Aside from my birthplace and my mother’s name and birthdate, it was an empty page. No name for me, not even the placeholder of “baby girl.” Just a blank line where I began. Seeing it stirred a familiar sadness, a reminder of how little acknowledgment there had been of my arrival in the world.
My father’s line was empty too, the box for “illegitimate” marked yes. And yet, for the first time, knowing her name, she suddenly felt real to me.
Through research, I uncovered only more fragments about her, but they revealed a woman who lived a private and unorthodox life. She made ends meet with whatever jobs she could find, but her real passion was energy work and healing others. She was an empath who trusted in the universe, angel numbers and the healing power of crystals. She was a non-conformist who never fit into society’s standards, and as far as I can tell, never wanted to.
People with borderline personality disorder also live with an unstable sense of self and a chronic search for meaning, which can make unorthodox or spiritually expansive belief systems feel grounding or validating. Their heightened sensitivity and tendency to question conventional narratives can draw them toward mystic spiritualism or energy‑based frameworks that seem to offer coherence where traditional structures have failed them. Non‑conformity and frustration with societal norms can also emerge from years of feeling misunderstood, invalidated or constrained by expectations that never fit their internal experience.
The similarities were astonishing, leaving me feeling almost more complete. Not only was this why I am the way I am, but who I’ve always been.
She had married and divorced, afterward reinventing herself and living under an alias for the rest of her life until her death in 2020. The only trace of her passing was a state record. No obituary, no memorial, no celebration of life. Nothing to mark that she had ever been here.
Her end seemed like my beginning. It leaves me sitting with hard questions about what pain she carried, and how her mental burdens might be similar to what I’m navigating now. I wonder whether she lived with the same emotional intensity and whether the genetic threads that precipitated my borderline personality disorder were woven through her life as well. Back then, mental health wasn’t met with care but with stigma, so whatever pain she carried would have been dismissed and silenced, just like my birth.
Since I can no longer ask her, this is all speculation on my part. But given the genetic predisposition tied to BPD, intensified by adversity and trauma, I personally believe that we shared the disorder.
My life can’t be separated from the era that tried to erase its beginning. Living with a fractured sense of self and a mental disorder could potentially have been treated much earlier if my history had been known.
Finding my mother, though, however late and however incomplete, returned something to me that had been missing since the moment of my birth. In learning who she was, I found a reflection of myself that no amended record could ever offer. I can finally stand in the truth of who I am.
Now, as I slowly rebuild myself, I can recognize the quiet part of her that has been with me all along.
Today, my current husband and I remain sober and strong together, supporting each other through everything. He has said that if he had to endure what I have, he wouldn’t have survived the pain. He gave me validation in those words and has helped me see that abandonment is not inevitable ― some people choose to remain.
I have two children, both adults now, and the only people in my life who share my genetics. They are precious to me in a way that rises even beyond the unconditional love of a parent. Through my blended family, with five children altogether, I have learned that I am a part of something bigger than myself.
Need help with substance use disorder or mental health issues? In the U.S., call 800-662-HELP (4357) for the SAMHSA National Helpline.
This article originally appeared on HuffPost in February 2026.
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