Letter to Nada (Very Long Post)

June 3, 2012

I'm new here and just wanted to say how much I love this group already... It's

wonderful to see the support and encouragement given out here, and it really

helps to see your own story reflected in other people's experiences - I finally

feel like I'm not alone. I didn't suffer the horrible childhood abuse I've read

about from a lot of you... my therapist and I joke that my nada is " borderline

borderline. " My experience was more one of emotional neglect, but it was

enough to leave me with feelings of worthlessness, fear, anxiety, depression and

problems connecting with other people.

I wanted to share a letter I wrote to my Nada (although it was more for me... I

have no plans to actually send it to her at this point). But I found it

incredibly helpful and therapeutic to write it all out and see my experiences

from the point of view I had as a child. I hope some of you can relate and I

would love to hear if anyone else has written something similar, and if any of

you have actually sent your letters to your BP or discussed your childhoods with

your BP, and if so, what was the result?

Anyway, here's the letter - sorry it's so long. =)

-------------------------------------------------------------

Mom,

I feel like I'm finally seeing my childhood for what it really was. When I was

a child, I idolized you. I thought you were the most wonderful, perfect person

in the world. You represented everything I should aspire to: moral

superiority, all knowing intelligence, confidence and authority. I knew that

when you were angry at me or cold towards me, that it was completely my fault.

I was, after all, a shy, awkward, geeky child. I always said the wrong thing

and acted the wrong way. I knew my own father left because I wasn't good enough

for him. And the crumbs of love you gave me felt like a banquet at the time

because I knew it was more than I deserved.

But this was the narrow reality of a little girl who only had one person in the

whole world to cling to. One person that was in charge of her life. One person

to be there for her, to meet her needs, to listen to her, to love her. All I

knew is what you gave me. I had no other example of what a parent's love for

their child should look like. It's taken me 3 decades to fully realize that

what you gave me was much, much less than what I needed. I was starving for

affection, for attention, for approval, for love. I was shown in countless

ways that my feelings and needs were much less important than your own. And I

believed in my unworthiness completely, as I still often do.

I remember how often you joked about leaving me in a shopping cart when I was a

toddler throwing a tantrum and not wanting to get out of the cart. So you left

me there in the parking lot and drove away. You were the one person I had to

keep me safe in this world. The one person who could have empowered me to feel

safe and loved and worthwhile. But instead you abandoned me to prove a point.

To win. And I learned that day that I had to work hard to please people, push

my own feelings down, hide the part of me that would ever speak up for my needs

.... otherwise I would be seen as worthless trash to be abandoned. I wish you

could feel empathy and see how that would make a small child feel, to be left in

this world alone, but instead you joked about it, bragged about it, proud of

your parenting skills. How could you not see how frightening and heartbreaking

that would be to a child, especially one who has no one else?

I know you wanted me to grow into a strong, independent woman who could take

care of herself. And I did, but at a cost. The cost was believing that

relationships were dangerous - I could only rely on myself, because no one else

would love me enough to be there for me. There was no safety or comfort to be

found in the world and especially not in a relationship - I was on my own.

I came to you for help in dealing with the intimidating adult school yard

attendant who picked on me in kindergarten. I wanted - needed - to feel

protected and cared for, but instead, you sent me to sort out my own problems

with her - a 5 year old confronting an adult bully. I was shaking I was so

scared of confronting her, but I did so because you wanted me to. But far from

feeling empowered, I learned that day, again, that no one would take care of me

or protect me in this dangerous world. I was on my own.

You wouldn't intervene when my terror of spiders sent me running to you for

help. When, stern and irritated, you ordered me to go back down to the laundry

room and deal with what to my 7 year old mind appeared to be the largest and

scariest scorpion-spider-alien I had ever seen - without help, on my own, so

that I could get your laundry done. I stood downstairs forever, scared to move

anywhere near the spider, but more afraid to face your wrath. Heart racing, I

finally slammed the door on the spider over and over again until I was sure he

was dead. From then on the sight of his crushed body stained on the wall

reminded me that even when I was terrified there was no one for me to rely on -

no one who would help me in this world. And I knew again, it was not because

you or this world was unfair or unjust. It was because I was unlovable.

Unworthy. A blight that you, a perfect being, suffered for some unknown reason.

You were a god and I was something disgusting, something easily abandoned and

forgotten. So I was grateful for the fact that you allowed me to stay, allowed

me to go on living, allowed me a small amount of attention and a few kind words.

That was far more than I deserved.

You never physically abused me, but I lived with the constant threat of violence

and abandonment. At 7, I was in charge of doing our laundry, and the day I

brought your laundry back slightly damp, you towered over me, shaking, raging,

telling me to shut up. I felt so worthless and scared and unloved. The day you

threw spaghetti in a rage all over the kitchen because I was too afraid to get

near the boiling water and a dozen other rages all combined to make me feel

unsafe, like I had to walk on eggshells and be perfect to avoid violence or

abandonment.

I remember how excited I would get over a delicious mango in the house - a rare

treat, something special and wonderful, and how perfectly normal it was to me

that you would slice off all the meat for yourself and give me the pit. That

was far more than I deserved.

I remember the shame I felt when, after falling off my bike and sending Charlie

upstairs to tell you I had really hurt myself, he came back with pity in his

eyes, to tell me that you weren't coming down. I was humiliated. Charlie had

an abusive, alcoholic father, but he had pity in his eyes for me. Because he

saw how unloved and unlovable I really was. That was confirmation for me. Even

my own mother didn't care if I lived or died. I was all alone in this world. I

was a little angry at the injustice at first, but the anger quickly turned

inward when I realized this was all I deserved.

I remember crying myself to sleep one night after I had been scared by the

vacuum. I cried while you watched TV in the living room, and I listened to your

laughter - real, joyful laughter at what was obviously a very funny and

entertaining show, knowing that you could hear me crying but were able to fully

enjoy the show anyway. That's how little my pain and fear mattered. It didn't

affect you in the slightest. I cried because I was that meaningless and

insignificant.

I had a couple of overwhelmingly terrifying nightmares. They felt completely

real and were like descending into the depths of hell. I would wake up

terrified out of my mind, but was too afraid to wake you up. Same when I had

growing pains. It was pain worse than I had ever experienced, and it would go

on for hours, keeping me up. But I would cry quietly so as not to wake you up.

Your sleep was sacred and not to be disturbed. Your needs came first.

Your many sicknesses took over your life when I was around 7. Took over my life

as well. Growing up there were hundreds of theories, dozens of doctors,

thousands of complaints that I was expected to listen to and sympathize with,

and no concrete diagnosis. I worried constantly about you and tried to be

everything I could for you, emotionally exhausting myself. But if I ever

complained that your sicknesses got in the way of you going to a school play, or

spending time with me, I was selfish and you were the victim. Never once did

you acknowledge that your sickness affected my life too.

I remember for years wanting to go to the mountains to see snow, something I had

never seen. I remember begging you to take me. I wanted to go sledding, to

build a snowman. It seemed magical in my mind. Finally you relented and

promised me, swore to me that you would take me to the mountains the next

morning. I had never been so excited. When that morning came around, you told

me you were too sick to go, and went back to sleep. When you got up and I

voiced my disappointment, you made it clear that YOU were the victim, not me,

and I was wrong and bad for being an angry, disappointed child. Your needs came

first. And the first time I saw snow was when I drove myself there as an adult.

I can't recall you ever playing with me as a child. I wanted you to so badly -

I was an only child with no siblings, no father, no family, living a very

solitary life. I do recall you telling me many times that you were " not a play

mom " and didn't want to play with me. So I played by myself in my room. Alone.

In my mind it made sense. Of course you wouldn't lower yourself to play with

me. Royalty doesn't play with pond scum.

You have always taken a long time to get ready in the mornings. Your hair in

particular was something very important to you, and you took great care in

styling it before leaving the house. But I was sent to school with a hasty

swipe of a washcloth and comb, and I was ashamed at my lack of style and beauty,

especially compared to the other girls in school. When I finally learned to

style my hair, it was from a friend, not you.

I hated myself. I wished that I was skinny and pretty and smart and funny and

cool and good inside, so that maybe I could be lovable. But I was none of those

things. I was a disappointment. A sad, needy thing with no redeeming

qualities. And I hated myself passionately because of it, and loved you

fervently for tolerating me despite these defects.

Looking back at my childhood, my overall experience was one of being just

tolerated. Not loved. Not enjoyed. Not cared for. Not connected. Not

special. Just tolerated. And I knew that was all I could hope for and more

than I deserved.

Working two jobs through my teenage years while giving you all the money I made,

keeping none of it for myself wasn't enough to increase my worth. You still

refused to drive me places, despite the fact that I could have bought myself a

car with the money I gave you. I had to rely on friends to drive me to church

and I rode my bicycle home from work at night without a headlight. I was a

horrible, selfish person for wanting to keep just $10 a week for myself to buy

something other than the school's horrible cafeteria food. You claimed to need

100% of my earnings to keep us afloat, and I was not allowed to ask for any of

it. But you never ran out of Channel No. 5 perfume, or went without a haircut.

And to this day, your needs still come first. Which is why I've never told you

any of these things. Why I'd still rather turn my anger inward and suffer

crippling, suicidal depression instead of admitting that it wasn't me who was

worthless, wasn't me who was unlovable, wasn't me who was inadequate. It was

your lack of empathy, your inability to connect and love and give that was the

problem, not me. But to admit this means I'd have to put my needs first, to

allow myself to be angry at you, to take a stand for myself and risk hurting

you. And I can't do that because your needs still come first.

June 3, 2012

there is too much to respond too. but I relate too. the feeling of being

condescended to with love from a god is what I felt/was taught too. my nada

(term we use when our mothers are not so motherly) convinced me that I was

unlovable, and set me up to be very hurt be a huge number of people. I hope you

find what you need for you to heal. my nada was not as " severe " either, but I

still feel very hurt. your pain is not diminished because your story is

different. everyone experiences life differently. BPD behaviors are always

hurtful.

Meikjn

>

> > **

> >

> > I'm new here and just wanted to say how much I love this group already...

> > It's wonderful to see the support and encouragement given out here, and it

> > really helps to see your own story reflected in other people's experiences

> > - I finally feel like I'm not alone. I didn't suffer the horrible childhood

> > abuse I've read about from a lot of you... my therapist and I joke that my

> > nada is " borderline borderline. " My experience was more one of emotional

> > neglect, but it was enough to leave me with feelings of worthlessness,

> > fear, anxiety, depression and problems connecting with other people.

> >

> > I wanted to share a letter I wrote to my Nada (although it was more for

> > me... I have no plans to actually send it to her at this point). But I

> > found it incredibly helpful and therapeutic to write it all out and see my

> > experiences from the point of view I had as a child. I hope some of you can

> > relate and I would love to hear if anyone else has written something

> > similar, and if any of you have actually sent your letters to your BP or

> > discussed your childhoods with your BP, and if so, what was the result?

> >

> > Anyway, here's the letter - sorry it's so long. =)

> >

> > ----------------------------------------------------------

> > Mom,

> >

> > I feel like I'm finally seeing my childhood for what it really was. When I

> > was a child, I idolized you. I thought you were the most wonderful, perfect

> > person in the world. You represented everything I should aspire to: moral

> > superiority, all knowing intelligence, confidence and authority. I knew

> > that when you were angry at me or cold towards me, that it was completely

> > my fault. I was, after all, a shy, awkward, geeky child. I always said the

> > wrong thing and acted the wrong way. I knew my own father left because I

> > wasn't good enough for him. And the crumbs of love you gave me felt like a

> > banquet at the time because I knew it was more than I deserved.

> >

> > But this was the narrow reality of a little girl who only had one person

> > in the whole world to cling to. One person that was in charge of her life.

> > One person to be there for her, to meet her needs, to listen to her, to

> > love her. All I knew is what you gave me. I had no other example of what a

> > parent's love for their child should look like. It's taken me 3 decades to

> > fully realize that what you gave me was much, much less than what I needed.

> > I was starving for affection, for attention, for approval, for love. I was

> > shown in countless ways that my feelings and needs were much less important

> > than your own. And I believed in my unworthiness completely, as I still

> > often do.

> >

> > I remember how often you joked about leaving me in a shopping cart when I

> > was a toddler throwing a tantrum and not wanting to get out of the cart. So

> > you left me there in the parking lot and drove away. You were the one

> > person I had to keep me safe in this world. The one person who could have

> > empowered me to feel safe and loved and worthwhile. But instead you

> > abandoned me to prove a point. To win. And I learned that day that I had to

> > work hard to please people, push my own feelings down, hide the part of me

> > that would ever speak up for my needs ... otherwise I would be seen as

> > worthless trash to be abandoned. I wish you could feel empathy and see how

> > that would make a small child feel, to be left in this world alone, but

> > instead you joked about it, bragged about it, proud of your parenting

> > skills. How could you not see how frightening and heartbreaking that would

> > be to a child, especially one who has no one else?

> >

> > I know you wanted me to grow into a strong, independent woman who could

> > take care of herself. And I did, but at a cost. The cost was believing that

> > relationships were dangerous - I could only rely on myself, because no one

> > else would love me enough to be there for me. There was no safety or

> > comfort to be found in the world and especially not in a relationship - I

> > was on my own.

> >

> > I came to you for help in dealing with the intimidating adult school yard

> > attendant who picked on me in kindergarten. I wanted - needed - to feel

> > protected and cared for, but instead, you sent me to sort out my own

> > problems with her - a 5 year old confronting an adult bully. I was shaking

> > I was so scared of confronting her, but I did so because you wanted me to.

> > But far from feeling empowered, I learned that day, again, that no one

> > would take care of me or protect me in this dangerous world. I was on my

> > own.

> >

> > You wouldn't intervene when my terror of spiders sent me running to you

> > for help. When, stern and irritated, you ordered me to go back down to the

> > laundry room and deal with what to my 7 year old mind appeared to be the

> > largest and scariest scorpion-spider-alien I had ever seen - without help,

> > on my own, so that I could get your laundry done. I stood downstairs

> > forever, scared to move anywhere near the spider, but more afraid to face

> > your wrath. Heart racing, I finally slammed the door on the spider over and

> > over again until I was sure he was dead. From then on the sight of his

> > crushed body stained on the wall reminded me that even when I was terrified

> > there was no one for me to rely on - no one who would help me in this

> > world. And I knew again, it was not because you or this world was unfair or

> > unjust. It was because I was unlovable. Unworthy. A blight that you, a

> > perfect being, suffered for some unknown reason. You were a god and I was

> > something disgusting, something easily abandoned and forgotten. So I was

> > grateful for the fact that you allowed me to stay, allowed me to go on

> > living, allowed me a small amount of attention and a few kind words. That

> > was far more than I deserved.

> >

> > You never physically abused me, but I lived with the constant threat of

> > violence and abandonment. At 7, I was in charge of doing our laundry, and

> > the day I brought your laundry back slightly damp, you towered over me,

> > shaking, raging, telling me to shut up. I felt so worthless and scared and

> > unloved. The day you threw spaghetti in a rage all over the kitchen because

> > I was too afraid to get near the boiling water and a dozen other rages all

> > combined to make me feel unsafe, like I had to walk on eggshells and be

> > perfect to avoid violence or abandonment.

> >

> > I remember how excited I would get over a delicious mango in the house - a

> > rare treat, something special and wonderful, and how perfectly normal it

> > was to me that you would slice off all the meat for yourself and give me

> > the pit. That was far more than I deserved.

> >

> > I remember the shame I felt when, after falling off my bike and sending

> > Charlie upstairs to tell you I had really hurt myself, he came back with

> > pity in his eyes, to tell me that you weren't coming down. I was

> > humiliated. Charlie had an abusive, alcoholic father, but he had pity in

> > his eyes for me. Because he saw how unloved and unlovable I really was.

> > That was confirmation for me. Even my own mother didn't care if I lived or

> > died. I was all alone in this world. I was a little angry at the injustice

> > at first, but the anger quickly turned inward when I realized this was all

> > I deserved.

> >

> > I remember crying myself to sleep one night after I had been scared by the

> > vacuum. I cried while you watched TV in the living room, and I listened to

> > your laughter - real, joyful laughter at what was obviously a very funny

> > and entertaining show, knowing that you could hear me crying but were able

> > to fully enjoy the show anyway. That's how little my pain and fear

> > mattered. It didn't affect you in the slightest. I cried because I was that

> > meaningless and insignificant.

> >

> > I had a couple of overwhelmingly terrifying nightmares. They felt

> > completely real and were like descending into the depths of hell. I would

> > wake up terrified out of my mind, but was too afraid to wake you up. Same

> > when I had growing pains. It was pain worse than I had ever experienced,

> > and it would go on for hours, keeping me up. But I would cry quietly so as

> > not to wake you up. Your sleep was sacred and not to be disturbed. Your

> > needs came first.

> >

> > Your many sicknesses took over your life when I was around 7. Took over my

> > life as well. Growing up there were hundreds of theories, dozens of

> > doctors, thousands of complaints that I was expected to listen to and

> > sympathize with, and no concrete diagnosis. I worried constantly about you

> > and tried to be everything I could for you, emotionally exhausting myself.

> > But if I ever complained that your sicknesses got in the way of you going

> > to a school play, or spending time with me, I was selfish and you were the

> > victim. Never once did you acknowledge that your sickness affected my life

> > too.

> >

> > I remember for years wanting to go to the mountains to see snow, something

> > I had never seen. I remember begging you to take me. I wanted to go

> > sledding, to build a snowman. It seemed magical in my mind. Finally you

> > relented and promised me, swore to me that you would take me to the

> > mountains the next morning. I had never been so excited. When that morning

> > came around, you told me you were too sick to go, and went back to sleep.

> > When you got up and I voiced my disappointment, you made it clear that YOU

> > were the victim, not me, and I was wrong and bad for being an angry,

> > disappointed child. Your needs came first. And the first time I saw snow

> > was when I drove myself there as an adult.

> >

> > I can't recall you ever playing with me as a child. I wanted you to so

> > badly - I was an only child with no siblings, no father, no family, living

> > a very solitary life. I do recall you telling me many times that you were

> > " not a play mom " and didn't want to play with me. So I played by myself in

> > my room. Alone. In my mind it made sense. Of course you wouldn't lower

> > yourself to play with me. Royalty doesn't play with pond scum.

> >

> > You have always taken a long time to get ready in the mornings. Your hair

> > in particular was something very important to you, and you took great care

> > in styling it before leaving the house. But I was sent to school with a

> > hasty swipe of a washcloth and comb, and I was ashamed at my lack of style

> > and beauty, especially compared to the other girls in school. When I

> > finally learned to style my hair, it was from a friend, not you.

> >

> > I hated myself. I wished that I was skinny and pretty and smart and funny

> > and cool and good inside, so that maybe I could be lovable. But I was none

> > of those things. I was a disappointment. A sad, needy thing with no

> > redeeming qualities. And I hated myself passionately because of it, and

> > loved you fervently for tolerating me despite these defects.

> >

> > Looking back at my childhood, my overall experience was one of being just

> > tolerated. Not loved. Not enjoyed. Not cared for. Not connected. Not

> > special. Just tolerated. And I knew that was all I could hope for and more

> > than I deserved.

> >

> > Working two jobs through my teenage years while giving you all the money I

> > made, keeping none of it for myself wasn't enough to increase my worth. You

> > still refused to drive me places, despite the fact that I could have bought

> > myself a car with the money I gave you. I had to rely on friends to drive

> > me to church and I rode my bicycle home from work at night without a

> > headlight. I was a horrible, selfish person for wanting to keep just $10 a

> > week for myself to buy something other than the school's horrible cafeteria

> > food. You claimed to need 100% of my earnings to keep us afloat, and I was

> > not allowed to ask for any of it. But you never ran out of Channel No. 5

> > perfume, or went without a haircut.

> >

> > And to this day, your needs still come first. Which is why I've never told

> > you any of these things. Why I'd still rather turn my anger inward and

> > suffer crippling, suicidal depression instead of admitting that it wasn't

> > me who was worthless, wasn't me who was unlovable, wasn't me who was

> > inadequate. It was your lack of empathy, your inability to connect and love

> > and give that was the problem, not me. But to admit this means I'd have to

> > put my needs first, to allow myself to be angry at you, to take a stand for

> > myself and risk hurting you. And I can't do that because your needs still

> > come first.

> >

>

June 4, 2012

Welcome to the Group, a.

I agree, it really helps to realize that its not just you, that other people

have experienced the bewildering and devastating array of behaviors that those

with bpd display toward their own children. It takes some of the misplaced

feelings of guilt, responsibility and shame away to realize that your mother or

father has a genuine mental disorder, that you did not cause them to have this

disorder and you did not/do not deserve to be emotionally battered by your own

parents.

What a horrible series of emotionally abusive behaviors you endured from your

nada ( " not-a-mom " , or mother with bpd.) Emotional abuse is not a little thing;

it does a great deal of emotional injury to children, and the worst part of it

is that its usually covert (no witnesses) and leaves no physical, visible marks

like physical or sexual abuse. And on top of the verbal or emotional abuse,

too often the mentally ill parent will destroy the child's credibility with

other adults so that if the child does get up the courage to reach out for help,

he or she will not be believed. Me personally, I tend to think of the kinds of

emotional / verbal abuse that you have described as psychological torture, and

inhumane.

I too found it very self-validating and cathartic to write down in black and

white the memories of abusive incidents that I had endured. I never sent my

nada such a letter (I wrote down my memories in diary or journal form); I

realized that she would vehemently deny some of them and have " good

explanations " for others, would claim that I way lying or exaggerating and would

use my list of memories as proof that I was mean and evil, and was only trying

to hurt her. So, I just kept it for myself, as a reminder that my nada's

negative, destructive behaviors were very, very long term, and repetitive, and

abnormal.

I hope that writing down and sharing your memories of abuse are helping you. We

here can relate to what happened to you; we believe you. The incidents you

wrote down vividly describe what personality disorder looks like and sounds

like, and how it negatively impacts the children of pd individuals.

Again, welcome. I hope you will find as much validation, peace and healing here

as I have.

-Annie

>

> I'm new here and just wanted to say how much I love this group already... It's

wonderful to see the support and encouragement given out here, and it really

helps to see your own story reflected in other people's experiences - I finally

feel like I'm not alone. I didn't suffer the horrible childhood abuse I've read

about from a lot of you... my therapist and I joke that my nada is " borderline

borderline. " My experience was more one of emotional neglect, but it was

enough to leave me with feelings of worthlessness, fear, anxiety, depression and

problems connecting with other people.

>

> I wanted to share a letter I wrote to my Nada (although it was more for me...

I have no plans to actually send it to her at this point). But I found it

incredibly helpful and therapeutic to write it all out and see my experiences

from the point of view I had as a child. I hope some of you can relate and I

would love to hear if anyone else has written something similar, and if any of

you have actually sent your letters to your BP or discussed your childhoods with

your BP, and if so, what was the result?

>

> Anyway, here's the letter - sorry it's so long. =)

>

> -------------------------------------------------------------

> Mom,

>

> I feel like I'm finally seeing my childhood for what it really was. When I

was a child, I idolized you. I thought you were the most wonderful, perfect

person in the world. You represented everything I should aspire to: moral

superiority, all knowing intelligence, confidence and authority. I knew that

when you were angry at me or cold towards me, that it was completely my fault.

I was, after all, a shy, awkward, geeky child. I always said the wrong thing

and acted the wrong way. I knew my own father left because I wasn't good enough

for him. And the crumbs of love you gave me felt like a banquet at the time

because I knew it was more than I deserved.

>

> But this was the narrow reality of a little girl who only had one person in

the whole world to cling to. One person that was in charge of her life. One

person to be there for her, to meet her needs, to listen to her, to love her.

All I knew is what you gave me. I had no other example of what a parent's love

for their child should look like. It's taken me 3 decades to fully realize that

what you gave me was much, much less than what I needed. I was starving for

affection, for attention, for approval, for love. I was shown in countless

ways that my feelings and needs were much less important than your own. And I

believed in my unworthiness completely, as I still often do.

>

> I remember how often you joked about leaving me in a shopping cart when I was

a toddler throwing a tantrum and not wanting to get out of the cart. So you

left me there in the parking lot and drove away. You were the one person I had

to keep me safe in this world. The one person who could have empowered me to

feel safe and loved and worthwhile. But instead you abandoned me to prove a

point. To win. And I learned that day that I had to work hard to please

people, push my own feelings down, hide the part of me that would ever speak up

for my needs ... otherwise I would be seen as worthless trash to be abandoned.

I wish you could feel empathy and see how that would make a small child feel, to

be left in this world alone, but instead you joked about it, bragged about it,

proud of your parenting skills. How could you not see how frightening and

heartbreaking that would be to a child, especially one who has no one else?

>

> I know you wanted me to grow into a strong, independent woman who could take