To all of my moms, real and virtual.  And to my readers, whether or not they have actual children, for all of you are helping me learn how to parent myself (which is a lot of the point of being a mother, no?):

Last month, I wrote about the death of anti-anorexia activist Isabelle Caro. This morning, I learned that her mother Marie had committed suicide over the death of her child. Grief, guilt, and despair are painful, if normal, responses to loss.  I'm not faulting her mother for these seemingly intolerable feelings.  What I am wondering is how our habit of subtly blaming the parents for their child's eating disorder contributed to Marie's death.

In basically all of the news stories on Isabelle's death, there were comments about her mother, who was portrayed as a sort of Cruella de Ville of anorexigenic mothers.  An AOL story today said that:

Isabelle often spoke about her mother's phobia about Isabelle growing up and gaining weight, as well as her mother's depression. She had a lonely, difficult childhood as a result and had been anorexic since the age of 13. She wrote a 2008 memoir titled "The Little Girl Who Didn't Want to Get Fat."

This story also noted that Marie was especially devastated after a particularly critical article was posted about her in the wake of Isabelle's death.

Was Marie a perfect mother? Nope.
Did she cause her daughter's eating disorder? Nope.

A susceptibility to anorexia was part of Marie's genetic legacy that she bequeathed to Isabelle. Did she comment on her daughter's weight and size? I don't know. Even if she did, that couldn't cause Isabelle's anorexia.

Writes Dr. Julie O'Toole of the Kartini Clinic in a comment on her blog:

Even the most neurotic, dysfunctional, abusive parenting will not cause AN, much less what you have described above. AN is a brain disorder. Such parenting might, however, cause severe disordered eating, a neurotic obsession with appearance, or misplaced values.

In my years of practice I have had two mothers who actively tried to give their daughters anorexia nervosa. Why? Because they were mentally ill themselves. It is called Munchausen-by-proxy, and of course it didn't work. You can't give someone anorexia nervosa, even if you want to, and certainly not inadvertently.

It is likely that Marie was never told she could help her daughter recover, imperfections and all.  She clearly loved her daughter.  And if Marie herself had a subclinical eating disorder (I have no evidence that she did), it could have contributed to her alleged fears of Isabelle's gaining weight.

I remember discussing contributing factors with my mom in therapy.  At first, I believed that all of the unhelpful things she did were a direct cause of my eating disorder.  Anorexia was a rebellion!  A way of getting back!  A way of control!  Now I realize that these unhelpful things were a) inadvertent (how was she to know that getting good grades could be a bad omen?) and b) totally unrelated to my eating disorder.

Marie's death shows that the blame game is deadly--not just for sufferers, but also for loved ones.

My friend Charlotte had posted about how far her daughter had come in her fight against anorexia over the past year.  In an email to me, she asked me to post this on my blog:

This time last year (3rd November, 2009), my daughter's anorexia had changed my warm, funny bright loving daughter into a cobra with PMS, my other daughter was crying hysterically, my husband was as angry as a hungry grizzly and I have never felt so hopeless and helpless in the whole of my life. So, taking courage in both hands and laying aside my uptight English reserve, I posted on the ATDT forum asking for help.


And through them, I found Carrie.

A year on, a lot has changed. My warm, funny, bright, loving daughter is back. My other daughter only cries when she gets moisturiser in her eyes. My husband is back to his habitual horizontal position and I feel empowered and useful.

And, I still have Carrie.

We talked about how far we have come in a year and for both us, looking back, has been cathartic and hopeful.
 
I feel like I've known Charlotte for so much longer than a year.  She has truly become a dear friend.
 
And yet, looking back over this past year, I realize how far I've come.  I've actually embraced the concept of recovery, not just to get my parents off my back or to make my therapist happy.  There are still parts of recovery I hate, but I'm starting to really accept them.  I do still miss the eating disorder at times, but I also have other times when it's not at the forefront of my mind.
 
If you would have asked me last year what I would be doing in November 2010, I wouldn't have told you that I would be trying to buy a condo and working full-time as a freelance writer.  That I would actually be showing signs of success in my career.  To be honest, back then I wasn't really thinking of the future.  The future consisted of trying to weasel out of the next meal or next snack.  It consisted of dreaming and hoping and wishing.  Yeah, it would be nice to kick this ED to the curb, but it would also be nice if pigs would fly and my coffee cup magically refilled itself.  That didn't mean it was going to happen anytime soon.
 
My life isn't what I anticipated it would be before I got ill.  I didn't expect to be still living with my parents at age 30.  I didn't expect to have more health problems than I care to count and know that padded rooms on psych wards actually exist.
 
Yet time passes and things get better.  Until I got into this conversation with Charlotte, I didn't realize just how much progress I have made.  I am, by no means, totally recovered.  I still struggle with ED thoughts, but I find it getting so much easier to keep the behaviors in check.  Thinking of a life beyond the ED isn't just a pipe dream anymore.

No, I'm not talking about my own relapse. I'm talking about my cat's.

I picked up my cat from boarding at the vet's for the past two and a half weeks, and I was over the moon to get her back. Aria and I are rarely separated, and it was nice to have my best friend by my side again. When I got her home, I let her out of her carrier and picked her up. I saw her leg and my heart sank. Aria has an autoimmune skin condition that makes her leg itch, and she bites at it until the fur is gone and her leg is raw and bleeding. She's on a low dose of steroids to help keep it under control (I tried numerous alterations in her diet, to no avail) and it has been for quite some time. Not right now, though. It flared up again at the vet's.

Assuming they gave her the medication properly, I can understand that Aria was stressed, and the stress can lead to a flare-up. Even if they did everything properly--even if--how did they miss the fact that so much of her leg was raw and weepy? I picked her up and it was the first thing I noticed. Did they not check on her properly?

I called the vet's office and spoke with someone who assured me that Aria's medication was given properly, but they couldn't explain how someone failed to notice that her condition had gotten worse. I wanted to throttle them. This wasn't just any cat--this was my baby! How could they have let this happen? She had been doing so well when she was home with me, and then she leaves and all hell breaks loose.

Somewhere around this point, when I am simultaneously heartbroken and livid, I realize that this must be a bit what it is like to watch someone struggle with an eating disorder. It must have been baffling to my mother how so many people missed spotting my eating disorder when I was sick. It was right in front of them, under their noses and rather obvious, and yet as my illness got worse, everyone claimed to be caught off guard. And then to have had your loved one do so well while at home and safe, and the second your head is turned, bam!

I also better understand the impulse my mom had to bring me home and help me get well. It's not pathological and over-controlling, it's the response of someone who loves their kid and desperately wants them well. That's what Mommies do.

Aria is (hopefully) on the mend. Her injury doesn't look as red and sore, so I think she's stopped biting at it. Now we just need to let her leg heal and find her another vet--one who isn't negligent.

I hope all critters, fuzzy or not, have moms like this. I did!

From my mother's mouth to God's ears:

"I think the BMI is a bunch of B-U-L-L."

Rock on, Mom. Rock on.

I found this post on one of my favorite blogs, Postcards from Yo Momma. The subtitle is "A repository of modern day maternal correspondence." It's one of the funniest things I read. Really. My mom and I share this blog together, asking if the other has seen a particular post.

Anyway, one girl sent in a copy of an instant message conversation she had with her mom. It's classic.

He makes you fat

me: I feel fat.
mom: It’s Jordan’s fault. Dump him.
me: hahahahaha I love you
mom: Are you going out with the wannabe-stalker tonight?
me: yes
mom: Well just remember, he makes you fat.

Mother knows best, right?

I was out of internet contact for the last few days and didn't get to wish everyone a Happy Mother's Day.

First of is my mom, who literally kept me alive the past 8+ years of the anorexia insanity. She never gave up, even when I had, and so did many treatment professionals. "Carrie is chronic," they said. To them, chronic anorexia means hopeless. Not to my mom. She didn't think it was weird to have her 26-year-old daughter move back home (with her kittycat!) into her childhood bedroom and be totally dependent on her parents once again. And then to take all of the late night hysterical sobbing phone calls from the now 27-year-old daughter after she moves out.

Mom, seriously- you saved my life. "Thanks" is so hollow compared to what I really mean, but "thanks" will have to do.

Next up are all of the other moms in my life. The phrase "It takes a village" has become kind of ridiculously cliche, but it's SO TRUE. You have all taught me so much about how to be a person, not just an anorexic. So a little shout-out to:

Laura
Harriet
Jane
Mary
Marcella
Irishup
Tracey
Stephanie

I am honored to know you all.

So I did the whole "Mother's Day" thing with my mom today. We're not much for holidays, but I gave her a chapbook of some of the poems I wrote over the past year and a half and Lord did the tears flow. The woman was like a freaking faucet.

It was nice, though.

But, I realized I have a host of other "moms" who have helped me over the years, and I'd like to take this time to thank them publicly for all of their support:

Harriet

Laura

Jane (and her milkshake recipes!)

and last but definitely not least, my fairy godmother, Mary. /*********** <= that's my wand there.

Let the magic begin...