Gentle Giant

Borderline. Where and when did you give birth? Birth… what a cliché. Birth, rejection, no attention. Only three days old… left alone for three days. Three days. Almost sounds impossible, right?

Lying alone, not bonding with flesh and blood — a so-called mother. So then you ask questions like: would things have been better if I were a boy, like they all so desperately longed for?

Birth, Gentle Giant. Born together.

I write about absent love, trauma, healing. Everyone is suffering, surviving their own battles. If you ever felt unseen… you are not alone.

Every day brings new challenges. Sometimes it feels as if my emotions crash over me like waves, without warning. Living with borderline doesn’t mean I am weak, doesn’t mean I failed – it means I feel intensively, Draining myself to care and think what others feel.

I’ve learned to celebrate small victories. It could be something as simple as keeping a rhythm in my day, taking a short walk outside, or just finding a quiet moment for myself.

These little steps keep me moving forward and help me understand myself I want this blog to share my journey – the difficult parts and the beautiful moments. Not as advice, but as an honest glimpse into what it’s like to live in my world.

Growing up in a house where attention was a luxury, love took random days off, and alcohol lurked around like a monster in the kitchen… yeah, that’s definitely not a walk in the park. More like tiptoeing through a fun house where none of the mirrors are funny. But at that age, a little girl doesn’t know any better.

Chaos feels normal when it’s the only language your home speaks.

Picture this: brandy on the counter, wine breathing dramatically in a glass, a dad with the emotional availability of a brick wall, and a mom fighting her own battles with Borderline. Not exactly the childhood package anyone orders, right? More like the budget version life delivers without asking for refunds.

And then there’s that word: “alcohol.” The moment people hear it, their brains go, Oh great, tonight’s going to be fun. And honestly? You’re not wrong. It was “fun”… just not the type involving cuddles, board games, or anything remotely Instagram-worthy. Think more along the lines of unpredictable plot twists and adults who should’ve had warning labels.

No child should grow up in that kind of storm, but somehow I did. And here I am – older, a bit scratched around the edges, weirdly humorous about all of it, and definitely wiser than the chaos I came from. If survival was an Olympic sport, trust me… I’d be standing on that podium waving like a champion.

From as far back as I can remember, my life felt like a one-way street of love from my parents. Being the youngest of three daughters… well, now you know why my dad sometimes disappeared 😏. I was just craving the attention that was never really there.

But what does a child want more than anything? Love and attention, or fights over the fact that you wouldn’t wear your sister’s hand-me-down clothes? That was the norm. From the eldest to the youngest, the clothes were passed down. Maybe the store didn’t have my size, so I ended up wearing someone else’s outfit anyway.

And yes… it took a toll, even from a young age. A tiny tube of pink glittery toothpaste could turn my world upside down. Suddenly, the bathroom was mine – all mine. No sharing allowed. Small details, big battles.

One important thing I learned (the hard way) is that attention and space matter. And sharing? Not exactly one of my childhood strengths.