This guest post is by a man whose mother has borderline personality disorder.
They say that helpless and powerless people most readily believe in magic. I suppose that since my Mom had borderline personality disorder, it was inevitable I would believe in magic. Well, at least that I would fervently hope for it to exit.
Chaos reigned in my home, and mom held those reins. She could, in a moment, change a calm afternoon to an out-of-control ride through an emotional tornado. It was odd: while she was always the “victim,“ she was also the one who would push the limits until a casual comment from my father, myself or my brothers triggered a full-blown screaming match. Mom skillfully moved from a screaming harpy--antagonizing my dad, hurling insults--to a weeping victim, making excuses, deflecting blame, or wearing a martyr’s robe.
As for me, I was the wizard: I practiced magic.My first magic trick was to become invisible. It was not so hard, once I understood how. First, I must never make eye contact with my parents. If I did, I might become an object of their anger, or worse, a lifeline for Mom to draw on for sympathy. I did not have enough emotional strength to supply what she needed, so I had to avoid her.
My second magic trick was asking for nothing. Asking for food, for example, could land me in the middle of my father’s side or my mother’s side. So I just pretended to be deaf while the funnel swirled.
By biggest magic trip was becoming invisible and motionless, not moving until the storm was over. Never mind needing the bathroom--don’t move no matter what. Nothing was as important as keeping the magic alive. I could wait to pee, not matter how painful. If there were something I wanted, it would just have to wait. But if I moved, I’d be noticed and that would break the spell. Then the storm would take me.
Next, as a good wizard, I must solve the problem to prevent another storm. Was this storm because Mom would only clean the house or do the laundry after a huge fight over the filth? Ah, my magic must be some fairy being who will swoop in, clean, and wash. He must not let Mom see him, because then she will turn on the guilt that she was “just about to do it, and you are doing this just to make me feel bad.” Just like when I did it myself.
Perhaps the problem was Mom’s out of control spending. Then my magic would cause all the things she wanted to appear in the driveway so she wouldn’t spend so much money to get them. Whatever part of her behavior caused the next argument, or she would spend the day in bed crying, or smother me looking for comfort, I had to fix it. No one else would fix it, so I must.
But eventually, I realized I was unable to fix her problems. I had to rely on magic, because it was all I had. But of course, the magic never worked either.
All I really knew was that when Mom was around, I would hear fights, tears cursing hurt feelings, or anger. After a while, I was not so fussy. I didn’t really expect happy anymore. However, I would be delighted with just one day of calm. I no longer expected a Mom who would love and nurture me. I would just be happy with one who did not insist that a 10-year-old provide that support for her.
And then I grew up.When I first tried as an adult to solve my intolerable relationship with Mom, I would indulge in “thinking the magic back." When I came to understand that the emotional whirlwind that was my Mom had a real definition, I wanted that special magic that would fix things. I wanted a Mom who would love me, nurture me, support me, cheer for me, and be proud of who I am. Is that such an extravagant thing? Isn’t that what most people get from their mother?
My magic as an adult was much more credible and seductive than the childhood fantasies. It all seemed extraordinarily reasonable.
Perhaps, I think, if I tell my mother what the problem is she will magically wake up and go get help. Surely, she will see that her behaviors are destructive. Any reasonable person would want to stop the string of broken relationships that punctuate her life. If I tell her, she will realize how much she is the problem and want to stop.Or perhaps not. Maybe she will blame everyone else for betraying her when she needed them. Perhaps she will blame me for saying such an awful thing about her. She may play the victim and tell me how much she fears mental illness, and that my words just made it that much worse. It could be that by trying the magic of telling her she needs help, she will somehow make her problems all my fault.
These magic thoughts are all such attractive fantasies. I really want so much for one of them to be true in the real world. I want her to stop acting as she does and to love me as a son, not as her made up ideal that is always falling short and bearing blame for hurting her each time.
But the magic is not there. She doesn’t need magic. Indeed, she practices her own version of it. Everyone is either a villain or a hero. All her memories make her either a hero or a victim. No one good ever disapproves of her. No one who disapproves of her is ever good. She doesn’t need magic, she has plenty and to spare.
Perhaps that is why magical thinking is so tempting a refuge for me as the adult child of a borderline mother. I bathed in her magical thinking all my life. The thing that might truly change her is acceptance of her condition, and hard and painful work to manage it.
Everyday Magic: My Life TodayBut there is some simple, everyday magic in the world. Ask every gardener who plants a seed in the spring. There is simple, everyday magic that can work on me. I did not get to choose having an emotionally warped, personality disordered mom. I cannot make choices for her, but I can make some choices for myself.
I can permit myself to do what I need to do for an emotionally healthy life, even if that means becoming the adult to our mom’s child and setting boundaries and consequences. I can, if I must, consider myself an orphan of her disease. I can grieve the sadness that involves. But, just like a war orphan, I can heal from the grief and go on to live a happy, healthy life, despite my loss.
A happy, laughing child, who lost his parents years before, has now claimed his share of happiness from life. It’s a special kind of everyday magic. That magic is real. That magic, I can claim. That magic can heal.
You've been taken by the wind
You have known the kiss of sorrows
Doors that would not take you in
Outcast and a stranger
You have come by way of sorrow, you have come by way of tears
But you'll reach your destiny meant to find you all these years
Meant to find you all these years