Tiny Fixes for Giant Wounds: The BPD Urge to Control the Outside
Borderline Personality Disorder is a constant tug-of-war between an unstable inside and an uncooperative outside. It’s a mind that feels like a window about to shatter — straining, fragile — and the desperate hope that if we can shield ourselves from the wind outside, maybe the glass will hold.
People see the attempts — obsessiveness, emotional explosions, seeming “drama,” meltdowns over what look like small, silly things —and think: Spoiled. Manipulative. Immature.
But here’s the truth: it’s not really about the thing. It’s about the feeling underneath it.
I’ll give you an example.
When I was younger, I’d just gotten my license. I was behind in life — at least it felt that way — after spending a year in residential treatment while my peers went off to college. My old friends were decorating their dorms, laughing at parties, taking cute library selfies surrounded by textbooks and coffee cups. I was at home, feeling like a failure.
And it was a constant battle: should I fight to claw my way out of the slump, or just give in and accept that I’d fallen behind — that maybe I’d always be behind? That maybe this was just who I was — not as good, not as capable, not enough.
One day, desperate for some tiny spark of comfort, I decided I’d get a scone. That’s it. A scone. I pictured myself driving to pick it up, listening to my favorite music, then finding a spot with a nice view to sit and eat it. Just a small, sweet moment — a treat to soften the shame of feeling so left behind.
But the first place was out of scones. The second was closed. The third sold out too.
I was driving around town crying — over a scone. I know how ridiculous that sounds. Crying over a scone! But of course, it wasn’t really about the pastry. It was about wanting something to soften the loneliness, to fix it for a moment. When I couldn’t find it, it felt like I was stuck inside the same sadness with no way out.
This is what BPD often feels like: trying to orchestrate tiny moments of relief to patch up the giant holes inside. When they work, the comfort is short-lived. When they don’t, it’s devastating.
I’ve heard so many versions of this story:
A teenage girl has a meltdown at the airport because her mom accidentally packed the wrong face cleanser.
A young woman refreshes her phone for hours waiting for a single text back, convinced that if it doesn’t come, she’s completely unlovable.
A teenage girl breaks down because her favorite pair of jeans is in the laundry, and nothing else feels right on her body.
A college student spends an entire night rewriting an email to a professor, terrified that the wording will make him sound stupid or lazy.
A young woman gets fixated on buying a new outfit for an event, certain that if she doesn’t have the “perfect” look, she shouldn’t even go.
A teen boy makes his mom drive to three different stores late at night to find a specific snack he suddenly needs to feel okay.
When you have BPD, your inner world can feel so chaotic that your survival instinct is to grasp for any tiny piece of control outside you: people, plans, objects, routines. If the stars align just right — if your friends text back, your coffee order is perfect, your skincare brand is in your bag — maybe, just maybe, you’ll feel okay.
And when that fragile plan cracks it can feel like your entire self is cracking with it.
One of the most important parts of my own healing has been learning this: I can’t bend the world into the shape I want, but I can learn to sit with what’s inside me. I can’t control whether there’s a scone at the store, but I can learn to lead my own emotions (even when they try to lead me). I can be the steward —the creator— of my own experience.
Does that mean I never spiral over small things now? Of course not. I still get rattled, triggered, obsessive sometimes. But now I know: my sense of okay-ness doesn’t have to live in the pastry case or the text message or the clean face cleanser. It lives with me.
So if you see someone spinning out over a tiny thing, know that behind that “ridiculous” moment is a whole world of tenderness, panic, and the ache to feel okay. We’re not trying to be dramatic. We’re trying to survive. Yes, these little fixes help for a moment — but the bigger work is learning how to be the creator of how we feel. The way to help someone get there is patience, compassion, and the reminder that they’re not alone in learning how to hold themselves steady.
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If any of this feels familiar — if you or your loved one has eever felt like crying over a scone when really it’s so much more — I hope you know you’re not alone. For more thoughts like this, you can find me over on YouTube or join the Parent Support Group on Facebook. BPDUK also offers wonderful support groups for carers of loved ones with BPD. And if you’re curious about 1:1 work, please feel free to reach out here.
