My mother has grappled with disordered eating throughout her adult life. Born in 1948, she was deeply affected by the beauty ideals of the 1960s — models like Twiggy and Jean Shrimpton, fashion magazines, and the rise of mini-skirts. By the age of 12, her fixation on being thin had already begun. By 15, she was engaging in obsessive dieting; for a period, her diet consisted solely of apricots and apricot brandy. As she pursued a career in entertainment during her 20s — as a singer and actress in Hollywood for over 40 years — her relationship with food and body image deteriorated further. She often played roles that required extreme thinness, telling me, “Staying underweight was part of the job.” This pattern of unhealthy eating persisted through her marriage and my upbringing as her only child. There were times when her meals consisted solely of cottage cheese and orange marmalade or occasions when dinner was just a bag of frozen mango. Her beverage choices fluctuated between coffee, Diet Coke, and sugar-free energy drinks, while her latest obsession is ginger kombucha.
While my mother and I have always shared a close bond, her eating disorder created a rift filled with resentment and pain. As a teenager in the mid-2000s, I became consumed with weight loss too, influenced by a culture obsessed with thinness — the ideal of a thigh gap, protruding hips, and a flat stomach. We would often binge-watch shows like Project Runway and America’s Next Top Model, with her buying tabloids that critiqued celebrities’ bodies. I witnessed her erratic eating habits — the fridge filled with whatever food she was fixated on that month, the numerous protein powder containers scattered around her room. Despite never pressuring me to diet, her behavior left an indelible mark on me. By age 14, I found myself counting calories and restricting foods. Unknowingly, she praised my weight loss by calling me her “little model” or “little string bean.” While societal pressures contributed to my eating disorder, I recognized that my mother’s struggles played a significant role.
My feelings of anger and hurt were compounded by a fear of inheriting her body image issues. I longed for a deeper connection with her, but our dynamic felt strained. Things began to shift when we both confronted her dietary habits and body image. Midway through my college journey, we began to communicate not just as mother and daughter, but as two women battling similar demons. A year ago, at 72, she started seeing a nutritional therapist, which filled me with relief and pride. She began to embrace a new perspective, saying, “I’m enjoying being strong, and I love eating breakfast.” This transformation gave me hope for my own healing journey. We often discuss our emotional ups and downs, from the joy of small moments like chatting with a stranger or enjoying a walk, to the struggles that arise from our food obsessions.
Although she has been making an effort to eat healthier and exercise consistently, she recently stopped seeing her therapist. She admitted, “I still have many self-destructive tendencies. My motivation to change for myself is lacking, but I want to do it for you because I love you so much.” I share that love, but I worry that without genuine motivation for herself, her progress may not endure. Admitting this is tough, but one thing is certain: our relationship has transformed for the better. I now have an ally in my mother, and she has one in me.
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In summary, this article reflects on the complex relationship between a mother and daughter, shaped by the struggles of disordered eating. Their journey towards understanding and healing highlights the importance of open communication and mutual support in overcoming personal battles.