I cried after talking to your parents tonight. I often cry after talking to parents. There are a hundred reasons why. Maybe I will be able to outline some of them here. The main reason, is usually because I can’t answer the one question that they so desperately wanted me to be able to answer: “How can I get my daughter/son to want to recover?”
I can’t answer that question because the answer doesn’t exist. I have wracked my brains for years now and I still can’t think of a single thing my parents could have done or said that would have made me want to recover when I didn’t. And so I have to be honest, and I have to tell parents that no, actually, they can’t make their son or daughter want to recover. And I hate saying that because it makes me feel useless. All this knowledge I have about eating disorders and recovery, and I still can’t answer the most important question. Useless.
I cried because they love you. But that’s more about me than it is about you. I think it is because for such a long time, I was unable to connect with anyone well enough to feel loved. I knew intellectually that my family loved me, but was unable to connect to it emotionally. The brain in malnutrition is a fascinating thing, and when the body doesn’t have enough energy, everything else — all the things that make being human so rich — falls away. The ability to feel connection, and love, was certainly one of those things for me. And it makes me feel sad to be reminded of it, because it was a hollow and empty time.
I also cried, because talking to your parents and seeing their pain reminded me, very rawly, of the pain I put my own parents through. I know my eating disorder tortured them. I have long forgiven myself for that, but it doesn’t mean I can’t regret it. I don’t hate myself for it, but I still have sadness when I am reminded of how much suffering I put them through.
I cried because I thought of you. I haven’t met you. You won’t talk to me, but I know you. I know that your defensive outbursts and anger happen because you are afraid. I know that when you are threatened you say vile things to the people you love, and I know that you hate yourself afterwards for it. I know that you feel attacked and misunderstood. I know that you want nothing more than to dissolve into their arms and to allow your parents to feed you, but you can’t let yourself. I know how exhausted you are of being like this, but how terrified you are of the thought of not being like this. I know how alone you feel, and how lonely you are. I was right where you are for a very long time.
I know a part of you listens when you parents challenge you. I know you are desperate to appear as if you are right. I know you are stubborn and you want to believe that there is nothing wrong with you. It’s them, not you. I know that deep down you don’t believe that. That’s one of the reasons you flare up so much when they question you. That’s why you are so defensive. They love you enough to challenge you, and you hate that. I also know that part of you is begging them to challenge you more. But then again, if they did, you know you would only fight back harder. Knowing that makes you feel hopeless. You need help but you can’t accept it.
I remember so many times I would storm out of my parent’s house in a rage having screamed at my mother because she had had the audacity to tell me a truth about myself. “You’re not eating enough.” Or, “you’re underweight.” God I would hate her in those moments. The pure rage I would feel when she said those things would cause me to say horrid things to her. Things that I would immediately feel ashamed for saying. I would batter her with words, and science, and reasons why she was wrong and I was right. The I would leave, shaking. I would get in my car and drive “home.” Back to my lonely, single-bed flat. I would have only been in the car 2 minutes before the rage would wear off and be replaced with pure sadness. I would cry most of the drive home. Many of the tears were about feeling guilty for being mean. Most of them were about feeling lonely and lost and so very, very exhausted.
So yeah, I cried after your parents described to me the rows you all get into, and the rage that you throw at them sometimes. Because I know how painful it was to be me, when I was you.
I told your parents tonight that they can’t make you recover. But I told that they should keep telling you the truth, even if you hate hearing it. Because I know behind all the tantrums and the hubris there is a part of you screaming “I’m not okay!” … and that if we keep talking to that part, and encouraging that part, and giving strength to that part, it will get bigger. Until one day, you’ll admit that you are not okay. And that, that’s the start of recovery.
I so wish there would have been a you about 46 years ago. I so wish I would have understood at the age of 12, back when diet culture didn’t exist, but eating disorders did, and that even then, so long ago, numbers created my existence. I so wish I would have understood, at the age of 6, that being “big boned” was just who I was genetically meant to be. But those aren’t the things that 6, 8, 10, 12 year olds, and on up are supposed to understand are they? I so wish I would have understood that at the age of 13, 14, that weighing in 12 x a day was insanity, and that my body fluctuated for reasons I didn’t know. I so wish, I would have understood it all, the genetics, the hell, the wisdom of age, the insipid, insidious way that the eating disorder ate away at my brain and my soul was not normal, and that I needed help. I so wish when triggers came back around in my late 40’s, that I would have known more. I didn’t realize that I had eating disorders, and in one very close brush with what could have been too late, I allowed myself to listen. What I know now, at the age of 58, is that it’s one f’d up disorder, but it is in my control, to find my way out. Thank you for being here, now. You may not have been there, then…but I hear you now.
Tabitha, this is such a beautiful piece of writing. Thank you for your honesty and vulnerability 🙂
Super powerful! I believe this is my daughter to a T.
Thank you for this. I cried so much reading you bit at the same time i felt relieved that I was not alone. Being the mother of a beautiful 17 years old young woman currently hospitalized for two months for an eating disorder, I can only identify with your words as a parent. Thank you for sharing your experiences with us. It helps to understand a little more despite our great helplessness.
You are so right[ as usual). I love hearing you. It gives me understanding and hope for my daughter. Xo
I have been in this situation and still am, with a dear friend and her daughter, so yes I did cry just reading it and maybe I understand more now, how to help and not get upset when I hear her screaming at her mother with all kind of words.
Thank you for sharing this with all of us struggling to help someone with an eating disorder.
Thank you for this. I cried so much reading you bit at the same time i felt relieved that I was not alone. Being the mother of a beautiful 17 years old young woman currently hospitalized for two months for an eating disorder, I can only identify with your words as a parent. Thank you for sharing your experiences with us. It helps to understand a little more despite our great helplessness.
Shit. I had this row ten minutes ago
This resonated with me, as an adult. Some of the same rings true for me… since my behaviors were not discovered until June of 2019, after the sudden death of my mother in May. They caught up with me… my secret since I was about 7 yrs old… to currently 39… but not intentional, just something that I never considered discussing.
I went to residential treatment for my family, as my health had declined. Personally, I remained unbothered by it, yet trying to do what was right… My motivation being that I did not want to add stress to my family.
While in residential, there were children, some unmotivated, like me… But unlike me, they couldn’t leave AMA, which I did on 3 occasions.
During my last stint (which was 6 weeks), low & behold, we discovered that my behaviors are less tied to my appearance, but more so used as coping skills to mask my emotions. I guess deep down I knew that, which is why I’ve been afraid to course correct.
That said, with the residential weight gain (mind you, I was a normal weight & BMI for my 5’9 height), and therapy… I loss myself… started a week fast & ran / walked away for gum… & was kicked out of treatment.
In hindsight, I think that 6 weeks was not adequate time to change 30+ years of behaviors… in addition, I was going through 3 life crisis’s concurrently. My emotional stress level was EXTREMELY high. Never the less, the treatment facility was not interested in providing any compassion for me. Which I’m not shocked about, this is normally the way that I am treated, which is why I don’t deal with emotions. Normally, I’m seen as pretty cold & direct, my kindness is not for show, and not for everyone… Seeing as how my behaviors help me to push my sad emotions down into my toes… the motivation to change is like looking for a unicorn.
Unfortunately, no one can force me to change, but I wish they could! I just don’t know what could motivate me to give up the very thing that makes me feel great about myself. It’s like the only place that’s autopilot, strongly resistant to change, and causes severe mental & physical distress when I step out of alignment. Thus causing me to not be able to function as well on the job, which is almost 9 years at a prestigious consulting firm.
My behaviors are like a force of habit, no matter how many times I’ve tried at home, my will sucks. As my motivation merely lays in how this has affected my family.
I can certainly see how daunting & disappointing it is for parents! Yet, I wish that someone would have intervened with me as a child. Residential, sort of, forces a change, that I think for some, can become new habits / a new norms, by osmosis. When you have as much freedom to not be questioned, you are the boss, no one can take anything away from me as I am the provider, hands are tied… And so my family has no choice but to believe what I say. They can’t question me.
I was listening to your Live on YouTube yesterday, & a light bulb went off… I’ve been in this consistent energy deficit (that I have adapted to, & function very well in)… and that probably needed to be addressed before the therapy… everything appeared to be connected. However, the idea of being or feeling differently scares me to death! I went back to work, two days after I was home from residential. I was in such a horrible space, tired, over medicated, barely hanging on, it was like I had no choice but to hang on to my behaviors, increase them… and sure enough, I am back to my high functioning, killing it at work self! So do you see how the motivation is just not there… Although I’ve learned to function at a very high level, despite my energy (with ways I will not mention), I watch your video’s and I get this flicker of hope… sometimes it’s the only time in the day that I’ll eat. I think it’s hilarious when you say, fucken eat!
I wonder if it’s possible to be motivated to find motivation? I think that’s where I am…
I attempted extended PHP before the end of the year, as I was on holiday vacation, and recently back to work from medical leave… but was hospitalized (again) the day that I was to start PHP.
Funny enough, referred back to residential… as a mom of two 5 year old twins, I can’t see myself leaving them in a place where I’m alive & they can’t see me. The 1 hour a week for 6 weeks, was really hard on them, and me! And again… my stress levels lead to an increase in behaviors, unfortunately. Every attempt to try to “do right,” led me to a residential recommendation. Being that the only option (in my area, that would allow me to see my children) was the place that kicked me out, I gave up on treatment. It was like, why be motivated for care when you can’t get it, because you made mistakes, or because you suffer with mental health issues? It just makes more since to smile & be fine.
And in my attempt to understand where others got their motivation… I attended a weekly support group yesterday. I asked, where does the motivation to recover come from? For no matter what happens to me (health wise), there is just no desire to put myself through the turmoil that I previously experienced. I just don’t feel like I’m sick, I feel great… I’m a normal weight, & I don’t buy into the anorexia diagnoses, not at my weight.
I want to be healthy (I am), as being nearly 40 years old it’s hard to imagine that my entire life has been wrong, especially when I’ve been extremely successful.
Additionally, the people that I trusted, they kicked me out emotionally bleeding… So why would I believe their opinions?
It’s a very confusing place… finding motivation, being unsupported by family (just being called crazy, as Black women don’t have eating disorders).
Lucky for me, my children eat very intuitively… I haven’t forced them to starve… like I was as a child. So hopefully, they won’t struggle with food or exercise issues.
Joy? WHO keeps “telling you the truth”? You need relationships, intrinsic supporters, who will tell you the truth. YOU look at someone who desperately needs treatment–and TELL them so–and you don’t mind the abuse they give you. So then look in a mirror! AND find the help you need, instead of so much energy to be mean spirited TO YOURSELF.
Spring of 2018 our daughter was kicked out of intensive treatment (options, eat the burnt bit OR drink half a Boost replacement drink OR feeding-tube OR discharge) and anorexia chose discharge. She was dangerously frail, though otherwise motivated–but momentarily scared, fighting on two fronts: against the anorexia AND against staff trying to help her fight the anorexia!, and she fled. She regretted it immediately, shame said she couldn’t change her mind, despair about not being able to control her own behaviour, and it was her last admission. Summer 2019 our daughter wanted us off her back–her dad was shocked to see her so frail, “I’m calling an ambulance.” She said, No, no, I’m going to clinic–the doctor will decide. She told us (even her therapist and some of her condo neighbours) she was in intensive treatment. But … she was at home alone, trying to recover on her own–I texted her days and her dad phoned her every night, discussing movies, podcasts and (imaginary) goings on on the ward (which sounded one-dimensional for a reason). She would sneak out two mornings each week to volunteer, making home-breakfast on wards at the extended care building up two streets. She was pretending to herself that she was following her meal plan. She was doing colourful art, reading, writing, watching movies, listening to podcasts, asking questions and giving advice in online recovery community. Until it got too late. We wanted to believe the things she said. I’m sure inside she was “screaming, I’m not okay!”, but we were naive. I couldn’t figure out that the whole “admission” had been fiction. She was not motivated. She wanted us to discover her and compassionately take her in for intensive treatment. She was overrun by the disorder.
Joy?, love yourself! Love yourself enough to reach out. See love in the eyes of your kids? You are exhausted ALL the time. Put down your weapon and let someone else drive. It is NOT motivation to recover you need, it is a chance to turn off the noise in your head–and discuss your feelings with a listener who could be a therapist, mother, sister, best friend, a clinic or hospital employee, someone? Life and family have not been nice to you so you are FIGHTING everyone. Even yourself. Rest and love yourself enough to seek to be understood–someone needs to HEAR you and you need to dig that stuff out so they can examine it with you for what you could learn. So you can recover and thrive. You won’t be used to it, but don’t default back to lifestyle of self-abuse, that will take you down the rabbit hole others succumb to. No, not you. Love from Val
Joy, your contribution is right-on. My daughter thought just as you do, it is incredible, no one is alone, tricks of the brain are experienced personally, but are amazingly universal. Tabitha’s point, “I’m not okay.” If only we had gone At it gangbusters, been on-the-same page, instead of defending behaviours from hurt-feelings (missing the point that it is not “by choice” that sufferers experience their behaviours. God, you are a classic example, “I want to be motivated to be motivated.” I can’t see reasons enough to shed this mal-coping armour. My daughter wrote, someday I will lay down my lance (and let supporters take over). But, she defended and lied, and I loved-to-believe “her,” and we were too taken by it (anorexia infects supporters). Say it out loud, “I’m not okay.” Caring supporters asked her and she said, “It’s all under control,” conveying a sense of moving forward, and, these things take time. She ran out of time, ran out of body mass, followed an acquaintance (“I’m not like them!”) right down the rabbit hole. In nature, whether it is anxiety from serotonin or an over activated amygdala, something, and not “you” drives. “I am not okay,” and giving oneself over to treatment. It is not about goodness and will. “I’m not okay,”comes first and supporters (that appear to want to hurt your “relationship”) need to know their compassionate interest snd actions will work beside you, a team, to gain back your autonomy from this monster driving you. You deserve happiness, love, and peace. Happiness seeker. Love love.
I love my parents, with a fiercely protective love but, I can’t be in touch with them, nor my family. I have had a combination of trauma, of varying degrees, alongside anorexia. I am in the last stage of recovery, as I firmly believe that there are many, be it physical, emotional or mental growth from the prison.
Maybe I can’t be with my family as they treated me so badly or remind me of who I was. But, that doesn’t mean that one can’t restart one’s life, connect and grow.
This is a small example. I went out for lunch today with my neighbour; it became apparent that she needed me, as a friend. I never realized that I could be needed and valued, having been so isolated for decades.
Whatever your situation, please believe that it is never too late for yourself nor your child to heal and break free.
Spot on. Thank you! Your articles help in so many ways – More than you know. Moms and dads on the FEAST Facebook and internet sites share them with each other often – so even though you can’t answer that all important question, know that you ARE doing so much to make a difference with your Blog. What you are doing MATTERS!
Sitting in my car reading this while waiting to hear from the hospital to confirm the 6th admission I can’t stop crying. You sum up our sad reality so we’ll. Thank you. Love and strength to all battling this heartbreaking illness x
You’re a mind reader! I’ve been meaning to ask you if you’d write a blog about this very topic. You’re right that I can’t make my son want to recover. You’re definitely right about the tightrope we walk between telling the truth and maintaining the relationship. But you’ve reminded me of what I CAN do to help my 22 year old son: tell the truth, gently, plainly, repeatedly. Encourage him. Remind him of the beautiful life that awaits him. Remind him that FULL recovery is possible. (Some claim it’s not.) Paint a picture of how his life will look and feel when he’s recovered. (He can’t see it, but I can.) And to love love love him all day long. THAT I can do!!
Try BEING the parent and having anorexia. My kids are in their 30s and so very worried about me. This illness is troublesome from many levels. Last thing a mom needs is worrying for their children as well as trying to deal with this.
Brilliant post Tabitha…tears what IS that ‘wet stuff’ on my cheek?!…
Oh Laura…kismet soul…I am empathising hugely with you at this very second….kindred parent with adult children in their late twenties to early thirties worried for their ‘ma’ as well. Loathing the concern I am causing them….but I am fighting the good fight and all of its’ uncomfortable stickiness. I’ve got to show them that I won’t be defined or defeated by this illness. Resilience is the best lesson I feel I can somehow pass on to them if I remain constant…determined and unflagging in my recovery pursuit. Courage, strength and letting yourself feel the love of your offspring Laura!!
I love this post. But what if your parents don’t want to feed you? What if you desperately want to recover and are ready to commit but they tell you you’re doing it wrong? What if they keep telling you that you’re gaining too much and are eating too much ‘junk’? What if they tell you to keep exercising because you shouldn’t be this tired? What if they tell you that your eating disorder isn’t real or serious enough to warrant recovery? I am also deeply sad and lonely. I also desperately want to dissolve into my parents arms and let them feed me. But what if they don’t want to?
Rachel, your parents are infected by the anorexia. Maybe there are 2 kinds of supporter’s infections, 1. the parents desire to sooth the sufferer, laissez-faire parenting, they end up siding with anorexia because they want to be agreeable with what their suffering relative “apparently” wants (ED is at the controls); OR, 2. in the case of your parents, they ARE the anorexia—misguided, feeling they know what “a good life” looks like (anorexia wants approval from faceless critics), parents as external influencers, while REAL supporters, i.e. that want to wrest control from anorexia, would recognize there is nothing good about the behaviours, your parents are vulnerable and persuaded! They are ill, infected, like a bad movie your rescue team turns out to be in leagues with your frightening enemy. The online recovery community may provide someone that you can meet with who really does understand it—you need to talk and be heard, face-to-face (they plan, shop, prepare, and serve) or via Zoom, with either a therapist, or a recovery expert, or, someone who knows, understands, and will do battle with you (meal support and prod and pry). Your parents might be out of the loop—you could demand that your needs be met, but maybe they don’t get it and grit their teeth that “good living” isn’t working for you, unaware that that is what got you here in the first place.
I cried reading this and all that people sharing their stories here is so touching. I can really resonate with this even though I am happy to have understanding and loving parents. But I always get so super hangy (angry because you’re hungry) and then I scream at my mom. It’s sometimes really weird with my parents because they are supportive but they don’t really understand what is going on what I understand because often even I myself have no idea what is going on. Especially my dad didn’t really know how to deal with it. My mom has learned a lot but in the beginning she didn’t wanted my illness to be true and she thought that it wasn’t as bad as it was. Luckily I really wanted to recover and started talking with people about my problems but mainly I did it all on my own. Thanks to you Tabitha I challenged myself and now one year later my relationship with food has become so much better.
Yup, you are right. They have to want to change. I think it is hard as the parent to not give in to the temptation, half a decade in, to relinquish hope, or at least to swap it for distance. Loving distance, but distance. The kind of distance that does not exist between you and people you love who have never been violent or seriously abusive towards you. It’s like being in a relationship with an alcoholic – except obviously the addiction here is restriction. Sometimes, it’s just not going to work out. Even if they do eventually manage to turn it around, everyone by that point knows too many things to make properly normal a possibility. It’s all just inevitably going to be a bit contingent and nervy and brittle.
Honestly, shoutout to all the parents who just want their kids back. I believe mine wanted me to stay sick because they seemed angry when I made any type of progress during recovery. I had to do this on my own and I haven’t been able to share my recovery triumphs with them.
I think maybe their anger was fear, really, as Tabitha suggests – fear you would relapse? Also, trust me, there is no such thing as getting your kid back, in the exact same way as there is no such thing as time travel. But there is the amazing, food-enabled re-emergence of the character traits you remember from their childhood, and that is fabulous. Especially their access to joy.
When people seem intent on destroying your progress, “do it anyway.” Mother Theresa and others have used inspirational “Do it anyway,” to counsel people to go ahead and do the right thing. Our daughter said, “No visitors,” for this admission and the right thing to do would have been to “do it anyway.” Supporters support you. Detractors join the ED! Parents who are sort of caustic to your cause? Find pseudo-parents who want the best for you. Love yourself and find supporters.
The things we did not know to understand—I thought that, with patience, she would improve. I persisted with talking “about other things,” listening, encouragement. Therapist persisted with talk-therapy. Dietitian persisted with meal plans she never could complete. She got told that, as an adult, no one could decide to recover for her—she had to submit to treatment herself or on discharge she would fall back—but healthy behaviours become entrenched with time and practice. She “knew” force does not work long-term. A starved brain cannot “decide” to give up compulsive behaviours. “I was unable to connect with anyone well enough to feel loved.” “The ability to feel connection, and love,” fell away due to starving brain. She was not connected to anyone. Despair. We thought she was fine and getting better. Everyone thought they could name someone else who had a good connection with her. We each effectively sided with the disorder in having “her” determine her fate. Intervention is necessary. Wrest control so she can rest from fighting the disorder and from supporters trying to help her. “Stop. Everything.” No fitness, no courses, no scurrying and l worrying. Stop.
I am a young adult myself, just beginning my recovery journey. And let me tell you, this post made me want to cry. Yes, I am JUST starting my recovery, but years ago, if my parents would have said anything I wouldn’t have listened. Hell even a couple months ago I wasn’t listening. But I chose this, I realized how bad it had gotten and I realized how much I was hurting my loved ones. And how much more I would hurt them if I didn’t start to get help. Thankyou Tabitha, I have read many of your posts and listened to some podcasts. You truly are an inspiration and massive help.