Disordered: Watching my daughter’s struggle

I know HerCampus is for collegiettes, but I think many of us can say that our mothers play a huge role in our lives. Over the past year as I struggle with recovery, and the years before that as my eating disorder slowly evolved, my mom was always there, watching, feeling, worrying, wondering. The effects reverberated beyond me and hit her, and others in my family. I asked her to write this story to counter my narrative, because she has been essential in my recovery and in my life in general. So without further ado: my mother’s account of my eating disorder.

-Madi

It started with what we normally think of as ‘healthier’ eating: lots (and lots and lots) of vegetables, tracking daily servings of carbs, proteins, and fats, and a gradual increase in what had been a casual relationship with running and exercise. These are behaviors we like to see in our teens, right? What do I say: “Whoa, there, slow down on those veggies, honey?” or “I wish you wouldn’t exercise on a daily basis?” But there were signs, plenty of them. She had to pace the room while reading or doing homework. She had to do sit ups in the middle of watching our favorite show. 8 A.M. phone calls asking what was the plan for dinner that night. Tears of frustration if meal plans changed. 

My parental ‘Spidey-sense’ was tingling, and I think she felt like this was starting to control her rather than the other way around, so off to the doctor we went. Weight lower, but still ‘healthy.’ Dietary choices good. Labs good. Attitude good—having all the ‘right’ answers to the doctor’s questions helps. She left the doctor with advice not to lose more weight. I wish we’d done more right then, but she and I believed that with high school ending and the college destination chosen, her stress level would even out and she could enter college that fall a successful, confident, young woman out to fulfill her dreams.

From 800 miles away, my perspective on how she was doing at school was skewed by her bouncy Facebook posts like “freshman 15, here I come,” and pictures of her smiling face at the end of the Annual Cake Run. Little did I know that she was well into, and had been for quite some time, developing an eating disorder. She fessed up when she came home for Christmas break and within hours of landing, had a total breakdown. Fall semester at this prestigious school full of other high-achieving perfectionists had done her in such that she could no longer hide her anxiety and her failing attempts at controlling those damaging thoughts of self-doubt and the self-loathing of her own beautiful mind, body, and spirit.

It was agonizing to watch her agony, struggling with negative talk about herself that she would have never accepted from someone else. My “foodie” now cried at restaurants because every menu detail had to be scrutinized and was always found lacking. God forbid someone would compliment her appearance; she’d withdraw for the next hour and that poor soul got the evil eye for the rest of evening. The whole family felt at a complete loss as to how we could help, or at least not make it worse.

We got her an urgent visit with an eating disorder specialty center while she was home on break, and I thought we were on our way. I had enough knowledge about ED to know that there was no single, easy path for her. Like other psychiatric illnesses, there would be a lot of breaking down and rebuilding and defining and redefining. But eating disorders are a little different because you. have. to. eat. There’s a no avoiding the offending substance, like one can with alcohol or drugs. The work has to be done on the inside, and then applied to the many, many eating events that occur each day, especially on college campuses. Obviously, we could barely intervene during her short time home, but we did get the recommendation that she have intensive individual and group therapy several hours a day, several times a week. For her, quitting school was not an option, and there were few intensive therapy options near campus, so we settled on the less-than-optimal solution of having her work with an on-campus dietician and psychologist once a week. 

How is she doing now? Hard to say. I am very pleased that she is back to a weight where I can no longer see her ribs and vertebrae. She is not so pleased. Progress is measured differently by those of us not privy to her intra-cerebral chatter. I feel the push-pull of her recovery as she uses her strong voice against media messages telling us to LIVE LIFE TO THE FULLEST (marathons, biking the mountains, skiing off of cliffs, white water rafting), and to EAT HEALTHY AND EAT WELL (90 versions of kale chips and salads, raise your own chickens, almond milk for everyone, and eat sweets guilt free—you deserve it!), and MAINTAIN A FIT AND FABULOUS BODY that looks good in everything. But as strong as she is outwardly, she still needs someone to tell her it’s OK to skip running for a day or two while she is sick with fever and fatigue. She can’t yet show herself the same respect and kindness that she can show others. And sometimes I think she actually gets upset with other people who don’t have to worry about this crap.

She’s nineteen, I tell myself. She’s got a lot of growing up and a lot of healing left to do. If anybody can figure this out, she can. My most fervent wish is that she just be happy in her own skin while she does it.

-Amy