41. Boundaries

Boundaries

M ara

Nausea woke me Monday morning, my stomach remembering my intentions before my brain fully awakened. I took comfort in Zale’s solid, sleepy warmth beside me.

I had not spoken to my mother since the day I’d taken her to the hospital, the day I’d cast her out of my life, the day I ended up in the psych ward. I did not expect a warm reception and my stomach floated untethered, spinning, and flipping. No one would want to confront their mother for saying and doing the things my mother had said and done.

Radical acceptance: The relationship I have presently with my mother is not conducive to my healing. She will not change but I can. I can choose whether or not I’m willing to accept abuse that makes me less than my best self for the people who love and need me. I can make changes to take responsibility for my own mental health. This is a necessary step to create space to heal.

Necessary, but far from easy. I practiced my paced breathing to calm my skittering pulse.

“You awake?” Zale’s deep, mellow voice was husky in the morning.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“I’m going to call my mother today. Tell her how I’m willing to communicate with her, and what I’m not willing to tolerate.” I paused, gnawing at my lower lip. “I’m nervous.”

He got up on one elbow and wrapped his hand around my nape. “You don’t have to do it yet. You can take another week, take advantage while I’m at home to man the phones.”

“I think I’d like to get it over with, and if there’s a fallout, I’d like it to happen while you’re at home.”

He nodded. “That makes sense. How do you want to do it? Should we discuss your boundaries before you call? ”

We considered what I felt was most important and decided I’d call after breakfast, once we got Olivia settled and occupied. Though I was still a bag of nerves, having a plan, and knowing that I’d know soon one way or another how things would go, made me feel better.

Olivia was tired, which we expected after a busy weekend that included time spent with Rhys and Bex, so she nestled into the couch and watched a movie. Zale and I took our coffees through the sunroom and out to the back patio. We settled together in the chaise lounge, and I dialed her number.

“Hello?” she barked into the phone.

“Hi, Mom.”

Her silence screamed from her end of the line. I waited. She couldn’t stand it any longer.

“Well? Are you all right?” She asked impatiently.

“Better, thank you for asking.”

“I was worried about you, dear! Mara, you need to learn how to ask for help! How many times have I offered to take Olivia? Even as a young girl you were always sensitive, you’ve never handled stress terribly well. I remember when you’d get in trouble, you’d be so upset it would take hours for you to calm down. You need help, so I’ll take over with Olivia for a while until you can get on your feet. But, when you get back on your feet, you have to keep up with the routines I get her on… ”

I took a slow, deep breath and spoke softly but firmly. “Right now, what I need from you, Mom, is space.”

I kept my voice even, but I was thankful that we were not face to face. My entire body trembled, and my fingers were icy. Only by keeping my jaw tight did I stop my teeth from chattering.

She gave the same old spiel, only this time I realized something. That upset she referred to was often caused by her, and then it was to her I’d go for comfort, unable to cope when she was angry or disappointed with me. Not much had changed.

Zale placed his hand firmly on my shaking thigh. I looked up to see his eyes wide in his handsome face. He reached for the phone, but I put my finger up in the universal ‘give me one minute’ sign.

“Space,” she mocked. “So, you’re still not talking to me?”

I took a deep breath. “Well, that kind of depends on you.”

She scoffed, “Me? I’m not the one who threw out the baby with the bathwater.”

“Hmm, well, here’s the thing. I’m willing to talk with you, so long as you keep it positive.”

She interrupted me, “What are you talking about? I’m the most positive person I know.”

“Okay, I’ll get specific. Don’t criticize me. Don’t criticize my friends. Don’t critique my parenting. Don’t talk to me about Willa. Don’t get mad when I can’t do things for you that you want me to do.”

She snorted. “When have I ever asked you or your sister for anything? You both abandoned me the same day I lost your father. I’m ashamed of the way you’ve treated me, it’s tantamount to… to… to elder abuse!”

“Okay, so this is a perfect example that I can use to tell you what happens next. I will be available via text if you want to communicate with me. If you are negative, like you are now, I won’t respond. If I talk to you on the phone and you speak to me like this I will end the phone call. If I see you in public and you treat me badly, I will walk away.”

“So, you’d take my grandchild away from me?”

“No, your abusive behavior would make you a poor companion for her.”

Bea lost what composure she had left and shrieked into the phone, “My abusive behavior? You all are the ones who are abusive! I spoke to my doctor, and she told me I was suffering from elder abuse! I had to go to the hospital to check my heart and you treated me like a chore!” She ended her tirade bitterly. “You wouldn’t even stop to let me have a coffee.”

Zale spoke low in my ear, “Hang up, baby, or I’m taking the phone. ”

“Think about your options, Mom. If you are considerate and polite we can have contact. If you’re not, we won't.”

“I don’t know who you think you are, that you can take that tone with me, try to take my granddaughter away from me! You’re just as selfish and self-centered as your sister.”

I gently closed the phone. Looked at it for a moment, confused, and turned to Zale. “Did we get a new phone?”

He chuckled but his face was tight with concern. “Your mother called when you were in the hospital. The phone didn’t survive it.”

I smiled. “She has that effect.”

He smiled for a half second more, then got serious. He cradled my hands in his. “You’ve shaking.”

“That’s okay,” I dismissed it. “That happens to me sometimes when I get upset. I did well. I took responsibility for my own mental health, and I did a great job self-advocating.”

I was pumped. I had stuck up for myself to my mother without the usual accompaniment of crushing guilt.

He pulled me across his lap, held me chest to chest, his long arms wrapping me up tight.

“You were shaking so hard. You’re still shaking, Mara, which can’t be good. I don’t want you getting that upset. Nothing is worth you getting so upset. But, you were incredible, kept your cool, stated your intentions, and then stuck to them. I’m proud of you. ”

I tucked my nose into his neck, breathed him in. “Thank you.”

For the first time in my life, I recognized my need, and I filled it, without needing approval or permission from someone else. I had support, I knew that Zale and Bex and Willa wanted this for me, but I protected myself this time. I felt a ballooning in my chest. Much later that night I identified it.

It was pride. And, perhaps, the beginnings of self-esteem.

I wish I could say that once I’d made the decision and stated my intentions that I didn’t struggle, but the truth is always more complicated. I was proud of myself for setting appropriate boundaries, but my mind and body were determined to follow the ingrained patterns, and resisting those was like not scratching a miserable, unrelenting itch beneath my skin. My thoughts, as always, bent toward worry over my mom’s emotional wellbeing. I worried about her being sad and alone instead of angry. When these thoughts became overwhelming, I had only to look at Olivia, and think back to my breakdown, to be reminded of the importance of freeing myself from the unhealthy cycle of abuse.

After the phone call, we went inside. I retreated to our bedroom to regroup and went on Willa’s Instagram account, @the_art_ of _narcissism. Her cartoon people made me laugh. They weren’t her best work, but somehow the rough drawings captured the fractured quality of their relationship. I could see her relationship with our mother laid out in all its acrimony .

It made me sad for Willa, especially those that I recognized from her teenage years. How she kept her sweet, sunny ways is a mystery. Her strength made me proud. I would be strong for Willa, too, and work harder to validate her experience with our mother.

As obvious as her narcissism seemed, I still struggled with disbelief, even when slapped in the face with the reality of her behaviors, I still found it hard to accept. I learned that the pattern of abuse followed by love-bombing is particularly addictive, and creates a trauma bond, which is not easily broken.

I called Willa to give her the update on my phone call, and she assured me she’d help me learn to respond to her in a way that would not feed into her drama as easily. Maybe she’d stop seeing me as a target. Maybe she’d push me too far and I’d cut her off. Maybe I would overcome the compunction to be responsible for her happiness. For now, this was what I could handle without causing undue stress for myself.

After processing the phone call with Willa, I felt more grounded and ready for the day, just as Zale came in and sat on the edge of the bed beside me, smiling.

“I have a great idea. Let’s take Livvy to the beach this afternoon.”

It was unseasonably hot, mid-summer hot, and Zale wanted to take Livvy to the community beach. She loved it there. I loved it there. What I didn’t love was the idea of going to the beach with Zale, because being the first hot day, there were bound to be lots of women there. Women in swimsuits. Women with much nicer bodies than mine. I worried, as usual, that he would prefer what he would see, and be disappointed to be stuck with me, or worse, fantasize about having someone else.

I twisted my hands together in my lap.

“I can’t, Zee.”

I didn’t want to ruin the fun, but I’d already had a stressful morning and felt unbalanced because we hadn’t made love since Thursday. Even though I had wanted to, I did not initiate. I was no longer willing to risk being rebuffed. Instead, I sat on the edge of my proverbial seat, waiting for him to reach for me.

“I don’t understand.” He looked at me, disappointed and confused. “You love the beach. I thought it would be good for you to relax, lie back and read your book while I play with Olivia.”

His confusion brought home to me just how differently we thought about things, and that the things that were a concern for me did not even cross his mind.

“I do love the beach.” If we were going to communicate openly with each other, I needed to start. “Sitting with a book while watching you play with Livvy sounds heavenly. Going to the beach, with you, with many other women there, knowing you’re seeing them, my mind is going to go to places that are dark and painful for me. Emotionally I’m reeling a bit after the phone call with my mother. I’m sorry. It’s not fair. ”

He nodded, the crease between his eyes evident. “How can I make it easy for you?”

“It’s the same concept as the bar. Be attentive, don’t be uptight, be affectionate.” I paused. “It would help if I had some notice, time to get used to the idea.” I couldn’t believe I was risking rejection in saying this next part, but we were going for honesty. “It would help if we had sex the night before, so I’d feel more connected to you, feel wanted by you.”

The enormity of the impact BPD had on me, on Zale, on Olivia, hit me all at once. I couldn’t even participate in the simplest of pleasures, like dressing up and going out with friends, taking Olivia to the beach, things that he should take for granted, that I should be able to enjoy, without them being hijacked by fear.

I rolled away to the other side of the bed and jumped out, filled with shame.

“Where are you going?”

I headed for the door, thought better of it, and spun to go into the bathroom instead.

“Oh, no, you don’t.” His palm hit the door before I could shut it. He stepped in with me, closing us both in, and took me in his arms. “Let’s work this out.”

I buried my burning face in his chest, gripping handfuls of his t-shirt at his waist. Where was a good hole when you needed one?

“I’m so stupid! It’s not fair to you and Olivia. I hate this! ”

He rubbed his palms up and down my back.

“You’re not stupid. Complicated? Yes. A pain in my ass? Definitely.”

I laughed, loosened my hold on his t-shirt, and stole a peek at his face.

He gazed down at me, his eyes soft and concerned, his mouth lifted on one side in his signature half smirk.

“You’re not mad?”

He puffed out a breath. “Honestly?”

I winced. “Yeah.”

“I’m sad, disappointed, frustrated. I wish you could get into my head for just one minute so you could know how I feel about you, see what I see when I look at you. If you could do that, you’d never worry again.”

“Don’t you see me, Zee? I’m chubby, so chubby.”

He shrugged, smirked. “I don’t know what to tell you.” He pushed his hips into mine, letting me feel the hardness growing there. “This is from seeing your ass reflected in the mirror behind you.”

I threw my head back and laughed happily at the effect I had on him, then froze at the thought of his view of me, worried about how I looked in the mirror. It occurred to me that I projected what I felt about my body onto him. I rubbed my pelvis against his experimentally and elicited a squeeze of my hips .

“Wait right here,” he commanded.

He turned around and slipped out the door but returned within two minutes, closing the door, and locking us in again.

“Olivia is watching a show with a bowl of goldfish crackers.” He backed me up toward the counter, unbuttoning and unzipping my shorts as we went.

My poor stomach flipped again. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“It’s a great idea,” he muttered.

He slipped his fingers down the front of my shorts, inside my panties, curved them under and delved between my suddenly slick thighs.

He stroked, smirked. “Not a good idea, hmm? You’ll have to be quiet. Can you be quiet?”

I panted, pushing against his palm. “I can be quiet.”

He laughed softly. “You’re never quiet. I’m going to have to cover your mouth.”

I spasmed.

“Ah, you like that.”

“Zee,” I breathed his name.

“Put your arms up around my neck and give me your mouth. ”

I obediently wrapped my arms around him and tilted my head back for his kiss. He covered my lips gently while his fingers worked their magic between my legs, stroking, circling, dipping in, rolling.

My thighs began to tremble. I moaned softly into his mouth, and he covered my mouth firmly, touching me now in every spot except the one spot I needed him. I twisted my hips, trying to get his fingers where I wanted them.

“You there?” He spoke against my lips.

“Yes,” I breathed.

He locked his arm around my back and brushed the pad of his finger gently over the spot I most needed it, rolling and gently pressing.

I bucked against his body once, my neck arched back, his hand came up fisting my hair, bringing my mouth to his, and I came on a long, delicious moan.

He chuckled against my lips. “I love you, but you can’t be quiet worth shit.”

He kissed my smiling mouth, then spun me quickly toward the counter tugging his t-shirt over his head and dropping it to the floor.

“Hang on.” He whipped my shorts and panties down over my thighs. I felt the hairs of his legs against the backs of mine. Delicious. “Tilt for me, gorgeous. ”

I tilted and he filled me, his hands on my hips as he slowly, methodically, fucked me.

“Look at me, Mara.”

I looked at his reflection in the mirror, his face intense, his dilated pupils making his chocolate eyes black, his big chest looming over my back. He rubbed and squeezed my backside as he continued to pump inside me. He was beautiful.

“This.” He circled his palms firmly on my ass. “This.” He grasped my hips. “This.” He reached under and stroked my tender, swollen flesh. “These.” His voice roughened as he palmed both of my breasts over my tee, his face going darker. “All that is you is all that I want. You got that?”

I nodded, breathless and speechless.

“Good. You ready to take me now?”

“Yes,” I nodded quickly, breathlessly.

“Hang on.”

His hands went back to my hips, his eyes to my ass, and he drove in hard, pulled almost completely out and drove in again, knocking me toward the counter. He let go of one hip, grasped my shoulder to hold me in place, and let go.

My head dropped forward, overwhelmed by all that he had said, and all that he was doing. I gasped in surprise; it was building fast. I spasmed .

“Yes, Mara, give it to me again,” he growled soft and low.

He released my hip, reached around and softly brushed across my clit, then once again. I let out a whimper as it overcame me, my arms braced against the counter shaking. His rhythm stuttered. He slammed into me again, and then stilled, his body bowing over mine, his seed spilling into me.

I rested my forehead right down onto the counter.

He dropped tender kisses down the line of my spine as he slowly withdrew from my body. After his last kiss, he rose and slapped me sharply on the ass. My head shot up, meeting his gaze in the mirror and his eyes crinkled at me.

“Can we go to the beach now?”

I laughed; I couldn’t help it. He was ridiculous, I was ridiculous, and he gave me exactly what I needed.

“Yes, okay, we can go to the beach.”

We had an amazing day.