I want to start this post with assurances that the majority of what I have to say is positive, so I hope that this perspective can give some of you (people with BPD as well as loved ones) courage and love going forward.

I was raised, essentially, as an only child - my mother had two children from a previous marriage that were already adults when I was born.  Though she was never formally diagnosed (to be frank, I don't think this would have been possible for her, at least not in her short lifetime), I am very certain she had BPD.  She meets every criteria in the DSM.  Here's something I learned as an adult: other mothers did not take a thermos of vodka with them when they drove their kid to school every morning, nor did they drive with their knees while applying mascara.  Hey, I just enjoyed the Cyndi Lauper tape we listened to. :)

I absolutely grew up in a world of black and white.  I was always provided with everything I needed and more.  My mom showered me with so much love and affection, she spent weeks decorating and planning for all the holidays and my birthday.  Christmases were MA.GI.CAL., and all my friends were jealous of my landscape of presents.  She would take us on incredible vacations.  When things were good, I felt so loved and happy in my life.

There were a lot of dark times, too.  My parents had hours-long, blow-up fights at least once a week, sometimes more.  My mom threw a lot of accusations at my dad that were hard for me to understand as a child.  As I got older, these fights started to involve me too.  There were periods in my life when I was afraid to say or do anything, lest it be the wrong thing.  Threats were made, cops were called, and so on.  I'll spare you the details.

When I was 8, my mom was diagnosed with cancer.  The doctors gave her six months to live.  She ended up living six more years.  Her BPD had positive and negative interactions with this as well - because she was so concerned with how other people would see her, she hid her illness as much as possible.  I was forbidden to talk about it with anyone else, and she would not acknowledge or admit it to me.  In addition, the other people in my life (my father, my grown sister) were too scared of upsetting her to talk with me about it (I still resent them for this - they should have known better).  Some of the happiest periods of my life were actually when she was sickest, although I didn't know it at the time.  I think she felt guilty for "burdening" me with her illness and would try to make up for it by being extra caring and loving and giving.  Looking back I now realize how strange it is that I would wait until she was throwing up from chemo to ask her something or give her bad news because I knew that's when she would be the most likely to grant my request or handle the news calmly.  (I know, I'm cringing just writing that.)  I also think that she lived as long as she did partly because of denial and partly because of her sense of duty to me.  She fought tooth and nail with my sister to get her chemo even as she was days away from death in the hospice.

I'll fast forward a bit here.  She died when I was 14 and of course my world turned upside down.  Suddenly everyone in my life came out of the woodwork to tell me what was wrong with my mother.  My older sister and brother told me that she would physically abuse them all the time when they were younger.  My father told me all their sordid marital secrets that I really didn't need to hear.  I never experienced any of those things, and as painful as it was to hear, I just felt really grateful at how hard she worked to do things "right" with me (as much as she knew how).

And people told me that my mother wasn't capable of love, that all the things she did for me were basically like her playing dolls, just an act of fantasy or self-aggrandizement.

I struggled with this for a long time.  I struggled to make sense of the fact that despite all of my awful memories, I still feel incredibly blessed to have had the childhood I did.

As an adult, having experienced both a parent with BPD and an imposed distance from that parent (I might have different experiences if she were still involved in my life), **here are the reasons I am grateful for my mother being the person she was, including her BPD:**

* I have never known love like the kind she provided me.  It was deep and unconditional.  I was the world to her, and that has given me so much strength and courage going forward.  The people who questioned that love were wrong, and I feel sad that they didn't get a chance to experience how wonderful it was
* I learned a lot about emotional resilience and reflection from growing up with her.  Even as a child, even before she was sick, I was a remarkably in-tune little girl.  I understood what was going on around me.  I handle uncertainty and adapt to new situations very, very well.
* I've developed an incredible sense of empathy for people dealing with emotions that others might consider strange or unusual.  I have a much more nuanced approach to other people than I would have had otherwise.  And I learned how to handle my own strong emotions as well.
* On the other hand, I've developed an extremely strong will compared to most people I know.  Although my empathy and love for other people is extremely intense, so too is my determination to stand my ground and fight for what I believe in.  I think this came both from watching my mother do this and from learning to stand up to her.
* I've also developed a really dark but joyful sense of humor.  Even in the worst situations, I see light.  I remember one time when she was fuming at me for something, I giggled and said, "Mommy you look like a pirate when you're angry."  Something about that snapped her out of her anger and made her laugh as well.  That's something I'm really good at doing for people now.

***

I also just want to say that, of the posters I've seen on this forum and on Tumblr, people with BPD who are in treatment and take the time to write about their experiences seem to be some of the most emotionally deep, insightful, and empathetic people I've come across.  Although I don't have the disorder, I've experienced it firsthand, and dealing with the deaths two very close loved ones in my life has given me a deep understanding of the pain and fear of abandonment.  Additionally, my relationship with my father and stepmother after my mom's death gave me a really deep insight into feelings of being unwanted or misunderstood.  So I can say with all my heart that I know how incredibly frightening, stressful, and painful those emotions must be to deal with.  The fact that so many of you have come out the other side such strong, compassionate, and wise individuals is a testament to your character and the fact that your personality is not inherently a defect as some may claim, but rather with the right guidance and self-awareness provides a much-needed perspective and light to our society.

**TL;DR - Please don't be afraid that you will be unable to have loving romantic or family relationships.  Even though my mom was far from perfect, I wouldn't have traded her for anyone else.  And those of you who are trying to learn more about how to be the best versions of yourselves: you've already got my love and respect. &lt;3**