I’m Still Becoming, But I’m No Longer Hiding.
I used to think identity was something you arrived at. A fixed point. A clear definition. But I’ve learned that for me, especially with BPD, it’s more like a fog I walk through slowly. Some days I feel solid. Other days I feel like a collection of reactions. But I’m still walking. And that counts.
I don’t have a ritual yet. No grounding practice. But I do have a voice. And I’m learning to use it, not just to explain myself, but to honor myself.
I’ve reclaimed the parts of me that used to feel shameful. The label “mentally ill” used to sting. Now it feels like a doorway. A way to name the parts of me that need love, not judgment.
I cry often. I get angry often. But I also love loudly. I laugh until I wheeze. I hold my kids close and remind myself that this version of me is showing up.
I’m not perfect. I’ve been the problem plenty of times. But I’m also the solution. Because I’m choosing to grow. Not for applause. Not for redemption. But because I want to be someone I can live with.
This version of me is still becoming. But she’s no longer hiding. And that matters.