Receiving a diagnosis later in life was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, finally having an answer to why she felt the way she did made Ava feel heard. However, the glaring truth that there was something wrong with her made it worse. Something about knowing her trauma caused the disorder was enough to send her back into flashbacks far more than she wanted. The stigma surrounding cluster B personality disorders is bad enough, not to mention the added paranoia of motherhood.

People with borderline always had a bad reputation, with people claiming they were manipulative on purpose or unable to sustain proper relationships. It was a mindset even Ava herself thought before she educated herself on her disorder. Even still, some part of her felt guilty when she tried to make friends or maintain relationships. It felt like she was putting them at risk for manipulation and the stress of her disorder, even though it was something out of her control.

Vivienne was at the forefront of her mind during these guilty thoughts. Her daughter didn’t know anything other than her mother’s care and she was growing up just fine according to her paediatrician. Still, Ava was convinced that she would mess up somehow; terrified she would expose Vivi to the same trauma she had been through. She never had thoughts of giving Vivi up or putting her in danger, though, even when she had episodes. Nothing could get in between her and the need to protect her toddler, not even her disorder.

That’s what she reminded herself when the worries set in, watching Vivienne run across the playground with her shoes lighting up at every step. She would always be there for her baby and she should have every chance at a normal social life. BPD was a disorder shaped by childhood traumas, so as long as Ava kept Vivi safe and happy she wouldn’t fall victim to the disorder like her mother. She had a chance to make a good life for them and raise her daughter right, something her own parents never made sure of for Ava. It was the least she could do, she assured herself, and she could do it on her own.

“Mummy,” that little voice melted her heart every time, “Want juice.”

Ava paused her whirlwind of thoughts and looked down, seeing a shock of blonde hair pulled into little buns. She called them “little sprouts” because when Vivi was tiny they stuck up like sprouts on a plant. It made her daughter giggle now, chanting the term every time she wanted her mum to do her hair.

“Juice?” Ava peeked into the shark shaped backpack beside her, “Looks like it’s all gone, love. Want water right now?”

“Noooo,” Vivi whined, “Juice!”

“Hey, let’s not whine, Viv,” her scolding was gentle but firm. She stood up, picking up the bag as she did so and holding it out to the child, “We can go home then and after a bath you can have juice, okay?”

The way she tapped on her chin as if in thought was hilarious, something she must have picked up from television. The toddler nodded after a while, letting her mum slide the backpack straps onto her tiny arms. With her shark bag snugly on her back, she reached out to grab Ava’s hand and tug her towards the path out of the park.

“Hold your horses,” Ava joked as she picked up her purse and checked everything was there, “The juice won’t run away, silly.”