Many women worry they won’t make a great mother, but what about an overreactive, irritable, mean momster?
Criticized for not having “common sense,” I cried out, “I wasn’t born knowing fire burns!”
Fingers calloused from fact checking the frying pan when you said, “Don’t touch it. It’s hot.”
“I hope your child turns out just like you,” – Mom.
I studied psychology to try to save my mom and understand myself. I studied writing to explain what went wrong.
What would I have done with “a child like me”?
My best to inspire her; I would be the change I want to see rather than the reflection of hurt and carried sorrow.
I persevered, hoping to learn from life’s challenges.
I stayed alive to make a family.
I turned my emotionally traumatizing journey through invalidation into a plan to support my children’s education and life experience during their most difficult years.
My self-awareness about genetic predispositions toward mental illness helped me pick up on my kids’ sensitivities early.
Adolescence is to emotional development what teething is to babies. There are no breaks in parenting.
I didn’t read anything written by a successful survivor of borderline personality disorder (BPD) until Marsha Linehan published her memoir, “Building a Life Worth Living.”
She made a point in her life to adopt a child rather than risk passing on this personality affliction that so often ends with suicide.
I stayed alive because I knew what I wanted even when I knew something was wrong.
Though my BPD makes me emotionally explosive and easily wounded, I am living my life intentionally in the moment so that I can remind myself why I want to find peace and the ability to center myself in the most unstable situations.
This is my memoir about how I built my life worth living.
I don’t know of a memoir written about parenting from the perspective of someone with borderline personality disorder.
Most of the books I’ve seen have titles like, “How to deal with your psycho ex” or “Dear lord, my loved one has BPD. Help.”
Not a memoir about staying alive to make a mini me or two.
“What would you do with a child like you?” Mom asked and cursed upon me.
I accepted the challenge.
Momster is my fear of my worst self, who I’ve been fighting my entire life.