Penny Picks My People: Dating With BPD and Learning to Trust Myself Again

Dating with Borderline Personality Disorder is a unique kind of hell and healing all in one. It’s intense. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. And when you’ve been burned before—when your mind has burned you before—it’s easy to second-guess every flutter of your heart.

That’s why I rely on my dog, Penny.

Penny is more than my emotional support system. She’s my truth barometer, my gut-check, my energy reader. Over the years, I’ve realized something kind of wild but kind of magical: if someone doesn’t vibe with Penny, they won’t vibe with me. Period.

She’s seen me through breakdowns and bad dates, spirals and sleepless nights. She’s the one being I never have to mask for. So if she growls at you, looks away, or doesn’t want to sit near you? I'm sorry, but that’s a red flag wrapped in fur. It sounds silly, but it’s true. Penny knows.

And thank god—thank god—she likes Eric. Because I do, too. A lot.

The Penny Test (AKA That One Time She Was So Right)

Let me tell you a quick story that truly cemented my trust in Penny’s judgment.

A couple years ago, I was seeing this guy—we’ll call him Chad (because of course his name was Chad). On paper, he was fine: decent job, nice smile, tall enough to make me rethink my posture. But from the second he walked into my apartment and tried to high-five Penny instead of petting her, I knew something was off. She gave him this slow blink of disgust, like, “Are you serious right now?”

Things escalated quickly. He tried to impress me by bragging about how he “doesn’t believe in therapy,” then told me dogs should be crate trained because they’re just animals and shouldn’t be on furniture.

Penny jumped up on the couch in protest.

Then, in the most cinematic moment of my dating life, she slowly turned, walked over to his gym bag (which he brought for some reason???), and peed on it.

I swear to god, it was deliberate. Direct eye contact and everything. Like, “I’ve seen what I needed to see. This man is not welcome here.”

We never went on another date. Penny slept peacefully that night. I, however, had to scrub my carpet and throw away whatever remained of my standards.

Lesson learned.

The Harsh Reality of Dating With BPD

Let’s be honest. Dating with BPD isn’t cute. It’s not quirky or “passion with a twist.” It’s crying at 2 a.m. because he didn’t text goodnight. It’s feeling like you're too much, too needy, too intense—and then pushing people away out of fear they’ll leave anyway. It's testing their love without even meaning to.

I’ve sabotaged so many relationships because I couldn’t regulate my emotions or sit with uncertainty. I’d cling, then retreat. I’d idealize, then suddenly feel abandoned over something small and shut down. My brain has this way of convincing me that love is dangerous, inconsistent, conditional.

And the worst part? Sometimes I believed I deserved that chaos.

But not anymore.

Being Honest With Him—and With Myself

When I met Eric, I knew I had to do it differently. I couldn’t pretend to be chill, to play games, to hope he’d just magically get me without me ever saying what I needed. I had to be real. Not just with him—but with myself.

I had to admit when I was spiraling. I had to name my triggers. I had to pause and ask myself, “Is this about him, or is this old fear showing up in a new outfit?”

That first misunderstanding we had? The old me would’ve shut down completely. Picked a fight, packed an emotional bag, and started preparing for the end. But I didn’t. I sat with the discomfort. I told him how I felt—without blaming, without exploding.

And he listened. He didn’t run. He stayed.

That’s something new for me.

What It Means Moving Forward

Loving with BPD means I have to constantly check in with myself: Am I reacting to the moment or to my past? Is this relationship safe, or does it just feel familiar in its chaos? Am I expressing a need, or trying to test someone’s love?

It means taking accountability without self-loathing. It means reminding myself that I am allowed to be loved, even when I’m not easy. It means building trust instead of demanding proof of it.

And having Penny by my side helps me ground in that truth. She helps me see people clearly. She mirrors my energy, and when she’s calm and affectionate with someone, I can take a deep breath and think, Maybe it’s okay to let this person in.

So far, Eric’s passed every test—Penny’s and mine. And while I don’t know what the future holds, I know this:

I’m finally showing up to love as my whole, messy, healing self.

And that? That’s the most honest kind of love there is.

If you’re dating with BPD and feel like you’re too much, or scared your disorder will always ruin your relationships—please know you’re not alone. It takes work. It takes honesty. But love is still possible. The right people will stay. And if they don’t? Let your dog pee on their gym bag. Penny and I are rooting for you.