“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...