From the moment I could understand love, I was taught that it had to be earned, not freely given. My mother, diagnosed but unwilling to accept her Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), lived in a world of emotional extremes: love and hate, tenderness and cruelty, all colliding in an unpredictable storm. And I was at the center of it.

What It Means to Be the Target

Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) is a mental health condition characterized by intense and unstable emotions, impulsive behaviors, and difficulty maintaining relationships. Those who suffer from it experience extreme emotional swings, impulsivity, and a deep need to control. When left untreated, their anger is spilled onto those closest to them.

In my mother’s world, I was the one who bore the weight of it all. One moment, I was her best friend; the next, I was the cause of all her suffering. A sigh, a moment of affection from my dad, a glimpse of independence, anything could set her off. And once it did, there was no predicting how fast, how intense, or how long her wrath would last.

She made me believe I was impossible to love. In fact, she told me that to love me unconditionally, she would have had to be God.

For years, I carried that belief, allowing it to shape my entire existence. I was convinced that love would always be painful and to be loved meant I must endure the suffering. That is why I swore I would never have children. I refused to bring a life into a world where love was something to fear. I believed the cycle of hurt was inevitable.

But God had other plans.

A Love That Changed Everything

The moment I became a mother, everything shifted. When I held my children for the first time, I experienced something I had never known before: 💗 unconditional love. Pure and overwhelming. For the first time, I understood that love was never meant to be earned through pain.

God gave me the most precious gift: my boys. They are living proof that the cycle of abuse ends with me. I made a choice, one my mother never did. Instead of passing down pain, I am passing down love, compassion, closeness, and grace. My children will never have to question if they are worthy of love. They know they are deeply and fiercely loved.

Breaking Free

Recently, I took the steps to free myself from the lie that love and pain must coexist. I stepped out of a love life that was defined by suffering and into a life that is all my own. One rooted in truth, in the words of our Heavenly Father and what He says about love. And He says I am loved. 

By opening my heart to the understanding that love is possible, I also recognize that I am not her.

I am my own person, with autonomy, and I do not have to take her or her words with me any longer. Although this journey has not been easy, there are moments when kindness and care still feel unfamiliar, even frightening. When someone cares for me without hurting me, it feels foreign. Sometimes, I slip back into old patterns, believing I must create suffering for myself if I want to receive love in any form.

But I am learning. Every day, it gets better. And I hold on to the hope that one day, I will experience love without fear and fully live in the glory of that truth.

Your Turn to Heal

Healing is a journey, not a destination. If this resonates with you, take a deep breath and ask yourself: What version of love were you taught that no longer serves you?

Your past does not define your future. You are worthy of a love that does not hurt. If you feel safe, share your thoughts below, or simply hold this truth close to your heart.

 ….

From the moment I entered this world, I was a mistake. A burden.
“Unwanted. Unloved.” These words became the silent echoes that shaped my existence.

My childhood is a scattered puzzle, pieces lost to time and secrecy. What I do know is that my biological father was a heroin addict, consumed by darkness, while my mother, battling her own demons, resented me. That resentment placed me in unsafe, traumatic situations, including time spent with my  biological father. Diagnosed with borderline personality disorder, though she never accepted it, my Mom’s struggles became the undercurrent of my life, pulling me into a chaos I could never escape.

To live without unconditional love is to move through life searching for something you have never known. Studies show that childhood trauma leaves lasting damage, making its victims more vulnerable to habitual abuse.

I am living proof of this truth.

Yet amid the instability, one person chose me: my Dad. Though my brothers carried his blood, he gave me a place in his heart. His love was the closest thing to unconditional that I had ever known, and for that, I am forever grateful.

But love, as I understood it, was always laced with pain. I learned that love and abuse were inseparable, that affection would always come with suffering. The idea that someone could love me without hurting me felt foreign, Impossible. That belief led me into relationships that mirrored my past. Repeated cycles of mistreatment, violence, and debilitating suffering. One relationship nearly ended my life. Deep down, I believed I was inherently flawed, destined for pain. The message ingrained in me for decades was clear: I was bad, and bad people deserved punishment. Forty-four years of abuse cemented that belief.

I live with C-PTSD, a diagnosis that explains my daily experiences but does little to ease the burden. Labels don’t erase the weight of what I’ve endured, nor do they undo the years of damage.

As if fate had not tested me enough, two car accidents left me with 30% permanent brain damage. For years, I was a shadow of myself, trapped inside a body that no longer functioned. Basic tasks like driving, cooking, reading, even standing, became impossible. My world shrank, my independence stripped away. Yet, within the wreckage of my mind, a single, thought emerged: “This can’t be the only purpose of my life. ” Driving became my focus. Not because I needed to go anywhere, but because it symbolized my fight to reclaim my life.

There have been so many moments when I should not have survived. Some, at my own hands.

And yet, here I am.

Every day, I wrestle with the same questions: Why? Why did I survive? Why was I born? Why am I still here? The battle within me is relentless, a constant pull between despair and purpose. I haven’t found a clear answer yet. Maybe I never will.

But perhaps the answer isn’t something grand or extraordinary. Maybe it’s something much simpler.

Maybe survival itself is the purpose. Maybe every scar, every hardship, and every moment I’ve endured exists for one reason: I am alive. And as long as I am alive, I have a chance to experience something lovely, something sweeter.

Perhaps my tomorrows will be filled with goodness, leaving despair where it belongs … in the past.

Maybe, just maybe, something beautiful still awaits us all.

Maybe that’s why I am still here.

An Invitation to Healing

Healing isn’t a destination … it’s a journey. What is one truth you are ready to embrace about yourself today? Whether you write it down, whisper it to yourself, or share it here, know that you are seen, and your story is far from over.