The One With the Label That Stuck (But Didn’t Quite Fit) BPD Awareness Month

Let’s get real about three letters that carry a lot of weight: BPD. 

Borderline Personality Disorder.

It’s a diagnosis that shows up often—especially in women.

Especially those who’ve been hurt, gaslit, misread—or made to feel like their truth was too much to hold.

And if you’re one of them, you know how it feels:

You get called intense.

Manipulative.

Too emotional.

People don’t always say it out loud.

But you notice the distance.

The discomfort.

The subtle way you’re treated like too much—and too fragile—all at once.

In the way people look at you.

Talk about you.

Distance themselves.

Here’s what’s rarely said out loud:

BPD isn’t a personality flaw.

It’s often a response to what happened and not a reflection of who you are.

And it’s not the full story for many who carry the diagnosis.

What Is BPD, Really?

Borderline Personality Disorder is often diagnosed in people who feel emotions intensely—especially around relationships, identity and safety.

It might show up as big emotional reactions, a deep fear of being left behind or moments where someone seems disconnected from themselves—like who they are shifts depending on who they’re with.

But that doesn’t always mean they’re unstable.

Sometimes, it means they’ve learned to adapt.

For many—especially those who are neurodivergent or have experienced trauma—masking becomes second nature.

Shifting between environments isn’t confusion.

It’s strategy.

You learn how to move through family dynamics, institutions, social groups—each with different rules, unspoken expectations and emotional costs.

You become fluent in reading a room.

In keeping the peace.

In becoming what each space demands.

And this ability to adjust?

It’s praised—until it cracks.

Until you burn out.

Until someone calls out a small lie you told to protect your own privacy or to spare someone else’s feelings.

Then it’s no longer seen as resilience.

It’s seen as manipulation.

And suddenly, you’re in the diagnostic frame.

But what gets labelled as identity disturbance is often just a survival response to systems that required too much performance and too little truth.

Even choices that come from calm, clarity or personal preference can get misread.

If your version of peace doesn’t look like everyone else’s idea of joy—if your healing doesn’t come with bright smiles or loud milestones—you might still find yourself under a microscope.

But that’s not dysfunction.

That’s perspective.

And it deserves respect, not suspicion.

Who Gets Diagnosed?

Mostly women.

Often neurodivergent women.

Often women of colour.

Often survivors.

Women who were never given space to fall apart gently.

Who learned to scream quietly or explode loudly because nobody noticed when they whispered.

Sometimes it’s not BPD at all.

Sometimes it’s complex PTSD.

Sometimes it’s autism, misread as “too much.”

Sometimes it’s grief.

Burnout.

Sensory overwhelm.

A system that never made room for their way of being.

The Stigma Hurts More Than the Label

People hear “borderline” and think “bad.”

Clinicians avoid.

Friends ghost.

Partners panic.

That’s not healing.

That’s exile.

And for people already carrying shame and abandonment wounds—it’s a second betrayal.

So What Now?

You get to ask questions.

You get to take what fits—and leave the rest.

You’re allowed to exist outside the neat little boxes.

You are not your diagnosis.

You are not “too much.”

You are not a burden and you are not broken beyond repair.

You’re a human being with a nervous system that adapted to chaos.

That’s not dysfunction.

That’s survival.

Let’s stop pathologizing pain.

Let’s stop calling trauma a personality.

And while we’re here, let’s talk about care.

Sometimes it feels like medications are handed out before understanding is.

Like they’re the price you pay just to be taken seriously.

And the impact isn’t just on those handed prescriptions too quickly.

It ripples.

It’s collective.

This isn’t about all professionals.

There are people doing this work with care, integrity and heart.

But there are enough who aren’t.

And it makes a difference— a real, painful, measurable difference.

Not just for the people seeking help, but for the ones doing the job properly.

Because when compassion is the exception instead of the standard, even the best practitioners are working uphill.

In a city like London, with its layers, its collisions, its quiet heartbreaks—we don’t need perfection.

We need presence.

We need practitioners who reflect the communities they serve.

Who get it.

Who care.

To the professionals:

• Look again.

• Ask better questions.

• Do the work it takes to see the full picture.

To the ones carrying the label:

• You don’t owe anyone a neat story.

• You don’t have to be palatable to be worthy.

• You get to be complicated and still deserving of care.

For BPD Awareness Month, let’s go deeper.

Let’s talk about the parts that don’t fit neatly into case notes.

The versions of survival that don’t look pretty.

The real cost of not being believed.

Diagnosis might open doors.

It might also slam a few shut.

Let’s stop pretending it’s simple.

Let’s build systems that can hold complexity—without collapsing into control.

That’s the work.

Not awareness.

Understanding.