There Will Never Be Photos of My Kid Graduating. And That’s OK

Adopted,” they pronounced.

Walking through a parking lot when H was 7, I squeezed their palm. “How did I get so lucky that God gave you to me?” I asked. They didn’t miss a beat: “Jessica was lucky to find you.”

Adoption was normalized. Check that box.

From a young age, H has had what education advocates expect from graduates: awareness, effective communication, creativity, good character, problem-solving skills and more. At 18 months, unprompted, they’d say “dappled sunlight” and “concentric circles” — terms picked up from a backpack carrier in nature as I trained to climb Mount Kilimanjaro.

They were clearly smart. Check that box.

Kindness was also never a question. During a ninth-grade online chemistry final — this was during the height of the pandemic, so students were taking virtual classes — an apartment building two doors down caught fire. The blaze was massive, and smoke billowed over our house. H bailed on the test, ran to the kitchen to fill up a pitcher of water for displaced residents, then to the attic to find their old stuffed animals to donate to the smallest victims, and spent the rest of the afternoon outside to offer comfort.

Later, H would tell me they thought their empathy stemmed from their struggle to regulate their emotions.

They’re able to quickly assess — and respond to — situations in which others are struggling. Check that box, too.

But school was a different story. There was constant drama, mostly around arguments with toxic friends, which led to frequent self-harm. They ended up on a 24-hour hold in a child psychiatric ward, twice.

Reframing success

By 10th grade, H was attending their second high school, but spending more time hiding out in a bathroom than sitting in a classroom. They dropped out of school at age 17, and roughly a year later dropped out of a high school equivalency/community college credit program.

Now 19, they won’t be leaving the nest anytime soon, mainly due to financial impulsivity.

They have a hard time keeping more than $100 in their bank account. They’re also worried about living on their own since there’s a chance they’d self-isolate more than they already do. People with BPD often self-isolate because they easily feel overwhelmed.

As a parent, I knew I needed to change the narrative, switch up the milestones. For example, they’ve always been too nervous to learn to drive, but they’ve mastered the art of navigating bus and train schedules and getting to stations on their own. They are more open these days to conversations about money, have been paying rent on time (even two weeks early a couple of months ago), and have started getting as excited as I do about taking advantage of a good sale.

And they are showing up — even on days that I know are hard for them — to work, to appointments, to promised get-togethers.

They have a job now, as a barista at a coffeehouse. That means they have to remember to set an alarm, not ignore the alarm, get up and brush their teeth, put on deodorant, comb their hair and find clean clothes.

It means building in the time to ride the bus or electric bike, or to call a Lyft in nasty weather.

And on the rare occasions they don’t get out of bed to punch the clock on time, it means no longer blaming me for not waking them up — something I used to do before realizing I wasn’t doing them any favors.

This might all sound like basic day-to-day stuff, but for people with BPD, the little things can be hard, because the little things aren’t little to them at all.

And that’s the difference. H’s accomplishments may seem insignificant to some, but they are extraordinary testaments to bravery and perseverance.  

For our family, success isn’t about being able to move a tassel from right to left, or moving into a dorm room. It’s about how we treat people and show up in the world. I snap photos of the clothes they fashion from my castoffs, the artistic way they do their hair and makeup for a concert, and the delicious homemade breads they make from scratch, without a recipe. And I applaud both of us when we get into a conflict and are able to make a quick repair.

H is constantly inspiring me to think about things from a different perspective. They’ve taught me patience (I’ve learned to step away instead of engaging in negative thought loops), how to be less judgmental (like when they wake up in a bitter mood), and the true meaning of unconditional love. 

For us, for now, this is what success looks like.

AARP essays share a point of view in the author’s voice, drawn from expertise or experience, and do not necessarily reflect the views of AARP.