“Mom, I think I have an eating disorder.”

My daughter knew that I had struggled with an ED as a teen, and she was coming to me for help. I was glad that she told me, yet this hit me hard.

At fourteen, I’d spent nine months of my life in a residential treatment facility behind a door that swung shut and locked when we entered (terrifying!) Hearing that my girl was struggling felt like she was implying that I'd been doing something wrong; maybe she had gotten a message from me that her body needed to be different.

I felt embarrassed and ashamed because I thought I had done a good job of “getting over” my ED; I thought I was setting a good example of how to be “healthy.”

Now I was confused and anxious.

I found a therapist and a dietician for my daughter, and before long, the therapist told us that she'd need an intensive treatment program (partial hospitalization PHP). I fought this tooth & nail; anything to keep her in school for...

Am I going nuts?

Am I losing my mind?

Why doesn't anyone understand what I’m talking about?

There’s a war going on in my head, and everyone smiles and says, “That’s normal.”

What’s going on here?!

These were the questions that ran through my head daily. I felt so misunderstood, so alone and ashamed of my struggles. Nobody in my world felt the intensity of my struggle. I knew I wasn’t okay and just wished I could go into hiding.

Then a friend introduced me to FINDINGbalance, their Lasting Freedom course, and their prayer groups. I viewed the Lasting Freedom course, and for the first time, people put words to the war inside my head; better yet, they spoke about it with HOPE! They had been where I was and there was a way out! 

In the prayer group, I was nervous to speak about my struggle because these were live people. What would they think of me? To my surprise, they were nodding in agreement as I spoke, and saying “Me,...

It was the first night of 6th grade science camp. All through elementary school, I looked forward to this week away from home; it meant I was a big kid, and adventure, and meeting new people from other schools in the county.

Although it was decades ago, I still remember the initial feeling of exhilaration as I walked into the mess hall for dinner wearing my favorite clothes- a pale blue short-sleeved sweater with tiny flowers on it, green corduroy pants, and suede saddle shoes (brown tones, not the black & white version). I sat down at a table for 8. I can’t remember if I sat at this table because it was assigned or if, because I was late, it was the only one with an empty seat, but every face sitting there was new to me.

As I took a seat, one of the boys asked, “Are you a boy or a girl?” I remember laughing it off; I thought my short hair was the height of femininity, I mean, couldn’t they tell by my pretty floral sweater that I was a girl?!

...

I sit in the rolling chair at Sadie’s nail station and get myself comfortable. I always look forward to this bi-monthly treat! Sadie comes out from the break room and sits down, throws out a “hi” and we exchange pleasantries- about how it’s been seven weeks since I last saw her, and since that was just before Valentine's Day, I ask if she did anything special. She doesn’t answer me, and then I realize she’s got one side of her earphones in and she might be listening to something; unfortunately, this is the usual routine, so I just let her do her work. Why do I hope this will change?

Several minutes pass. I ask, “Do you think of yourself as an artist?“ No response. I do think Sadie is an artist because she makes my hands look pretty and my nails neat, fresh, and colorful. My hands have always been a part of my body that I don’t like. Maybe this is why I used to walk with my hands balled in a fist- hiding my fingers &...