Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
My son holds the universe in his eyes with his potential, with his sense of wonder his eyes are not yet jaded by the inhumanity of this world and I dread when the day comes as his innocence starts to fade
In the beginning, it was just me and you – and it was hard making sense of being a mom the heavy weight of caring for another human felt like it was going to crush me at times and I tried my best with my lack of knowledge with my lack of judgment so your lullabies were the goo goo dolls and sugar ray and your bedtime stories were stephen king and cosmo the pediatrician did tell me to read to you- at 17, I thought he meant anything at 17, I was far from June Cleaver and I felt so inept at times and while other moms read parenting books on how to become mommy dearest I focused on school books to graduate from high school so we’d have a fighting chance so while you never had a typical mom you still lucked out with a mom who’ll always fill you up with love and strength a mom who’ll always have your back
mami cocoons me in her warmth, holds me carefully so I don’t break I’m her porcelain baby doll she nurses me back to health with devotion and dedication I’m a gift from the heavens- an unexpected surprise sent to complete our family and she doesn’t care if I came slightly damaged
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
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
My favorite words are my sons names names that taught me about patience and unconditional love names that have made me get up when I didn’t want to names that fill me with faith and hope when I’m about to lose it names that make me want to become a better person than I was yesterday names I live for names I would die for
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
Setting This takes place in a nice and clean kitchen and there is a refrigerator with pictures and Jason’s drawings and also a table.
LACIE enters following MARY into the kitchen door and sits down. LACIE puts her coat on the chair. LACIE is coming home from prison. LACIE walks with a slight limp and sits down.
LACIE: Damn, Mom, the kitchen looks a helluva lot different compared to the last time I was here. MARY: Well, I guess I forgot to mention to you. We renovated the kitchen last summer. LACIE: Well, I gotta tell ya , you really outdid yourself. MARY: Yeah, well with your dad’s new job, we’ve been able to do a lot of things around here we always wanted to do but never had the money to— LACIE: Wait, Dad got a new job? God, he’s been at Phillips Assembly for years, I thought he would stay there forever. MARY: Well, ya know we thought it was time for him to move on to something else…something where he could better our situation. LACIE: Still, Dad and change, you know damn well those are just two things that don’t go together.(Looks at fingernails and bites them.) So, where is he working? MARY: Dacute Enterprises. He’s an overseer for their assembly line.
(LACIE bursts out laughing.)
MARY: Hey, what’s so funny? LACIE: Who in their right mind would give a drunk a supervisory position?
(MARY frowns.)
MARY: Well, maybe things have changed more than ya think. LACIE: Whadda ya mean? MARY: You’ll see. So, how does it feel to finally be back home? LACIE: Pretty good. But damn, I didn’t imagine that so much shit would change ‘round here. MARY: Hey, watch your language around here!
LACIE: It didn’t bother ya before.
MARY: Well, we don’t talk that way no more.
(LACIE gives MARY a dismissive look.)
MARY: Ya know, for Jason’s sake.
LACIE: Okay, then.
MARY: So, ya hungry?
LACIE: Yeah.
MARY: Whadda ya feel like eating?
(MARY goes to the refrigerator and looks for something to cook.)
LACIE: Anything really.
MARY: Okay.
(MARY pulls out something to cooks fridge. LACIE looks at JASON’S artwork on
the side of the fridge.)
LACIE: So, these are Jason’s drawings?
(MARY closes fridge and looks proudly at artwork.)
MARY: Yeah, creative ain’t he?
LACIE: Yeah, I see that. I can’t wait ‘til he gets home. Me and him have lotsof catching up to do.
MARY: Don’t get so excited , we really do need to talk about—
LACIE: Later, I don’t feel up to listening to one of your talks…had to listen to enough of them when you use to visit me.
(MARY lets out a big sigh.)
MARY: Okay.
LACIE: So, when’s he coming home?
MARY: Well your dad shoulda picked him up from voice lessons ten minutes ago so they should be home maybe in 30 minutes.
LACIE: Voice lessons? What the….I mean, when did this happen?
MARY: Six months ago,the reverend at church heard him singing one day and thought he was pretty good and so he suggested voice lessons to fine tune his instrument, whateva that means. Your dad didn’t wanna let him at first, but Jason, as always, found a way to convince him.
LACIE: Church huh? Since, when did y’all start going to church?
MARY: Well…
LACIE: Ya know something; I need a beer about now.
(LACIE gets up and looks in the fridge for a beer.)
LACIE: Where does dad keep the beer nowadays? I can’t find it. MARY: Your dad doesn’t drink anymore.
(LACIE slams the refrigerator door and sits down.)
LACIE: What do you mean dad don’t drink no more? You gotta be joking right? MARY: Now why would I joke about something like that?
LACIE: He don’t drink no more? At all? MARY: Nope. It was one of the conditions the social worker gave us that your dad had to agree to so the state would let us have custody of Jason. I wanted him to tell you himself, but— LACIE: What the hell! I mean I know I’ve been gone for a while, but sheesh I expected at least a few things to stay the same. MARY: I thought you’d be happy your dad stopped drinking. I know it’s something you used to always whine about. LACIE: I know I did, it’s just that… MARY: What is it? LACIE: Never mind. Well, at least I can count on one thing and that’s finally getting to know my kid. I can’t wait to see him. I wonder if he’ll still remember me— MARY: We need to talk. LACIE: I told you, I don’t feel like— MARY: You just don’t know. There are some things that we’ve had to tell—
(DALE enters with JASON running. Jason notices Lacie and hides behind Mary’s chair.)
MARY: I wasn’t expecting y’all so soon. (Gives DALE an accusatory look.)A call sure would’ve been nice. DALE: Well, I didn’t expect J’s lesson to let out so early and since I was— JASON: Who’s that?
(Lacie approaches Jason slowly.)
LACIE: You should know who I am, now come over here and give your –
(Dale immediately gets in between Lacie and Jason and pulls Jason to him, faces him.)
MARY: Sister a big hug. Don’t ya remember we talked last week about a sister that might be coming to live with us? JASON: Oh! Now, I remember! The one living in…in (Jason starts scratching his head) DALE: Europe for the past six years. JASON: That’s right…Hey, I’m Jason
(Extends hand to LACIE, LACIE grabs him and hugs him, JASON is real uncomfortable. LACIE won’t let go of JASON, MARY goes and rescues JASON from LACIE’S grasp and pulls him towards her. LACIE’S eyes tear up.)
MARY: Jason, honey, why don’t you go wash up and go to your room for a little while your dad and I catch up with your sister. JASON: Okay, Mommy.
(JASON leaves, but looks back in kind of a weird way at LACIE.)
(LACIE stands there for a minute and then walks towards where JASON went, MARY stops her by grabbing her by the shoulders. They’re facing each other.)
MARY: Don’t! LACIE: Sister? Europe? What kinda lies have you been telling MY son? DALE: Keep your voice down, the boy will hear you.
(MARY motions for LACIE to sit down but LACIE won’t.)
MARY: Sit down, please, your dad and I need to explain a few things to you.
LACIE: Explain what? That you have basically stolen my son from me… YOU promised me he would know who I was once I got out. No fucking wonder you wouldn’t bring him to come visit me. I ain’t gonna listen to this shit.
(LACIE heads towards the door to get JASON but DALE stands in front of the door.)
LACIE: Get outta my way, you— DALE: Sit down and shut up and LISTEN to what me and your ma have to say if you care about Jason at all. LACIE: Shit! That’s funny coming from you considering all my life the only thing you ever cared about was your fucking Rolling Rock. I wouldn’t be in this fucking mess if you hadn’t been such a sorry-
(DALE slaps LACIE across the cheek, MARY pulls them apart, all three of them just stand there for a moment.)
LACIE: I don’t need this shit! I’m getting my son and leaving this hellhole! MARY: Please, Lacie, don’t be so damn stubborn and hear us out— LACIE: Why the hell should I?
(LACIE walks towards the door again.)
MARY: If you’re not a completely selfish bitch, you will-
(LACIE stops and faces MARY.)
LACIE: Selfish, like you should be one to fucking talk calling ME selfish when you’re the one who wouldn’t stop HIM(pointing to DALE) from beating the shit out of me when he— MARY: Just calm down and let me explain some things to you LACIE: I guess I’ll have to just so you leave me alone. (Crosses her arms with a scowl)
(MARY sits down.)
MARY: Okay, okay. When you had your little incident- LACIE: Damn, you make it sound like I tripped and fell or something. DALE: What your ma means is that when you were arrested, we found out all of a sudden you had a son. MARY: Yeah, you don’t think it took us by surprise? You were gone for two years and we looked everywhere for you— LACIE: And so because you’re pissed off at me, you decided to get back at me by telling MY son that you are his parents. MARY: When are you going to learn the whole world doesn’t revolve around you? What we did was out of love for our grandson. Now just listen…as I was saying we looked for you everywhere. DALE: And then the cops come up to the house one day and tell us you have killed your husband and if we could take our grandson in. MARY: A grandson that needed so much out of us and we had no choice and saw ourselves raising your son. DALE: We started to see things in a new way, ya know. MARY: All we wanted for him was to grow up with a normal family… so yeah for his well being…we told him we were his parents, and you were his sister. LACIE: I can’t believe you did this! DALE: What did you expect us to do? Tell him that his real mom was in jail for killing his father. LACIE: Oh and you think I killed him for fun or something, I had to kill that asshole to save both me and Jason…you don’t fucking understand…that sick bastard had already broken my leg and when I found him trying to mess with Jason…I knew I had to do something to save him from that monster and I didn’t care if I went to jail for it. DALE: What’s done is done, there’s no turning back. You can either stay here and live under these conditions or you can leave. LACIE: I can’t fucking believe this, Mom, I expected you out of all people to understand. Don’t you understand? Everything I did, I did it for him! MARY: I do understand but …you should understand, we were left with no other choice other than to do the right thing for him. LACIE: And that’s all you have to say! DALE: Like I said before, you can either live with this or you can go. LACIE: I guess I’ll just have to—
(A basketball bounces into the kitchen and JASON enters the room skipping looking for his ball.)
JASON: Just came to get my ball…
(Picks up basketball and holds it.)
MARY: What did I tell you about playing ball in the house? JASON: I’m sorry …won’t do it again…sheesh. LACIE: Hi… JASON: You okay? LACIE: Yeah, I’m fine…I’m just a little sad. JASON: Why LACIE: I have to make a choice about something important. JASON: Why? LACIE: Because I just have to. JASON: Um…okay. (gets his ball) I got an idea… maybe if you play some b-ball with me…you might feel better. LACIE: That’s actually not a bad idea.
I think the news of Heather Armstrong hit me hard because well, looking on the surface, her life seems almost idyllic. This is a rich white woman who has all of the resources at her disposal to help her get to a much healthier state with her mental health and I’m like WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED? WHAT THE FUCK WENT WRONG? While I could speculate why or how this happened, I won’t. What I will say is that nobody could possibly understand why she made that decision or how much suffering she was in. This made me reflect on my own journey with recovering from mental illness.
I have battled depression and anxiety since I was a teenager except I wasn’t formally diagnosed with it until after I had my third child in 2012. It’s been a not so well kept secret in my family that I continuously tried to mask to seem well, normal to everyone else. For years, I’ve mostly kept my depressive episodes to myself because more often than not when I’ve disclosed I’m depressed, I’m met with the comments: “You need to get over it , we have no time for this” or “Think about your kids” or “But you have SO MUCH to live for”. I know the people making those comments thought they were being helpful but all it did was drive me further into a spiral of shame for having no control over my brain chemistry and being depressed. It adds fire to the fuel of my inner critic who tells me during this episode, “let’s add being a failure as a mom to your thoughts about being a worthless and terrible human being”.
The Elephant
The sun is shining Everything is green and bright And yet winter feels eternal In my heart and my mind I feel a profound darkness that Seems to seep and ooze everywhere Inside of me Is this what true loneliness feels like? Will I ever get rid of what feels like my forever depression? Or do I just learn to live with the elephant that lives on my chest? That I try desperately not to wake it up Writing, exercise, friends, tv- Everything to keep it calm But no matter what The elephant always seems To wake up
In a lot of my poetry, I’ve talked about the impossible pressure I’ve had to deal with in being a mother but I don’t think I talk enough about how this was modeled for me growing up. Growing up, I saw my mother as this larger than life woman who constantly worked hard and sacrificed for her family. She worked countless hours to provide for us. She was this superwoman who at one point had 3 jobs and still managed to keep a clean house and cook dinner. I remember her sleeping a couple hours after she got home from an overnight shift at her job and waking up to walk me to school in the morning. Throughout my childhood and adolescence, I never saw my mom breakdown or cry.
me and my mami is 1988 when she was busy being superwoman
The message I received and perceived was one that in order to be a good mother, you have to be this superwoman who balances everything perfectly all the time. Being a good mother also meant being strong and resilient and if needed it was necessary to suppress emotions to continue to function. When I became a mother at 17, I had these unrealistic expectations of motherhood that I wanted to attain. And we wonder why I ended up with a diagnosis of BPD-lol. Honestly, while I’ve healed a lot from my past, I feel like it’s still necessary to share it because this isn’t just my story. It’s the story of other mothers who are still ashamed about having a mental illness and more often than not, don’t seek help and mask, mask, mask until they explode.
me with my oldest when I was 18
I’ve often talked about how my children are one of my greatest motivators for continuing to move forward with my life, to try to continue with my self improvement; but what I have failed to talk about is how my children are a major source of guilt while I’m in a major depressive episode. If I had to be honest with myself and everyone else, when I’ve been in that really dark place with my depression, I’ve had thoughts about how maybe my kids would be better off without me, how my kids deserve a better mother than me.I’m coming from a very vulnerable place talking about this. I also want to add that I haven’t been in this dark place with these thoughts since 2021. It is a fucking scary place to be in and it’s something I would never wish upon my worst enemy. Thankfully, I have always been able to pull myself out of this headspace and seek help if I need to. However, once I start to get out of this head space, guilt over how selfish I was for not thinking about kids hits me and ooof I’m off to a shame spiral that almost loops back around to another depressive episode but nowadays I’m able to get a better handle on it. In January of this year, when I had another major depressive episode, my worst thought was, “I don’t think I’m doing enough to improve the lives of me and children ” which is irrational for many reasons. Anyways, I decided then and there that I needed to go back to therapy. It was hard to make that decision but in order to prevent my depression from getting worse; it was necessary. Some part of me felt like a failure because of how many healthy coping mechanisms I have now, how much emotional support I have from family and friends, and how much therapy I’ve had; I felt like I should be able to get this on my own. However, I’d rather be safe than sorry and get the extra guidance and help I need so I can get through this depressive episode before it gets worse. It hasn’t always been this way for me. For several years, I thought that the brave thing to do was to suffer in silence and try to get through my depression on my own. Journaling consistently since 2019 has helped me get through the worst of it but looking back on those journal entries, I’m filled with grief for the version of me who thought strength and being brave meant keeping it all in. I’m filled with grief at the version of me holding it together trying to balance it all and functioning at work when inside all I wanted to do was die or disappear. However, I hold compassion for that woman because she was doing what she knew best to survive. And sure at times that looked messy and unhealthy but at the end of day what matters is that I’m still here. Here’s a poem I wrote about my depression in 2020:
Darkness
The Darkness comes back with a fierce strength and takes over my mind I want to run I want to hide But most of all I want to die
The Darkness comes back like a hurricane and wrecks my body and mind and I don’t want to work and I don’t want to talk and I don’t want to breathe
The Darkness comes back and not even the promise of love keeps it away
Fortunately for me, I learned to work through my feelings of shame in getting the help I needed to get better. My mental health improved drastically after getting a BPD diagnosis and here’s the post about that:
I’m very fortunate that my meds, my therapy, and the strict routine and consistency I now have in my life has improved my mental health so much, my depressive episode and low moods are milder and my quality of life has gotten so much better. I know that even in 2023,there is still so much pressure on mothers to be superwomen, to be “brave” and fight their battles alone but it doesn’t have to be this way. I hope that any mother out there struggling with depression/mental illness who might happen upon my blog post understands that they don’t have to fight this battle alone. In this journey, it is important to understand that being brave can also be taking the first step to seeking out the help you need to get healthier. I’m lucky to have found my own village ( my support system, my therapists, my writing community) to improve the quality of my life; my hope is that other mothers find their own village as well to lead healthier and happier lives.
me and my youngest in May of this year-I’m way more present in and my other sons lives after getting the help I needed
I want to end this post with a poem I wrote in February of this year:
The Finish Line
I have yet to cross the finish line of my uprising, my marathon of healing- Sometimes I stumble and fall for a few days, a few weeks. a month when life gets overwhelming I dissociate and drive around aimlessly Forget about all the progress I made- but always get up and do the best I can Sometimes I mask well enough to fool the people in my life Sometimes, it’s not enough and they start asking what’s wrong but somehow I always manage to get back to a place where I move forward and evolve- listen to my therapist- healing isn’t linear-healing is messy and just because I stumble sometimes, it doesn’t mean I can’t cross the finish line
Below are some resources that helped me along my journey:
this was incredible helpful in explaining how unhealed trauma affected me
this book helped explain how ACE (adverse childhood experiences) are linked to different kinds of diseases
this memoir was the first that really gave me hope that I could recover from BPD
if you’re Latine/Latinx, I highly recommend this book, it validated a lot of experience as an immigrant woman and some of the racial trauma I experienced
DBT Therapy has been instrumental in my recovery
Back from the Borderline podcast episodes that have really helped me
One thing I want to add about the above resources I have shared is that I take notes from the books/podcast episodes . I jot down certain phrases, concepts, or quotes that resonate with me and/or I find helpful. I take notes on sticky notes and have a notebook where I taped them later in a notebook where I write about it as to why I related to it or why it was helpful. This method of mine works for me in finding understanding the book better or validating my experience. You don’t have to do this at all, of course. It’s just what I found helpful. Also, if you want more books or resources, feel free to contact me:
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
I wrote this poem in October of 2022 inspired by my middle son.
me and my middle child in March of 2022
Me and my teenage son fight and I regret it the next day I’ve watched too many people mourn their sons this year I’ve felt the screams of those close to me asking God why he took their babies too young Young men who will never be fathers, Young men who will never see their children grow up into rebellious and sassy teens and while I understand conflicts happens between parent and child I also know we’re both on borrowed time and I don’t want our angry words to be the last exchange between us if its his or my last day today
Life on the BPD 