Understanding The Borderline Mother Novels & Stories

Frank sighed, “Sonia, you’ve always been the strong one. Why lose hope now?” “Who did I offend?” She whispered bitterly. “Don’t do this to yourself,” Frank pleaded. “Why wouldn’t I? She burst out, her voice cracking. “I saw the joy on Rose’s face tonight. Don’t you think I want the same? Am I ever going to be a mother?” “Don’t pressure yourself, Frank said gently. You’ve been like a mother to Tyler. You’ve helped raise him.” “Tyler is not mine, Frank! Don’t you get it?” She snapped. “I love T, but he’s not my child.”

Bringing his mother in this conversation or ever was a bottom line for him and not in a good way. His mother was a literal example of victimizing herself, she will put herself on the high pedestal as if she was better than anyone else, try to bit off more than she could chew and when she failed - she would make herself, a victim. She was cantankerous, bitchy and a social butterfly who liked her kitty parties more than she liked her kids. He didn’t even remember her face now because she appeared in his life a lot less than a known passerby.

With his hand still holding mine firmly, he faced his mother defiantly, “It’s a mate bond, mother. I don’t have to mean it. You just have to open your eyes and see it.” I’ve never seen Luna Trisha so distraught. I never even thought she was capable of any other feeling other than the one every one of us has come to know but I witnessed it first in that hall and now this. I guess nothing changes the fact that she is a mother. Not even how she has brutally treated other children of other people.

Something about his touch was disarming to me. I couldn't believ that I was letting him touch me in the way he was, not after I had promised myself that this was not what I wanted fom myself. Not after I watched my mother being abused by my father and yet she had always stayed with him and wthout hestation given him all of herself to him, why was I falling into the same trap that she had fallen into? i had watched my mother die because of a mate bond notonly on the day that my father killed her but onevery single occasion he either belittled her, or when he beat her up. i didn't want that for myself.

Refusing to waste any more time, she decided to start writing her blog post on boundaries. She began. Boundaries are not walls. Rather, see them as semi-permeable membranes or in more subtle terms, gates: only certain things are allowed to get in and get out For the umpteenth time, she got lost in her thoughts. Initially, when she relocated to California from Nigeria, before moving to Houston, Mama would often call her twenty times a day. “Ke du, how are you doing? Are you finding that place convenient?” Mama asked. “Yes, mama, I am fine, she would often respond with reluctance” In the next couple of hours, mama would call.

I slowly got up and stepped away, gesturing for my mother to follow me outside. Once outside I had my arms folded across my chest, ready for the barrage of questions. My mom looked pale and haggard, significantly older than her fifty years. She had found her mate at eighteen, the dream situation as experienced by Marie. My father’s death had made Mom a widow, a role she had revelled in as time went on. His sacrifice became her sacrifice. The fact he was killed in a pointless border skirmish with some weakened rogues that were trying to flee was irrelevant.

We ate. We talked, small, about safe things. My dance classes, college. The twins’ semester. The weather. No grand declarations. No hugs. But when coffee was poured and plates cleared, Mom looked at Camilla. “I’m not your enemy,” she said quietly. “I never was. I was just… gone. And you filled the space. Badly, sometimes. But you filled it.” Camilla nodded. “I know.” “If you’re serious about staying on the edges,” Mom said, “then the edges are open. But only if you respect them.”

We drink. My phone lights up again. Emma notices. She says nothing at first. She just watches me choose not to look at it. Then she says, “your parents were a surprise today.” I look at her. “I’m sorry about that.” Emma shakes her head. “It’s alright.” “It wasn’t alright. Mom has real boundary issues. I’m working on it.” “She’s your mother,” Emma says. “She’s concerned. I get it.” “That is very charitable of you. I appreciate it.” But that’s Emma, she always makes room for who I need to be in the moment.

The way I was holding onto my pride while everything crumbled made his expression soften. "Thank you. And... I’m sorry for how my mother is acting." "Why apologize for her? It’s the instinct of a Matriarch to vet her son’s mate. She’s doing it because you’re her kin. I understand the pressure." As a scholar and a mentor, he’d dealt with enough pack elders to recognize a territorial defense when he saw one. I bit my lip, unable to explain the jagged, twisted reality of our family dynamic—or my mother’s pathological need for total dominance.

Nevertheless… “Would you be so angry if this was the other way around?” I asked her. Silence ensued. “Trust me, Harly, you are not the only one who is traumatized by the sins of her parents. The sooner you understand that, the better off we will be.” Silence further ensued. Then, without another word, she begrudgingly backed away from me and then shifted her glare to our father. “Well then,” she started. “Go on.” “Your mother, Harlyn, you know that she was apart of a pack infamous for their feral nature. Your mother had a particularly rough time keeping her more…unruly side in check. While…we were together…”