Walking on Eggshells: Understanding the Trauma of Chaotic Family Systems

If you grew up in a chaotic family system — especially with a parent who may have had traits of Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD) — there’s a good chance the phrase “walking on eggshells” feels less like a metaphor and more like a childhood memory. And for many adults today, it still feels like a way of life.

People from these environments often come into therapy not realizing they’ve been living in survival mode for decades. They think they’re “too sensitive,” “difficult,” or “overreactive,” when in reality, they are carrying the trauma of unpredictable, toxic family dynamics.

Let’s talk about what walking on eggshells really means — and what healing can look like.

What “Walking on Eggshells” Actually Feels Like

Children raised in chaotic or emotionally volatile homes live in a constant state of fear and anticipation. Parents with BPD or similar patterns often have extreme, rapidly shifting moods. A child never knows which version of their parent they’ll get: the fun, loving version — or the explosive, shaming one.

This unpredictability creates daily hypervigilance. Kids learn to scan for danger, monitor tone, facial expressions, or body language, and brace for emotional impact. What makes it even more confusing is that sometimes the parent is warm or playful. Those moments create just enough hope to make the child question their own fear:

“Maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe I’m the problem. Maybe it’s not that bad.”

This back-and-forth disrupts their entire sense of reality. It undermines their ability to trust their own instincts. And because children always assume a parent’s behavior is their fault, they internalize the chaos. They believe they caused it — and that they can fix it.

Soon, walking on eggshells becomes a way of life:

• Extreme self-monitoring

• Overthinking every word or action

• Trying to be the “perfect” version of themselves to avoid conflict

• Constant fear of being the reason someone else is upset

This is trauma. And it stays with you.

How Eggshelled Children Become Eggshelled Adults

What we experience as children becomes the blueprint for how we relate to the world as adults. So when a child grows up bracing for the next outburst, the adult version of that child stays braced — in relationships, at work, even in everyday interactions.

Adult children of BPD or chaotic parents often:

• Feel responsible for everyone’s emotions

• Take people’s bad moods personally

• Assume conflict means abandonment

• Try to manage or “fix” others’ feelings

• Interpret neutral behavior as rejection

• Fear that small mistakes will lead to major consequences

If someone they care about is quiet or distracted, they don’t think, “They’re having a tough day.”
They think, “What did I do? Are they upset with me? Are they leaving?”

This isn’t oversensitivity — it’s trauma from family conditioning.

The Moment Everything Clicks: “It Wasn’t Me.”

One of the most powerful moments in therapy is when a client finally realizes:

“I’m not crazy. I’m not a bad person. I’m not unlovable. I was surviving chaos.”

There’s usually a deep sense of relief. Having words for their experience — BPD family trauma, toxic family dynamics, childhood emotional unpredictability — helps them make sense of behaviors they’ve spent their entire lives blaming themselves for.

Language brings validation.
Validation brings clarity.
And clarity brings healing.

Untangling Identity From the Chaos

Healing from chaotic family systems involves an enormous amount of untangling — especially when someone believes they are destined to turn into their parent.

Many adult children feel fused with their parent’s identity. They carry the fear:

“If my parent has BPD or was emotionally unstable, it’s only a matter of time before I become the same.”

This belief is powerful, but it’s false.

A core part of healing is helping clients understand the real factors that shape identity. I often guide them into a relaxed state and use CBT, affirmations, and deep reflection to break the “destiny” narrative. A simple but transformative phrase is:

“I am not my parent.”

Then we explore concrete evidence:

• Their different life experiences

• Their values

• Their choices

• Their capacity for self-awareness and growth

These differences matter. They are proof of individuality. Proof that trauma shaped them — but does not define them.

What Healing Actually Looks Like

Once clients begin identifying the patterns, understanding the internalized fears, and learning to self-regulate, real shifts start to happen:

• They stop overworking to maintain unhealthy relationships.

• They stop recreating the dynamic they had with their parent.

• They stop believing chaos is normal or familiar is safe.

• They start choosing relationships where they are respected, not drained.

• They begin to trust their instincts again.

Healing doesn’t erase the past — but it frees people from repeating it.

A Final Message for Anyone Still Walking on Eggshells

If you find yourself slipping into “eggshell mode,” here’s what I want you to remember:

Your instincts matter. And if you feel unsafe or uneasy, something in the dynamic deserves your attention.

Walking on eggshells is a trauma response — not a personality flaw.

You are allowed to:

• Evaluate your relationships

• Set boundaries

• Protect your peace

• Act in your own best interest

You do not have to keep reliving the childhood you survived.

Healing is possible — and you don’t have to walk on eggshells anymore.

Breaking the Cycle: How Adult Children of BPD Parents Can Heal

Healing as an Adult After Growing Up with a Parent Who Has Borderline Personality Disorder

Growing up with a parent who has Borderline Personality Disorder leaves marks you can’t always see — but you definitely feel them. Most of the adults I work with tell me stories from their childhood that sound like scenes from a psychological thriller: constant chaos, walking on eggshells, feeling responsible for someone else’s emotions. They often pause halfway through a story and say something like, “That’s just how my family was,” not realizing until I tell them that, no — that wasn’t normal, and parents don’t usually act that way.

For many adult children of parents with BPD, chaos became comfort. It’s what they know. They grew up learning that love meant emotional whiplash — one moment being the favorite, the next being the target. As adults, that old survival wiring doesn’t just disappear. Instead, it shows up in their relationships, their boundaries, and the way they see themselves.

The Fixer and the Peacemaker

People who grew up with a parent who had BPD often end up being the “fixers.” They’re the ones who try to manage everyone else’s emotions — smoothing things over, taking care of other people, making sure no one gets too upset. Deep down, there’s a belief that if they can keep everyone calm and happy, they’ll finally be safe, loved, or “good enough.”

It’s heartbreaking, but also incredibly understandable. As kids, these folks were taught (not with words, but with experiences) that the world falls apart when someone gets upset — and it’s their job to hold it all together. So as adults, they find themselves drawn to chaos like a magnet. They don’t want it, but it feels familiar. Their nervous system recognizes it as home.

When Awareness Begins

Most of my clients know their childhood was “crazy,” but they don’t always know what that means for them now. Often, they come to therapy because they’re stuck in relationships that feel overwhelming and draining. They’re exhausted from trying to fix or manage someone else’s emotions, but they don’t know how to stop — or who they’d even be without that role.

Reaching out for help is often the first step in healing. Many clients don’t even know what healing could look like; they just know something’s not working anymore. That moment — when they finally decide to reach out — is a massive step. It’s the point where survival mode starts to give way to self-awareness.

You Are Not Your Parent

One of the biggest shifts I see in my clients is the moment they realize: “I am not my parent.”

That sentence sounds simple, but it’s revolutionary for someone who’s grown up with a BPD parent. For so long, they’ve lived with this quiet fear — What if I’m just like them? What if I end up hurting people the way I was hurt?

That fear can be paralyzing. It keeps people from looking too closely at their own patterns, because if they see something familiar, it feels like proof that they’re doomed to repeat the cycle. But awareness isn’t the same as repetition. In fact, the people who are most afraid of becoming their parent are the least likely to do so — because they’re paying attention. They’re questioning. They’re choosing to do the hard work their parent never could.

Recognizing your patterns doesn’t mean you’re broken; it means you’re healing. It means you’ve finally stopped surviving long enough to notice what’s going on.

What Healing Looks Like

Healing after growing up with a parent who has BPD isn’t about pretending the past didn’t happen or making peace with it before you’re ready. It’s about building clarity — seeing what’s yours and what never was.

It looks like learning that someone else’s emotions aren’t your responsibility.
It looks like setting boundaries without drowning in guilt.
It looks like realizing that peace doesn’t mean boredom — it means safety.

Over time, the chaos loses its pull. You stop needing to prove that you can fix things. You start trusting yourself again.

You’re Not Alone

If you’re reading this and realizing parts of your story sound familiar, please know this: you’re not alone, and there is clarity on the other side.

Healing doesn’t happen overnight — but it does happen. You don’t have to keep living on high alert or trying to earn love by managing everyone else’s emotions. You get to learn what it feels like to be grounded, safe, and genuinely loved — without chaos as the price of connection.

Working with a therapist who understands this kind of trauma can help you make sense of what happened and start creating the peace you’ve always wanted but never got to feel.

You are not your parent.
You are not broken.
And you absolutely can build something better.

Why Anxiety Shows Up When You Start Setting Boundaries

If you’ve ever tried to set a boundary and suddenly felt your chest tighten, your thoughts race, or your stomach drop—you’re not alone. In fact, it’s one of the most common reactions I see when working with clients. Boundary-setting and anxiety tend to show up together like old frenemies, and for good reason. Boundaries can feel terrifying at first.

So let’s talk about why anxiety crashes the party when you start protecting your time, energy, and needs—and why it’s actually a sign that you’re doing something deeply important.

Where Anxiety Shows Up First

When people start exploring boundaries, the first hurdle is usually confusion:

• Where do I even start?

• How do I know what’s a “good” boundary?

• What if I pick the wrong one?

That uncertainty is uncomfortable, but the real spike of anxiety usually comes when we imagine the consequences. Clients often tell me they worry about how others will react. Will people be angry? Will they pull away? What if I lose relationships I care about?

At the heart of it, the biggest fear is often being disliked, cast out, or left alone. And let’s be honest—that’s one of the most human fears we have.

The Fear Beneath the Fear

Here’s the thing: even though people logically know boundaries are healthy, the emotional experience tells a different story. Fear feels intense because many folks carry an underlying belief: “I’m only valuable if I’m useful to others.”

If someone doesn’t love themselves enough to trust they’re worthy of care, it makes sense they’d question whether anyone else could love them once they stop over-giving. Add in a history of moments where boundary-setting didn’t go well, and suddenly the brain has “evidence” that all boundaries equal rejection.

And then there’s the unknown. The current situation may be unhealthy, but at least it’s familiar. Anxiety convinces us that the devil we know is safer than the freedom we can’t yet picture.

The Truth About Boundaries

Here’s the reframe I love sharing: boundaries aren’t walls that shut people out—they’re doors that allow healthy connection in.

At first, people expect boundaries to feel limiting. They brace for loss. But what surprises them most is the opposite: setting boundaries feels freeing.

Think about it. If you’re constantly saying yes when you mean no, resentment builds. You feel drained, stretched thin, and bitter. But when you set a boundary—whether it’s saying “no,” asking for space, or clarifying what you need—you give yourself permission to breathe. You stop leaking energy. You create space to actually want to show up for the people and commitments you care about.

Boundaries and Compassion

Brené Brown’s research makes this point beautifully. When her team set out to study what makes people compassionate, they expected to find patterns like religion, faith, or community ties. But the surprising discovery was this: the most compassionate people were the ones who set and maintained strong, healthy boundaries.

Why? Because those people avoided burning themselves out. They weren’t running on empty, secretly resentful, or stuck in cycles of overextending. By protecting their energy, they could sustain genuine compassion for longer—and with less bitterness.

So, if your anxiety is telling you that setting boundaries will make you “selfish” or unkind, remember: the opposite is true. Boundaries make compassion sustainable.

If You’re Anxious but Curious

If you’re in that place where the thought of setting boundaries makes you both nervous and intrigued, here’s what I want you to hold onto:

1. Anxiety doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means you’re breaking an old pattern. That discomfort is part of the growth process.

2. Your worst-case scenarios are usually exaggerated. Most people are shocked when others handle their boundaries better than expected.

3. Boundaries aren’t about pushing people away. They’re about building healthier, more balanced relationships—starting with yourself.

4. Self-worth comes first. The more you believe you’re worthy of love without over-giving, the less power anxiety has over you.

The Takeaway

Boundaries are scary because they challenge old stories about who we have to be in order to be loved. Anxiety shows up to keep us in the familiar—even when the familiar is hurting us. But the truth is, boundaries aren’t the end of connection; they’re the beginning of freedom and deeper compassion.

So the next time your chest tightens and the “what ifs” start swirling as you think about setting a boundary, remember: it’s normal to feel that fear. Take the step anyway. You might just find yourself lighter, freer, and more authentically connected than before.

And like I always say: it’s gonna be fiiine.

How to Set Boundaries Without Feeling Like a Bad Person

If you’ve ever thought, “If I say no, they’ll never want me again,” or “If I don’t do everything, why would they love me,” you’re not alone. People with poor or nonexistent boundaries almost always carry the fear that if they set a boundary, they’ll lose something important — a job, an opportunity, or even a relationship.

But here’s the truth: boundaries aren’t about pushing people away. They’re about keeping yourself whole. They are the invisible lines that allow you to give and receive love, support, and care without running yourself into the ground. And setting them doesn’t make you a bad person — it makes you a healthy one. It also allows you to keep going. In another blog post, I’ll talk about compassion fatigue and resentment.

Why Boundaries Feel So Hard

The biggest hurdle is fear. Many people believe saying no means rejection or abandonment will follow. Declining an invitation might mean you’ll never be invited again. Turning down a job could mean no other offers will come. Not overextending yourself might mean you’re not worthy of love.

It’s no wonder so many people push themselves past exhaustion — it feels safer than risking loss.

Shifting the Mindset: The Best Friend Test

Mindset shifts are often easier than taking action, and one of my favorite tools to start with is what I call the Best Friend Test.

Ask yourself:

• Would I say this to my best friend?

• What would I want for my best friend in this situation?

Chances are, you’d want your best friend to rest, to feel valued, and to be treated with respect. If you can want that for them, why not for yourself? This test helps uncover a truth many people overlook: you are just as worthy of kindness, love, and respect as the people you care about.

The First “Trust Fall”

Of course, shifting your thinking is one thing — putting it into practice is another. Setting that very first boundary feels like a trust fall. It’s terrifying, and it takes courage.

Here’s how to make it easier:

1. Start small. Choose an area that feels the least scary — a situation with lower emotional stakes.

2. Remember past wins. Think of times you’ve set boundaries before (even small ones) that turned out okay or even better than expected.

3. Practice it out. Role-play or talk through how the conversation will likely go. Preparation helps calm the fear of the unknown.

These steps don’t remove the fear entirely, but they give you enough footing to take the leap.

The Boundary High

What happens next is almost always surprising. Clients come back to me thrilled, saying, “I did it — and my worst fear didn’t come true!”

Instead of rejection, they find relief. Instead of losing everything, they gain a sense of empowerment. That first success creates what I call a boundary high — the feeling of pride and excitement that builds confidence for the next step. Each boundary set reinforces the truth: protecting your time, energy, and well-being isn’t selfish. It’s necessary.

Redefining Selfishness

One of the biggest sticking points is guilt. Many people worry, “Won’t I look selfish or mean?”

Here’s the reframe: there’s a difference between selfishness that ignores the needs of others, and self-care that honors your own needs. The people who worry about being selfish are never the ones steamrolling others — they’re usually the most people-pleasing, generous souls. It’s rarely the person who always puts themselves first who walks into therapy asking if they’re being a jerk for taking a break.

The truth is, spending your resources — time, money, energy — on yourself isn’t cruel or wrong. It’s a way of maintaining your health and capacity so you can continue showing up in meaningful ways.

The Mantra to Remember

If you take nothing else from this, let it be this:

You are just as worthy of something nice as anyone else — so why not you?

Boundaries don’t make you a bad person. They make you a person who values themselves. And that self-worth is the foundation for healthier relationships, stronger confidence, and a life where you don’t just survive, but thrive.

Coming Out Later in Life: Finding Yourself at Any Age

So, you’ve checked all the boxes. Career? Solid. Relationship? Long-term. Family, house, pets, that one vacation photo where everyone’s smiling? Yep. Life looks good on paper—and yet, you can’t shake this feeling that something’s missing. Then one day, between running errands, paying bills, and making sure everyone else is okay, you realize: oh… it’s me.

Welcome to the world of coming out later in life. It’s a journey full of heart-stopping fear, side-splitting laughter, and the kind of joy that feels like being given a second adolescence—without the bad bangs or acne.

Why Later?

A lot of the women I work with didn’t “miss the memo” about being queer. They weren’t living under a rock. But in their 20s, they were running at full speed—degrees, jobs, marriages, babies, mortgages. Head down, go, go, go. When they finally looked up in their 30s, they realized: Wait. I’ve built all this… but something inside me never got to bloom.

That missing piece? A chunk of their sexuality. Their desire. Their truth.

The Fear Factor

Coming out later in life isn’t about looking for drama (though, let’s be real, sometimes drama shows up uninvited). The women who walk into my office often come with a head full of questions and a heart full of fear:

• How do I even bring this up to my partner?

• What if I lose everything I’ve built?

• Am I too old to start over?

Some are just starting to articulate what they want. Others have already spilled the beans to their partners but feel stuck on what comes next. Nearly all of them are looking for reassurance and permission to simply be themselves.

And here’s the thing: once they start talking, the sessions are often full of laughter. Because as scary as it feels, there’s also something wildly freeing about finally naming what you’ve always known in your bones.

The Joy of It

Here’s my favorite part: the joy.

When women start connecting romantically or sexually with other women for the first time, the spark is undeniable. I’ve seen faces light up like fireworks on the Fourth of July. There’s excitement, energy, a new sense of possibility. It’s not just about sex (though, yes, there’s plenty of fun there too)—it’s about finally being seen and met in a way that feels whole.

Therapy, Community, and Not Going It Alone

Society doesn’t exactly hand out guidebooks for coming out in your 30s, 40s, or beyond. Most of my clients haven’t faced overt oppression—they’ve just quietly gone along with a culture that’s never left much room for queerness. That’s why therapy and community matter so much.

In therapy, you get a safe space to process the “What the heck am I doing?” moments. In community, you get to meet others who nod their heads and say, “Oh yeah, me too.” Having people who can hold your story without judgment? That’s gold.

First Steps (That Don’t Involve a Megaphone)

No, you don’t need to walk into Thanksgiving dinner and announce, “Guess what, I’m queer!” (Unless you want to. In which case, good luck and maybe record Aunt Linda’s reaction for TikTok.)

A smaller, more playful step? Start exploring how to show your queerness on the outside. Maybe it’s a haircut, wearing too many rings, a new playlist, or clothes that feel more you. It doesn’t have to scream “coming out”—it just has to whisper, “I’m here, and I’m not hiding anymore.”

It’s amazing how even tiny shifts in self-expression can feel empowering.

No Timeline, No Expiration Date

Let’s kill the myth once and for all: there is no “right” age to come out. Sure, in a perfect world, we’d all grow up in families that celebrate every identity, where kids get to explore who they are without shame. But that’s not the world we live in.

So whether you’re 16, 36, or 76—the right time to come out is the time you finally feel safe enough, brave enough, and supported enough to say, “This is me.”

What It Really Means

Coming out later in life isn’t about being late to the party. It’s about finally giving yourself permission to show up. For so long, many of the women I see have taken care of everyone else first—partners, kids, careers, homes. They’ve polished every corner of their lives, trying to fix something they couldn’t quite name. And when everything else looks “fine,” they finally realize: the missing piece is part of them.

Final Word

If you take only one thing from this, let it be this:
You are allowed to look out for yourself. You are allowed to be whole. You will not lose everything you’ve built just because you have a need—even if it feels huge.

Coming out later in life is not about starting over. It’s about finally letting yourself take up the space you were always meant to have. And honestly? That’s worth celebrating at any age.

✨ Coming out isn’t late. It’s right on time. ✨

Why Breaking Generational Trauma Feels So Hard (and How to Start)

Generational trauma is everywhere. You might not always see it named, but it shows up in the way families communicate, the beliefs passed down like heirlooms, and even in the way we navigate our most intimate relationships. Many of my clients come to therapy feeling frustrated, “crazy,” or ashamed without realizing that so much of what they’re struggling with started long before them—with parents, grandparents, and a family culture that shaped them.

The truth is: breaking cycles of generational trauma is hard. But hard doesn’t mean impossible. And if you’re reading this, chances are you’ve already taken the first step—you’re questioning whether the way things have always been is actually working for you. That matters. That’s powerful.

Why Generational Trauma Is So Hard to Break

One of the biggest hurdles in healing is recognition. Many people hesitate to even consider that what happened in their family was a problem. After all, it feels “normal” when you grew up in it.

But the most common roadblock is what comes next: unlearning the core beliefs that shaped you. These beliefs—like “I’m not good enough,” “my needs don’t matter,” or “love has to be earned”—get baked into your identity. And yet, many of them aren’t even true. They’re the echoes of your parents’ unresolved pain, disguised as your own thoughts.

This is why breaking generational trauma feels so destabilizing. It’s not just about setting boundaries with family or making different choices—it’s about challenging the very foundation you were raised on.

The Emotional Weight of Healing

When people start questioning these patterns, a flood of emotions often rises. Self-doubt is one of the biggest. You might find yourself asking:

• Is this really how I feel? Or is this my parent’s voice disguised as my own?

• Am I overreacting?

• What if I’m the problem?

It’s common to feel guilty, confused, even a little lost. For many, it’s hard to see where their parent ends and they begin. That’s the nature of trauma—it blurs boundaries and makes self-trust difficult.

Why You’re Not “Broken”

Here’s the thing: if you’ve internalized toxic messages or repeated harmful patterns, that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you were shaped by your environment—and now you’re doing the brave work of reshaping yourself.

And if you’re frustrated because your relationships keep repeating the same themes you grew up with? That’s not proof you’re doomed. It’s proof that unhealed generational trauma is still running the show—and also proof you’re ready to stop letting it.

How to Start Breaking the Cycle

There isn’t a one-size-fits-all formula for healing. In therapy, I help clients find the small, doable steps that fit where they are. For one person, that might mean repeating a mantra like “I am not my parent” until their brain starts to believe it. For another, it might mean remembering, on purpose, that they’ve already survived so much on their own—and their future self can handle tough things too.

But if you’re not in therapy yet and wondering where to begin, here’s the universal first step:

Be gentle with yourself.

Give yourself some grace. You’re working with what you were given, and if you’re here searching for answers, you’re already doing more than many in your family ever did. Recognizing that things aren’t working the way they are is huge. It means you’ve broken through denial. That’s the foundation of change.

And yes—it’s unfair that you didn’t cause this but you’re the one tasked with fixing it. But unfair doesn’t mean impossible. It means you’ve been given the chance to choose differently.

Practical First Steps You Can Try Today

• Notice the voice in your head. When a critical or shaming thought comes up, pause and ask, Whose voice is this? Mine—or my parent’s?

• Affirm your separateness. Try repeating: “I am not my parent. My thoughts and choices are my own.”

• Practice self-compassion. When guilt or shame rises, remind yourself: “I’m learning. Healing takes time.”

• Seek safe support. Whether that’s therapy, trusted friends, or chosen family, surround yourself with people who see you clearly.

These steps may sound small, but small is the point. Healing isn’t about a dramatic overnight transformation. It’s about gentle, consistent reminders that you are allowed to live differently.

You Don’t Have to Do This Alone

Breaking generational trauma takes courage, patience, and practice. It’s about rewriting the story you were handed so it no longer runs your life—or gets passed on to the next generation.

Most importantly: you are not alone in this. The fact that you’re questioning the patterns you inherited means you’ve already stepped onto a new path.

If you leave this blog with only one takeaway, let it be this: You are not broken—you are brave. And while the work is hard, you are absolutely capable of breaking the cycle.