months
2012/2023 -Don’t let the world dim your spark kiddo
I wish I could live forever in this bliss a bliss where you’re still innocent a bliss where I keep you sheltered from this savage world but you’re growing up fast and I can’t keep you my little boy forever and the inevitable first heartbreaks and disappointments will happen- and while I’ll always be there to catch you after, and remind you of my mother’s love I also hope and pray to God you’re strong enough, you’re resilient enough, you’re brave enough to face whatever challenge and obstacle comes your way and I hope you’re full of compassion and kindness and don’t allow the cruelty of the world to ever dim your spark
I wrote this poem in June of 2022 inspired by my youngest son.
me and my youngest in April of this year
At Tae Kwon Do class my son kicks with a determined look on his face It’s strength and resilience inherited from me and his ancestors It’s a competitive spirit passed down generation after generation from people that had to fight to compete to survive and it fill me with excitement and pride because even at ten my son shows traits from his ancestral warriors
Happy Asian American and Pacific Islander Month! I wrote this poem inspired by my favorite Asian American, my oldest son.
me and my oldest in 1999
I was young and so stupid a kid having another kid but with you I grew up and learned the meaning of love you’re everything a mother could want a wonderful and amazing son and while I’ll feel some grief the day you’ll your spread wings I’ll feel a special kind of pride as I watch you shine your golden light
This was my response to prompt #7:Your Favorite Recipe
me and my boys on thanksgiving
4 cups of milk, two sticks of cinnamon 2 chocolate bars from Cuzco, a unhealthy and gluttonous amount of sugar I“ll bring it all to a boil with all the love in my heart to make Peruvian hot chocolate for my boys
I wrote this poem in 2004 about my oldest son. Even though, I was 17 when I had him, I always tried to be the best mother for him. I worked to support him since I was 18, he was one of my biggest motivations for going to college, and even though I was extremely insecure as a young mom, I learned to advocate and fight for him to get the services and therapies he needed when he was diagnosed with autism.
Life on the BPD 