This will be my attempt to describe what my childhood looked like being raised by a mother with Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD). Part of why I’m doing this is because I want to open people up to different types of childhood experience. And, well, this was therapeutic for me to write out. This also gives people a little insight into why I am the way I am and why I expound the philosophy I do. I’m not looking for pity here.

For me, growing up with a mother who suffers from BPD, I have suffered through extreme neglect – physical, mental, emotional. A very strange form of neglect where you are actually very “close” with the parent.

I grew up in enmeshment with my mother, not with intimacy and connection. Enmeshment is a concept in psychology that describes a (typically) familial relationship where there are no boundaries, or, they’re very limited. Enmeshment is an extreme form of closeness between individuals. In children, this leads to a loss of autonomous development. The purpose of enmeshment is to create emotional power and control over the child. This tactic is so powerful that as a 33 year old who hasn’t had any contact with my perpetrator in over 2 years, I still suffer from emotional disregulation because of it. I’m toxically enmeshed with my mother in a way that she still exerts some level of control over me. At times, this makes me feel weak, sad, and hopeless.

She will provoke me to find my boundaries and then constantly push against them. Eventually just blowing over them, then coming back to a place where I was much further from before.  It’s completely draining to be in her presence. Every word she speaks, every move she makes, is an attempt at manipulating me for her own selfish needs. Looking back, I can honestly say that she has never engaged with me from a place of love – a place not selfishly motivated.

As far back as I can remember (3-4 yrs./old), my mother made it clear to me that she was burdened by being a mother. As a small child, I was shamed, punished, and criticized for being too needy or childlike. Punished in every way imaginable,  including cruel physical methods. Throwing whatever object she had close by at me, making me lay face down with my nose buried on a hard floor for extended periods, whipping me, and physically attacking my siblings while I helplessly watched. Also, regularly sleep depriving me by blasting music in the middle of the night, coming into my room waking me from my sleep, just to ransack the room and have me clean it all up while she berated me. Etc. Etc. Etc.
But to anyone who has ever suffered from physical abuse, we all know it’s typically nothing compared to the psychological abuse. Both of which are inextricably linked. The worst part was that her anger/rage and physical violence came with a smile. So I never really knew what to expect from her.

She simply used me for her narcissistic supply. I have always suffered from her “splitting” – cycles of idealization and devaluation. I would be the best son in the world at one moment, then the worst son in the next. Nothing I could ever do would please her, believe me, I’ve tried, I have given her so much. And I can honestly say with nothing in return. She has only ever taken from me, in the worst, most abhorrent ways.

My mother always wanted me for herself. Me having a girlfriend was always a problem for her. She would do anything she could to break us up. Including trying to turn my girlfriends against me (with some success). There were issues of seduction on her end – emotional incest that would occur – codependency, envy, and control. Emotional incest in this regard refers not to sexual incest (although there was also some of that), but it means that she emotionally treated me as a surrogate, husband like partner.
I was constantly judged, shamed, and controlled to feel like I was nothing… nothing without her. Yet, I still love her and, up until the last few years, would defend her.

In fact, she is still running a campaign against me, attempting to turn my entire family on me. Since I cut her off, I’m obviously the bad guy now. Even when I was her golden boy, very involved in her life, helping her with all her demands, she’d still badmouth me to my siblings and girlfriend.

She takes absolutely 0 responsibility for anything she has ever done. And that’s not an exaggeration. She has never admitted that she has done anything wrong at all to anyone in the family. Even though her abuses were so bad that my dad got full custody of 4 children and kicked her out of the house to the streets. Not only does she not take any responsibility, but she puts the blame on everyone else.

To maintain any form of relationship with her is to minimize and ignore any atrocity she has ever committed. And to allow her to constantly lie to your face. You have to live in her reality or you can not be in a relationship with her. Not without a lot of violence and conflict, then pretending like nothing happened. I will no longer pretend like nothing has happened. She rules with chaos. She will always win if you decide to engage with her.

I grew up very lost and confused. My emotional needs were completely neglected by my mother. I had to be the parent/caretaker for her. With only her chaos and complete unpredictability to mirror as I developed. I had low self-esteem, no sense of self, attention issues, anger problems, an inability to regulate emotions, trust issues, not feeling safe and comfortable in my skin, etc. I was never benevolently recognized for any of the good in me. Any good in me was only recognized by some form of punishment. I had to dim much of who I was, hide it from her, which meant hiding it from myself. Meaning showing no emotion to her – no fear, anger, happiness, no nothing. It would all only be used against me later. This is devastating to a developing child. Imagine all of this happening to a 4 year old, continuing into adulthood. Within the last few years as an adult, one of the hardest things for me to do in therapy was to look at pictures of myself at that age during the abuse… it still shakes me to my core.

The confusion I grew up with was the worst part of all of this. And not like a typical high schooler feeling lost and confused. Much deeper than that. It’s very hard to explain. I would have episodes of extreme anxiety that would verge on psychosis. Just totally losing myself and reality. Having nothing to ground me. Going to a really dark and numb place. Strobing white and black, but not the absence of light kind of black. A black void that sucks your soul out of your body, leaving you feeling less than human. Demons and possession are very real. This was all typically prompted by my mother’s brain washing – denying my reality, flipping it on me, and shoving it back into my face. I wouldn’t know which way is up or down. The most fundamental aspects of Being were just totally obliterated. Her manipulation worked…
And I do not use the term ‘brainwashing’ as a figure of speech. The techniques for brainwashing are simple: “isolate the victim, expose them to consistent messages, mix with sleep deprevation, add some form of abuse, get the person to doubt what they know and feel, keep them on their toes, wear them down, and stir well.”

Again, just imagine all of this happening to a 4-9 year old, a sweet little boy. I was shy, timid, non-social, did poorly in school, couldn’t focus on any task, and didn’t know how to connect with others. Not because that’s my proclivity, but because all of that, all of just being a little boy, was beaten out of me at every moment of my life. I didn’t know what feeling safe was. I was in a constant state of fight or flight during my development. To say that all had an effect on my development and becoming an adult is to almost say nothing.

She made me feel like everything bad about me is all my fault. That all the lies and hurtful things she has ever said about me (to me) are real and true. I was made to believe that at my core, I really am a bad child and that my mother is a good mom. I don’t think I need to get into all the details of how little self-worth you have when your mother hates you and acts that out. All the strength and resilience in me came from knowing I survived all of this. All my self-worth has been hard earned, nothing was given to me.

By now, I’ve worked through much of this. I see things more objectively. I know that I’m not crazy. I know that my feelings are valid. I know what the reality is.

These days, the confusion I suffered from is minimal. I know who I am, and I know that I’m not the person my mother made me out to be. Having people like my girlfriend and the fraternity reflecting this back to me has been vital to my growth. I no longer suffer like I used to. I’m no longer living in a constant state of fight or flight. But this has only been since I cut my mother off – as if she is dead – for the last couple of years.

All my anger and rage has turned more into guilt and grief. I still feel waves of guilt for having to completely cut my mother out of my life. I grieve and feel sadness for my mother because at the end of the day, she is deeply sick and hurting. I feel intense grief for the loss of a childhood I never had, I grieve for the hurt little boy in me, and I grieve for a mother that I’ve never had. I mourn her like I would as if she was dead, although she is not. I’ll never be completely “healed.” I’ll never be “over it.” But I am healing and will continue to. And I will continue to get through it and continue to live a rich, deep, and meaningful life.

Mike Tyson has said it best: “it’s never in the past.” Trauma is a lense that will forever color my world, relationships, and perceptions. But I find peace in knowing that I survived. And I will continue to be empowered by the choices I have made to pull myself out of the depths. I’ve stared into the abyss, met the devil at the crossroads, and carved out a new path to the light that was always buried within.