A few years ago, I got a call from a social worker, asking me to come to a local mental health facility and attend a meeting for family members of people who were receiving treatment — which came as a shock, as I did not know I that had any family receiving treatment at a mental health facility. She told me that my mother, whom I hadn’t spoken to in months, had come there to learn how to cope with her borderline personality disorder. I hung up the phone shaken — no matter who you are, you’re never really prepared to field a surprise phone call about how your mom has checked herself into a mental hospital. But I was also relieved. I had spent decades of my life struggling to find a name or cause for my mother’s mood swings or terror of being abandoned. I wondered if I finally had discovered it, and if things were finally about to change.