19. Truth-Tellers

Truth-Tellers

M ara

I welcomed the quiet weekend after the ugly confrontation with my mother, Olivia’s string of meltdowns, and telling Zale about my diagnosis. Thankfully, the beginning of the week was routine, and now Olivia was at the shelter with Bex. I sat waiting for my name to be called for my first therapy appointment.

I was the only person waiting. Even though no one else was in the waiting room, l felt exposed. Exposed because I was a bunny boiler.

I was a member of the sorority of the dreaded mental health disorders, and not one of the more acceptable ones. Not that any are particularly welcome. No one wants to battle depression or anxiety, but there were a few that caused shudders, courted revulsion and even fear, and that was my crew. Mine and my mother’s, apparently.

I was ashamed. Full of it. Shame that burned in my cheeks before we’d even gotten started. At least I had my night away with Zale to look forward to.

“Mara?”

I looked up, startled out of my thoughts. “Yes!” I did a double take. “Erin?”

Erin had been my therapist a few years ago for a few months when I was dealing with some anxiety around leaving the house. She’d also helped Bex when she needed it. She was sweet, friendly, and down-to-earth.

She smiled. “Hi Mara. It’s good to see you again. Would you like to come on back?”

I stood, gathered my purse and my notes, and followed Erin back to her office.

There were two couches, a rocking chair, a comfy chair, and a desk, just as I remembered. There was a certain comfort in that. I chose the comfy chair. I didn’t want to risk her sitting beside me. She might feel uncomfortable with what I had to tell her and would feel like she couldn’t move .

“I didn’t expect to see you today. I thought I was seeing someone named Ashleigh?”

She sat in the rocking chair to my left and smiled. “Yes, you were originally booked with Ashleigh. When referrals first come in, the front desk assigns a counselor, but because you’ve been here before, the supervising psych felt it was better for you to see me, since we already have an established connection.” She paused. “Is that okay with you or would you prefer to start fresh with someone new?”

“Oh, no!” I waved my hands as if to erase the idea. “This is much better for me. You were a huge help a few years ago.”

She smiled widely. “Excellent. I was looking forward to working with you again. What brings you here?”

Emotions raced through me like disks down a plinko board, bouncing off thoughts and triggering anxiety. Surprised to see Erin, relieved that she was happy to see me, startled that she didn’t know why I was here, worried she might not be happy to work with me when she found out, confused because wasn’t she supposed to know why I was there, and finally dismayed that I would have to tell her.

I hedged. “Don’t you have a note from the doctor?”

“I do,” she affirmed.

I looked at her through my lowered lashes, wondering if she would tell me what she knew about me. “What does it say? ”

She opened my file, pulled a sheet of paper out and handed it to me. I read through it quickly. It was factual and to the point, expressing the need for counseling for difficulties with emotional regulation and unstable self-image, due to borderline personality issues. It stated unequivocally that I did not have the full out disorder, and that I required training in boundary setting primarily focused on the family of origin.

“Family of origin is my mom?”

“It’s just your mom and you?”

“Well, my mom and my sister. My dad died ten years ago. My sister and my mom are estranged. My mom is difficult.” I paused. “When I say difficult I mean that she can be spiteful, vengeful, manipulative, and malicious. And she does most of it with a soft voice while clasping her rosary.” I huffed out a laugh that was not really a laugh.

“Would you like to start by telling me about your mom?”

This was a safe place for me to start. I covered the recent conversations we’d had, as well as some situations from the past that I had been remembering more and more. Including the heartbreaking situation with Willa. Seeing the empathy and dismay cross her face at certain points in my dissertation was incredibly validating.

“My sister thinks that she has narcissistic personality disorder. What do you think? ”

“From what you are telling me, it certainly sounds like it.”

I didn’t expect that kind of validation. My mouth snapped shut. I sat back. I didn’t know what to say.

“I don’t know what to do about that?” I queried.

“What do you want to do?”

“I want her to move, somewhere far away, like Australia, so we can have contact, but she can’t expect anything from me!” I laughed and so did Erin.

“Unfortunately, we have no control over what your mom does. What do you want to do?”

“I want to stop feeling guilty for not being and doing what she wants me to be and do.”

“That sounds more doable. What does she want you to do and be?”

“Thinner, more successful, follow her parenting advice, commiserate with her when she complains about my sister, make my husband do the work she wants done in her house, take her to her appointments, visit her two or three times a week, get rid of our cat so she can come to my house whenever she feels like it, pick up her groceries, listen to her stories about how great she is, look after her when she’s sick, have her over for dinner a few times a week, make her lunch at her house, buy her treats…is that enough of an idea? ”

“Uh, yeah, it’s a lot actually. Do you ever say no to her? Do you ever tell her you have your own way of doing things?”

“Yes. All the time. I have to. I have Olivia, and her limitations necessarily limit me.”

“And what happens then?”

“She’s disappointed. Angry.”

“How do you know?”

“She’ll make a pointed remark, like, ‘in my day, children listened’ or she’ll ask me about my diet, the one I’m not on, or she’ll tell me how hard it is to be without my dad, or start talking about how selfish my sister is…” I petered off. “That’s interesting, actually. Often, if I say no, she’ll talk about Willa being selfish. Almost like it’s a warning.”

“Mm-hmm. Why do you suppose she does that?”

“Like she’s warning me that I could be in her bad books next.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“I don’t like it.” I bunched my hands into fists on my thighs. “I can’t tell you how much I hate being manipulated, how trapped I feel sometimes, cornered. But the guilt, the guilt is the worst.”

“Tell me about how it is for you when you’re feeling that way.”

“It’s like I’m choking. I just pace. I can’t handle being in my own skin.” I shook my head. “Well obviously I can handle it because I’m still here, but it’s extremely uncomfortable. ”

“There’s a word for what you are describing. We call that Distress Intolerance, and there are tools we can use to neutralize it. One of the ways we can counteract Distress Intolerance is with Radical Acceptance.”

I nodded for her to continue.

“Radical Acceptance sounds like this: ‘This moment is exactly as it should be considering all that’s happened before,’ or ‘This moment is the result of a million other decisions,’ or ‘This moment couldn’t be other than exactly what it is considering the sequence of events leading up to it.’ So, when you’re feeling guilt with regards to your mother’s expectations of you, I’m guessing it’s because she instilled that in you since you were small.”

“Yes, for sure.” I nodded enthusiastically. “I’ve thought that myself, that I feel like she installed a button in me that only she can press and release.”

“You’re right and you’re wrong. She did install it, but you can release it.”

I relaxed in my chair, feeling a bit of hope as I looked at Erin, then remarked with a massive understatement. “That would be good.”

“Radical acceptance with regards to your mother, might sound something like this: I will never have the mother I want or deserve. The only change that will happen will be what I allow into my life. I’ll never be good enough no matter what I do, so I’ll spend my energy on doing what I need to do to be healthy. ”

“Do you believe it though?”

“That you can do it? Yes.”

“No, do you believe that she’s narcissistic?”

“One hundred percent.” Erin nodded emphatically. “Based on what you’ve told me, she lives in an alternate universe and probably believes the lies she tells. It’s important that you surround yourself with truth-tellers, people who will validate your experience with her and keep you grounded in reality. Narcissistic abuse is incredibly insidious.”

“Well, that rings true because I always feel off balance after spending time with her, like my head is spinning. She’s nice, she’s mean, she’s supportive, she’s critical. I never know which version of her I’m going to get, or even which one she really is and what might just be a mood.” I thought for a moment. “That’s the crux of the problem with guilt, I think. I don’t know what to believe. If I could be sure that she’s a narcissist I think I could break away. But I’m constantly questioning. There are even times when I do confront her about something, she explains it away or denies it completely, and I question if what I thought happened actually happened at all.”

“Narcissists live in an alternate reality. She may even believe it herself. From what you told me, she also holds you responsible for keeping her happy. This is a classic case of over-responsibility and has nothing to do with needing to know if she’s narcissistic or not. You are not responsible for dealing with her feelings. She is. ”

“It’s really a simple concept, and intellectually I agree with you, so why is it so hard when I think about doing it?”

“Because you’ve been doing the same thing for so long, the neural pathways are forged deep. It will be uncomfortable changing those habits. But, think of it this way, every time you follow the cycle, or respond to the triggers, you are further reinforcing those pathways. Each time you resist, you build a new, healthier neural pathway.”

“I abhor the idea of reinforcing that pathway.”

Erin smiled. “There you go. Think about that when you’re tempted to give in to the discomfort.” She paused. “Before you go, I do want to touch on a couple of other things that I feel are really important during this first session.”

“Lay it on me.”

“That’s the attitude!” She smiled widely at me, shuffled her papers together, and then her expression turned serious. “How often do you self-harm?”

Ew. I did not want to talk about this. I looked down and tilted my face away from her.

“Not that often.”

“How often do you think?”

“A few times a month?” I braved facing her and explained. “Nothing extreme, just scratching or digging my nails in, pulling my hair. Sometimes I press my elbows into my thighs. ”

“Okay. When do you do it? What would trigger that?”

“Being mad at myself, like if I lose my cool with my husband or daughter, if I’m frustrated because I need sex and my husband doesn’t want to that night.”

There was no judgement on her face, just acceptance.

“There are alternatives. Have you done any research? Have you heard of TIPP?”

“I did do research, but mostly about symptoms and what it feels like to be borderline, not treatment.”

“TIPP is an acronym. It stands for temperature, intense exercise, paced breathing, and paired muscle relaxation. Paired, or progressive, muscle relaxation is an exercise I’d like to see you practicing regularly, morning and night if possible. Progressive muscle relaxation recordings are readily available on YouTube, or you can get an app for it on your phone. This will help to lower your overall level of anxiety.”

“I can do that.” I said. What I thought was that it sounded boring and like yet another to-do to add to the list.

“T stands for temperature. Instead of hurting yourself, you could try holding an ice cube. It will be uncomfortable, even hurt after a while, but it won’t cause damage. Would you be willing to try that?”

“I’ve tried that before. It’s not as satisfying, but I can try doing that instead. ”

“I is for intense exercise. That can help with distress intolerance. You can pound out some jumping jacks or do some weights when you’re having difficulty coping with big feelings.”

“I have to do all of these?”

She shrugged. “See what works. But try to get into the habit of progressive muscle relaxation.”

“Okay. I’ll try to work that in. What about boundaries? How do I create strong boundaries with my mom?”

“We’ll get to working on boundaries later when you’re stronger, okay? Boundaries, true boundaries, require consequences, and I’m not sure you’re ready to reinforce those. Right now, I think we should focus on getting you to a healthier, calmer place, and working on your distress intolerance, so you’ll be able to defend your boundaries once you have them in place. Spend some time this week thinking about what your boundaries are, what issues are important to you.”

“Okay.” I said ‘okay’ a lot during this session. There was no help for it. I didn’t have a lot to add, it was all new information.

“There’s another concept, called REST. R stands for relax, E for evaluate, S for set an intention, and T for take action. When you are in a situation where you’re feeling intense negative emotions, or you find that you are suddenly in pain, mentally or physically, you REST. This means you Relax, get a bit of space and step away from the problem. Then you take a moment to evaluate, a super quick surface analysis where you ask yourself what is happening to you at that moment. S is for setting an intention. Do you need ice? Do you need to do a relaxation exercise? Or something soothing, like take a bath, listen to music, or go for a walk? Then, T, take action. Slowly, mindfully, follow through with your intention.”

“This is going to be difficult.”

She nodded. “It’s new, it takes practice, and it doesn’t always work the first time. You keep RESTing until you’re feeling like the situation is resolved.”

“I’m going to need to take notes!”

“Yes!” Erin nodded emphatically. “Look up Martha Linehan. She’ll be your new best friend.”

I laughed. “Okay, I think I came across her name a few times when I was doing my research.”

“There’s a workbook I want you to get. It explains the concepts used by people who have Borderline Personality traits. The type of therapy doctors believe is most effective is called Dialectical Behavior Therapy. I’d like you to do your best to work through the book, at your own pace, and we’ll discuss what you’re doing in our sessions together.”

“Okay, I can do that.”

“There will be information on what we talked about today in there as well for your review. ”

Erin gave me the information I needed to order the book, booked my next appointment, and then I left, feeling much better than I thought I would.

When I got home, I got not just Bex, who had Olivia at the shelter that afternoon, but Willa as well. I hadn’t expected them to be there so early.

They both looked at me expectantly when I walked in. I smiled wryly. No time like the present, I guess.

“So? What’s going on, pretty lady?”

Willa rolled her eyes at Bex. “You okay, Mara? How did it go?”

I had told them I was going to counseling to deal with some stuff that I wasn’t ready to talk about. They were here to lend their support. Aggressively, apparently.

“You guys have time to stick around for a bit, I’ll share.”

Rebecca folded her hands on the table in front of her, a sassy look on her face. “I’ve got all night.”

“I’m good to stick around,” Willa added.

Willa looked worried. Bex looked ready for battle.

“Where’s Olivia?” I asked as I put my purse away and set my cell phone on the counter.

Bex replied, “She’s in the sunroom, drawing with Sirius. We were too loud for her, so she retreated. She’s had her macaroni and cheese,” she paused, “and a vanilla dip donut. ”

Willa cleared her throat and Bex glared at her. “Okay! I got her a milkshake on the way home as well.”

I laughed. After dealing with my mother’s refusal to pick up a box of Kraft dinner, I could not for a single moment complain about these two spoiling my little bird. “Lucky little birdy.”

I went to see Olivia and ignored the worried looks passing between my best friend and my sweet sister. I’d put their minds at ease in a moment, or not, considering what I had to tell them.

Olivia was happy I was home, but more than content to sit on her own. I headed back to the firing squad and sat at the table with Bex. Willa filled the kettle at the sink.

“Want a tea, Merry?”

“Love one, honey.”

I sat down and met Rebecca’s worried gaze. “I’ll tell you everything. All of it. Just wait for Willa, okay?”

She looked relieved. “Okay. I’ve known something is wrong for a while. I’m glad you’re ready to talk.”

“Ready?” I snorted. “I don’t know if I’d say I’m ready, it’s really tough actually, but it’s necessary.”

Willa came to the table and sat between Bex and I, big blue eyes skipping over my face, worried.

“I’m okay, Willa.” I assured her softly. She nodded but didn’t look convinced .

“So.” I took a breath. “I used to have a problem dealing with my anger, back in the days when Zale and I were first getting serious. Do you guys remember that?”

“I remember.” Bex grinned. “You were passionate. There were things thrown at Zale’s head if I’m remembering correctly.”

I winced. This was, unfortunately, true.

“I remember you getting mad and slamming your bedroom door and not talking to him at times. I remember you being upset if he went out,” added Willa.

My cheeks burned with shame. “Yesss, so, there’s a reason I guess you could say, for all of that.”

I turned to Willa. “You know how Mom has narcissistic personality disorder?”

“Yes.”

“The apple didn’t fall too far from the tree,” I confessed.

Willa scoffed. “You are not a narcissist.”

I nodded in agreement.

“Narcissistic Personality Disorder is one of ten personality disorders. OCD is another one, Schizoid, Paranoid, Anti-Social, are some of the other ones. There are ten in total. I’ve been diagnosed with Borderline Personality Issues. He said I don’t have the full-blown disorder. ”

I’d started out strong but by the time I got to the end of my spiel the last words were barely audible and my face was on fire.

I felt rather than saw Bex sit back in her chair. I cringed inside, wondering what she was thinking. Willa sat staring at me, looking dumbfounded and lost.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, staring into her eyes.

She gave her head a shake. “You’re sorry?”

“Yes.”

Bex stood and moved to the kettle to finish making the tea. She’d yet to say anything. I was afraid to look at her.

“You have nothing to be sorry about.” Willa regained her composure quickly. “You’re going to have to educate me on how this affects you. I know a bit about Borderline, but I’ll know everything I need to know to best support you.”

“I have a paper I printed out for Zale. I’ll get you a copy, I’ll do it right now.”

I needed to get out of the kitchen. In the sunroom I took deep, supposedly calming, breaths while I waited for the printout for Willa. I didn’t get one for Bex. She hadn’t said anything yet.

My heart staggered clumsily in my chest. I collected the papers out of the tray, and they trembled in my hand. I was going to lose Rebecca. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. I’d tell her that I just wanted them to know, but that I didn’t actually need anything from them.

“Are we friends, Mommy?” Olivia’s sweet voice interrupted my thoughts.

I turned to see her curled up in her reading corner, earphones off one ear so she could monitor her environment. That right there was the reason I was asking for support. She was worth any risk. I moved toward her, my hand extended. She touched the tips of her little fingers against mine.

“Yes, little bird, we are always friends.”

We smiled at each other, and she turned back to her books and her music. I walked back to the kitchen, determination undermining my embarrassment.

Willa sat at the table, her freckles standing out in stark relief against her pale face. Bex stood leaning against the counter. I could feel her eyes on me. I walked straight to Willa.

“Willa, I’ve got this. I’m asking for your support, but I have got this, okay?”

She nodded. “Mara, supermom.”

“Yeah. Anything for you, anything for my little bird.”

“I’ve got you too, Mara. Anything you need. I’ll push, pull, drag, hogtie, whatever it takes.”

I leaned down and kissed her cheek .

Finally, I turned to face Bex. She paused, her tea midway to her lips. She stopped when I met her eyes. She looked into mine and surprise flashed in her watercolor eyes.

“What?” she protested. “Are you kidding me?” She put her cup down and flitted over to me on her light feet. “Give a bitch a minute to process, babe. I’ve got you. You know I do. Push, pull, drag, hogtie, whatever it takes.” She wrapped her arms around my waist and rested her chin on my shoulder. “I love you, Merry. Always.”

I hugged her back and my breath released with a shudder. She felt it and pulled me closer. My body flooded with relief. Which lasted point four seconds before Bex slapped me on the ass.

“Sit. Let’s get it out there. Tell us what’s happened and tell us where we need to go from here.”

Around the table I explained some of the ways BPD affected me, explained that for some people it affects all their relationships, and for some it’s just one.

“For me, it’s really just Zale who bears the brunt of it all.” I looked down, feeling bad for him.

“That’s why you’re wary when we’re out, that’s why he’s extra attentive,” Bex commented.

I nodded along to her words as she continued. “That’s why he always drops me home first.”

I froze, then slowly met her gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whispered .

She looked sad, answered softly, “I would never go there.”

A tear slid down my face and I answered her just as softly, “I know this, he wouldn’t either. There’s no logic, just the fear that he might want to.”

She smiled a sad smile, sad for me. “He’s only ever had eyes for you. Do I need to be more careful about how I am around him?”

“No! No, please don’t do that. I want to progress, not regress.” I laughed but my breath hitched. “I’m sorry, Bex.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you haven’t ever done anything to me to warrant an apology. You don’t need to be sorry for a feeling that you didn’t act on, or a disability you didn’t do anything about because it was something you didn’t know you had.”

“In any case,” Willa added, “You’ve improved dramatically since those early days.”

“I learned.” I paused. “I hurt him with my actions, I hated seeing that, I learned to repress as best I could.”

“Why do you have this? Is it genetic?”

“Partly yes, partly no, Willa.” She was going to be super-pissed in a moment. “It’s usually partly genetic, as in there’s a genetic vulnerability, but it also comes down to family of origin and things that happened in my childhood.”

“Did you tell them that Mom’s a Narcissist? ”

“Yes. That probably contributed.” Willa’s face hardened. “But Willa, same goes for her. Genetics and trauma of some kind contributed to her being who and how she is. The difference between her and I, is that she will probably never understand she needs help and will continue to live in a relational desert, whereas I can get help, do better, and stop hurting the people I love most.”

“You’ve always been too compassionate with that woman,” Bex huffed, “but your empathy is one of the greatest gifts I’ve ever received from anyone. So, we’ll protect you from the Big Bad Wolf and you just keep being you.”

“That’s actually what I need from you guys right now.” They couldn’t have given me a better lead-in. “My therapist recommended that I surround myself with truth-tellers to counteract the alternate realities my mom recites.”

“The gaslighting.” Willa shuddered.

“Yes. Also, she alternates between positive behavior and negative behavior, so I never can quite figure her out.”

“It’s called hoovering, or love-bombing maybe, I can’t remember, but it’s a classic cycle of abuse. I’ll brush up on that to help you recognize it.” Willa made a note on her phone. “It’s basically them sucking you back in with kindness and generosity before they revert back to criticism and gaslighting. Gaslighting is its own special form of abuse, Mara, our mother specializes in this. She also triangulates, or tries to, but it didn’t work because of our bond. If she hadn’t made you babysit me so much so she could do what she wanted, she might have succeeded. But that bond, and your loving nature, won out. Thank God.”

“You must have felt so alone. Willa.”

She shrugged. “I had dad when he wasn’t under her influence, and I always had you.”

“It wasn’t enough.”

Willa leaned in. “It’s better than what you had. You were her confidant. She groomed you to be her support system. That’s terrifying to me.”

“And, so, here you are, babe, because of it.” Bex cocked her head to the side, I smiled inside seeing her picking up on one of Rhys’ traits. “You do need truth-tellers around you because your compassion interferes in your ability to protect yourself, from your mother at least.”

“This is true.”

“Lay it out for me. What do you need?”

“I need to talk through what I’m learning. I need to build a sense of personal identity. I need to put my therapy into action. I need to learn to calm my emotions. I think that’s it to start.”

Bex held out her hand. “Let me take a look at your papers.”

I handed them over and she quickly rifled through, her eyebrows snapping together comically and scarily at the same time in her pixie face. She faced me, waving the papers in front of her face. “What the hell is all this redacted shit?”

I barked out a laugh, I couldn’t help it. Willa chuckled beside me, Bex started to smile.

“You did ask for truth-tellers, Mara.” Willa turned to Bex, her tone dry as dust. “I think you’ve got that part covered.”

Bex started laughing, too. “I’m the worst, honestly.”

“Remember on your first date with Rhys you offered to let him fuck you against the side of his truck when you ran into his ex-girlfriend?”

As soon as the words left my lips, Willa screamed with laughter.

“Or when you told me I was a fashion disaster setting Olivia up for failure?”

We laughed, hard, belly rolling, knee slapping, gut clenching, jaw aching, laughter. Tears, the good kind, streamed down our faces.

“Can you guys be a bit quieter?!” Olivia’s strident voice rang out from the sunroom.

“Sorry, little bird,” I shouted back, at the same time as Bex yelled ‘sorry, beautiful girl’ and Willa replied, ‘yes, Birdy.’

“Babe, go print off the entire thing, two copies, and don’t think I won’t be cross-checking on google.”

I printed off two copies of the unredacted version, one for each of them. We decided on monthly get-togethers, to officially go over what I was learning, together, and decided for the time being that I’d talk through interactions with my mom with Bex or Willa, gaining their insight, wisdom, and clarity.

The rest of the visit was much more pleasant, and we made plans for the weekend, which included going out for lunch and shopping with Willa for her birthday.

Zale walked in from work just as we were finishing. I watched him approach, his loose rolling gait, his finger hooked into his tie, pulling to loosen it, his five o’clock shadow adding to his broodiness. Yum. He stopped beside me, and I raised my face to look at him.

“You good?” His dark chocolate eyes, framed by those black curling lashes, melted all over my face.

I smiled up at him. “Yes, baby, I’m good.”

He dropped a quick, hard kiss on my mouth then scanned the papers on the table. Surprise registered on his gorgeous face.

“Why do they get the unredacted version?” He pinched my chin between his thumb and his fist. “Hmm, we’ll have to talk about this.”

There was a certain note in his voice that made me wish bedtime were a lot closer than it was.

“I look forward to it,” I teased back .

“You know you guys are like my parents, right? So, eww… yet, at the same time, I’m thinking, go, Zee?” Willa’s face scrunched in confusion, and we all laughed, except for Zale, he gave her the eye crinkle.

After they left, after I made dinner, after we ate, and we were sitting quietly on the couch bookending Olivia, I picked up my tablet.

I went on Amazon Kindle and got the eBook version of the workbook.

I looked at Olivia.

I looked at Zale.

I got to work.