Page 64 of Breathe Again

“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.”

---