Some of my earliest memories are of my mom’s eating disorder. As the only daughter, I was often sent to find out why she was taking so long in the bathroom at airports, or I even once ate a sleeve of her laxatives which, being bright orange, I’d mistaken as candy in the car. My mom was once mistaken for having cancer by a teacher, and I can still hear her loud gulps from a shot glass of grapefruit juice which was often her meal for the day.

As a child, I never thought twice about my mom’s behaviour, but as I verged into my early teens, I started wondering what she must think of me if she seemingly tried so hard to not look or act like me. Her compliments on my body, like how strong my thighs were, fell flat as she pivoted to telling me of her desire to drop below a significantly low weight. Despite this and because of it, without even consciously noticing, I found myself through the years following her example for coping with stress and loneliness.

I am now nearly a decade out of treatment. I still feel a loneliness from the mothering that lacked due to her disorder taking priority, but I also feel a deep understanding of and compassion for my mom, who too followed in her mom’s footsteps. I am proud of having made the choice to break the cycle and hope that anyone reading this who feels like they were the only one who grew up that way or who might be embarrassed for doing the same behaviours, can find comfort reading this and know that they can break the cycle too.