I am always on the look out for support and information that I feel may help my clients. I myself have written honest blogs about being a parent (a single parent) supporting a loved child who is living (often, just living) through Anorexia. I feel lucky to now be able to look at this on reflection; there are still remnants of this parasitic illness that we all live with but physical health is now fully restored and we continue to support the psychological scars.
I came across the following in a support group on face book. I doesn’t require anything other than to be shared. I give full credit to the author and, like her, hope that sharing it will offer hope, understanding and help.

“To the parents in this group — especially those who feel like giving up, who are exhausted, heartbroken, and unsure how much more they can take — I want to speak to you not as a clinician or expert, but as someone who lived it. Someone who carried an eating disorder — both anorexia and bulimia — from the age of 14 well into my mid-twenties, and then off and on again in times of stress, trauma, or transition.

I’m also a parent now. And I’ve been on both sides — the one suffering and the one trying to help a child navigate disordered eating (in my son’s case, ARFID). It’s a strange space to hold — the knowing, the pain, the frustration, the fear.

But if I could share just one thing with you from the depths of my lived experience, it would be this:

Your child did not choose this. And if they could wake up tomorrow and be free of it, they would. In a heartbeat.

I used to lie in bed at night — especially during my first year of college when I had to medically withdraw because the disorder had consumed me — and I would pray:
“Please, if there is a God, let me wake up tomorrow without this. Let me be normal. Let me be free from the obsessive thoughts, the shame, the self-loathing, the constant mental math of calories, weight, punishment, and control.”

It’s hard to put into words the despair of feeling like your mind is your enemy and your body is a battlefield. That something invisible has hijacked your life. And then to see the pain in your parents’ eyes — or worse, their anger, frustration, or cold distance — only adds more shame, more fear, and more isolation.

Here’s what I wish parents would understand:

Eating disorders aren’t about food.
They’re about pain. Control. Chaos. Trauma. Fear. Loneliness.
They are coping mechanisms that show up when a child feels like nothing else in their life is safe or certain — and the only thing they can control is what they eat… or don’t.
What they weigh… or don’t.
Whether they sleep… or don’t.

In a world where everything feels unstable — especially for sensitive, intelligent, deeply feeling kids — controlling food becomes a way to feel something or nothing at all. It’s rarely about appearance. It’s about survival.

So when a parent says, “Look what you’re doing to this family,” or “Why are you doing this to yourself?” — please know that your child is likely already drowning in shame. And hearing that only confirms the voice inside that says, “See? You really are the problem.”

What your child needs more than anything isn’t for you to fix them — but to see them.

To say:
“I don’t fully understand what you’re going through, but I want to. And I’m not going anywhere. You don’t have to do this alone.”
To replace punishment and control with curiosity and compassion.
To shift from fear and blame to partnership and presence.

I know this isn’t easy. I know it’s terrifying. I know it can tear families apart and make you feel like you’re losing your child right in front of you. But I promise you — they are still in there. Underneath the illness, behind the behaviors, beneath the layers of fear and denial — your child is still there. And they need you.

Not your perfection. Not your strategy. Just your steady love.

Don’t give up on them. Even if they’ve given up on themselves.
Even if they push you away. Even if it feels hopeless.
Especially then.

Because recovery is possible. It’s messy and non-linear and sometimes feels like one step forward, ten steps back. But your belief in them — even in the darkest times — can be a lifeline.

And if you’re tired, take a breath. Get support for yourself. You matter, too.
But please — try to see your child as sick, not selfish.
As someone in pain, not trying to cause it.
As someone worthy of love, even when they don’t know how to receive it.

You have more power than you think — not to control or cure, but to connect.

That connection can be the beginning of healing.

With deep compassion,
From someone who’s been there — and made it out the other side.
Someone who cares.

Life is hard. There is no handbook for any of this.
But I know this much: unconditional love matters. Showing up matters.
Even when you’re scared, even when you feel helpless or don’t have the answers — keep showing up.

Keep reminding your child, whether they’re 10 or 50, that you believe in them.
That belief alone can be the beginning of healing.
And it may be the very thing that keeps them here.

Cyndi

I want to offer a gentle extension of what I shared in my original post. Something for you, and maybe even something you might consider sharing with your child — if and only when the time feels right. Because I believe with all my heart that sometimes the right words at the right moment can create the smallest crack in the wall shame has built around them… and a sliver of light can get through.

🖤 Please know this: Your child didn’t choose this.
And I’ve never met anyone with an eating disorder who wanted it to become their identity, to consume their joy, or to be “that kid with the problem.” Not one. Most of us just wanted to feel okay in a world that didn’t feel safe or predictable. Where we felt out of control — or like our voices didn’t matter — food became the thing we could control… until that control started controlling us.

🖤 If you share my post with them, or even parts of it, maybe they’ll see that someone else — a complete stranger — gets it. That someone who lived through it believes they aren’t broken. That they aren’t bad. That they aren’t alone. And maybe, just maybe, it gives them permission to admit what’s hard to say out loud.

🖤 And if you ask them, “How did this start?” and they can’t answer you… please know that’s okay too. I still can’t fully answer that question myself. Because the cause of an eating disorder is rarely just one thing — it’s usually an invisible storm of pressure, pain, fear, and silence that eventually erupts in the one area a child can control: their body, their food, their habits.

The truth is: Eating disorders are not about food.
They’re about unmet emotional needs.
About fear, pain, anxiety, trauma, perfectionism… all showing up in a way that’s easier to focus on than the chaos underneath.

And unlike other addictions — alcohol, drugs, even shopping — you can’t “quit” eating. You can’t walk away from food and live. Recovery from an ED means facing that reality every single day, doing what feels terrifying, and still showing up. That takes incredible strength.

So please, parents… be gentle. With your child. And with yourselves.

Sometimes what helps isn’t more rules, more monitoring, or more pressure. Sometimes what helps is simply saying:
“I know I don’t understand all of this, but I see you. I love you. And I believe you want to feel better. I’m here when you’re ready.”

Sometimes, the smallest shift — from “What’s wrong with you?” to “What happened to you?” — can open a door.

And sometimes the greatest gift you can give is just your steady presence.
Your not giving up — even when you don’t know what to do.

Let your child know that they are worthy of love — not when they’re better, not when they’ve “complied,” not when they’re weight-restored — but right now, in the messy, confusing middle.

You are not alone.
They are not alone.
And there is hope — not because it’s easy, but because it’s possible.

With care,
Cyndi

Someone who’s been there.
Someone who is still learning and healing — and who believes your child can too.”

Wow! Thank you Cyndi.