“Mom, you’re not infallible. You know that, right?”
If I had a dollar for every time my kids pointed that out, I could probably fund my own wardrobe. While my instinct is often to counter their remarks, I can’t deny that their words resonate deeply with me.
On October 20, 2016, I faced my biggest fear: revealing my long-held secret to my two sons, who were then 12 and 15. I had finally opened up about my struggles with an eating disorder, specifically anorexia nervosa, to my husband and a new treatment team, but now, I had to tell my boys. My heart raced, and I was drenched in sweat, feeling like I might collapse in a heap.
My therapist, Laura, had encouraged me to be honest with my children, emphasizing that I was dealing with an illness, not a character flaw. Despite her guidance, I was skeptical. Would two teenagers understand? I had always aimed to create a loving, secure environment for them, and I feared that unveiling my battle with a serious illness would shatter that illusion.
As we sat in Laura’s office, my youngest, Ethan, perched beside me on the couch, seemingly sensing the gravity of the moment, while my oldest, Lucas, lounged in a chair with a teenage scowl that could rival any dramatic movie scene. Clearly, this therapy session wasn’t part of his social plans.
“Alright, you two,” I started, anxiety gripping me. I was about to admit that they were right; I didn’t have all the answers. “I want to let you know that I’m beginning treatment for an eating disorder, specifically, anorexia nervosa.”
They both froze, and I felt Ethan lean against me, while Lucas crossed his arms tight. The relief I experienced when I finally said it was overwhelming, like a storm cloud lifting. The secret I’d guarded for so long was finally out.
“What?!” Lucas exclaimed. “Mom, you can’t have anorexia! That’s something for teenage girls. How did this even happen?” His intense reaction was shocking and struck a chord with me. How could I, the one who always pretended to have everything together, allow this to occur?
It would have been simple to hide my struggles and maintain the facade of a perfect life. My boys were at an age where their friends and social media kept them busy enough that they might not even notice my absences due to outpatient treatment. But I took a leap of faith and decided to share my journey with them.
As a parent, I instinctively wanted to shield my kids from the harsh realities of life—keeping marital issues, financial strains, and personal struggles hidden from their carefree world. However, I realized that by concealing my fight against anorexia, I wasn’t protecting them at all. Lucas’s outburst was actually a release of the fear he had felt for years. My frail appearance and obsession with food didn’t go unnoticed, despite my efforts to cover it up. Kids have an uncanny ability to see through parental charades, and my boys were no exception.
The path to recovery has been challenging for all of us, but revealing my struggles to my kids has ultimately made me a better parent. They have now witnessed that life can throw unexpected curveballs, and it’s okay to ask for help when needed.
Today, I’m grateful to be on the road to recovery, navigating the complexities of parenting during their tumultuous teenage years—a time when social media pressures often distort reality. Sharing my experiences has allowed me to provide them with a dose of reality and a supportive space to land.
I’m thankful I took that risk and let go of the notion that a good parent must have all the answers. My hope is that through this journey, my kids learn that imperfection is part of being human, and that’s perfectly okay.
For more insights on parenting through challenges, check out this helpful resource and learn about fertility topics that can offer additional perspectives.
In conclusion, opening up about my eating disorder was a daunting but necessary step. It not only fostered a deeper connection with my children but also taught them valuable lessons about vulnerability and resilience.