What I Would Say...

A few days ago my mom told me that one of her friends had called her to talk about her teenage daughter, who she fears is developing an eating disorder. My mom and I talked some about what the friend had disclosed, and the situation does sound very concerning. I don't know the daughter, and I doubt she knows who I am either, but I haven't been able to stop thinking about her (and her mom) since. Given that she doesn't know me, I figured it would probably freak her out if I were to try to write her personally (I've thought about it, trust me) but in the hopes that maybe she or her mother would come across this post, I wanted to write about what I wish I was able to say to both myself and to my parents 11 years ago when I first began struggling.

More than anything, I wish there had been some way that I could have shown my younger self the following years would unfold, where the decisions I was making then would lead me. I don't think I really understood what I was doing at all, and sometimes I think that if I had known I would've stopped before things got really bad. And yet as much as I want to believe that I would have, part of me is almost certain that I would've shrugged it off and convinced myself that I wouldn't let it get that out of hand, that I just needed to stay under a certain weight, under a certain number of calories, just had to lose however many pounds and then I'd stop. I would probably still have found a way to convince myself that I was in control. I'm not sure if there's any way to really help someone who is beginning to struggle realize the grave reality of where they're headed. Like I said, I don't know the girl my mom spoke to me about, but just hearing about her struggle from the perspective of her mother, I feel so helpless. It's watching a horror movie during the scene when the girl is about to open a closet door and you know there's someone in there with an axe and you want to be able to tell her "No! Don't do it! Don't open that!"..but you can't. There's nothing you can do that will stop the person in the movie from opening the closet and well, yeah. It sucks.

I was so, so convinced that I had control of it then, even though so many people tried to tell me that I didn't. And by the time I realized that I didn't, it was too late. I couldn't get out of it.

To my parents, there is so much that I would say. First and foremost that I do not in any way blame them, that they did not "cause" this, and that I really don't think that they could have done anything to prevent it. My eating disorder was not a by-product of over-controlling parents or too much pressure to measure up to certain standards etc. etc. My parents loved me, and while they weren't perfect, I know that they always had the best intentions in everything they did. When I first got sick, I remember my mom used to write me little notes all the time, and she would always ask me, "What can I do? How can I help you?", she told me over and over again that she would do anything, and she would beg me, that if I couldn't eat for myself, could I please do it for her? If I could go back and answer those questions now, I would tell her not to wait, not to give me "one more chance" (regardless of how much I begged her to) before putting me into treatment. I would tell her to never believe my promises that I would "eat more this week" or "try harder". I would tell her that I was sick with a mental illness and that I couldn't be reasoned with logically, and that this wasn't a problem that could be fixed by going to the store and buying all the foods that used to be my favorites/that this wasn't a diet I could just snap out of. It took my mom a long time to start calling my struggle "an eating disorder", even when I was first in treatment she referred to it as "my diet"/"my food problem" - I think it was hard for her to grasp that I was actually suffering from a mental illness, and if I could, I'd go back and try to help her understand/accept that. She used to tell me she just wanted "her Rachel" back, and I think one of the most important things I would tell her is that "her Rachel" never went anywhere/that beneath the struggle I was still there - always. It always broke my heart when she or my grandma would say that - because I felt like whatever I was wasn't acceptable, and I didn't know how to go back to "the old Rachel". I would also just want to apologize, to both of my parents, and really to everyone in my family - for the way I'd end up treating them throughout the duration of my struggle, for all the lies and manipulating and all the "I-hate-you-you-are-ruining-my-life"s/the screaming and crying over muffins, smoothies and ensures/all of that. I would apologize for interrupting the happiness that had always been a part of our family dinners, holidays, and vacations. I know that my struggle changed all of these things. More than anything though, I would thank them. I would thank them for all the things I hated them for at the time - sitting through all the crying and screaming and still making me eat, driving up to the school parking lot to eat lunch with me, dragging me to doctor's appointments, dragging me to treatment. I would thank them for not trusting me - for checking my ensures before I drank them to make sure I hadn't re-filled the bottles with water or cut off/re-pasted the "ensure plus" wrapper onto a regular ensure bottle (it happened..), making me shake it out before I threw it away, establishing the rule that "if they didn't see me eat it, it didn't count"...all of those things. Sure, it didn't save me. Ultimately I do believe that someone needs to truly desire recovery before they can actually get better. But my parents kept me alive until I got to the point where I could want it for myself. If it weren't for them, I wouldn't have made it to my 12th birthday. So I think most importantly, I would tell them - and any parent who's child is in the beginning stages of an eating disorder - not to wait until that person is ready to get better, not to buy into the idea that until someone wants it there's nothing anyone else can do. When someone is drowning you don't wait for them to clearly articulate, "I'm having trouble swimming, could you please come in and help me?", you just dive in and grab the person, and (even if they're kicking and screaming) you would try and get them out of the water. I would encourage them to keep going, to not give up regardless of how hard I fought back.

(I would also tell my parents to try, as best as they could, not to take any of what I said at the time personally. I never hated them and never could hate them, I just hated that they were trying to take away from me what I felt at the time I absolutely needed.)

So, this was really long - but I hope that it helped anyone in a similar position to my mom's friend (or the friend herself if she ends up reading this). I would also add (last thing, I promise) that hope is one of the most powerful things you can offer to someone who is struggling. My parents refused to give up on me even when they had multiple professionals advising me to (and even when I was begging them to), and for that I am so, so, so grateful.

I'm not recovered, but I'm finally at a place where I'm able to, essentially, keep myself healthy and alive through my own choices. I can get a snack when I'm hungry/eat meals even if no one is watching etc. Food is still something I experience a lot of anxiety around, and to be honest, I'm not sure if that will ever change, but that anxiety is manageable now. I'm able to eat simply because I have a life that I want to stick around for versus because someone else is forcing me to, and that's pretty cool. I think, with the right support, it's possible for anyone to get to that point. So if you're struggling to hold onto hope for your child or if you are the one struggling and don't feel able to hold onto hope for yourself, know that I am holding that for you.