A Conversation With My Mum

By Bonnie Killip, dietitian (APD) and clinical hypnotherapist

A few days ago, I sat with my mum and asked her a question I hadn’t before, at least not directly.

“What kind of help were you searching for when I was first diagnosed?”

I wanted to understand as an adult, a clinician working with people in recovery from eating disorders, and someone who has found her way out the other side of anorexia. I wanted to understand what she was looking for, not just for me, but for herself. What she hoped for, what she needed, and what she never found. 

I wanted to be able to offer more to the frustrated, heartbroken and overwhelmed parents who send me emails and messages daily. The parents who have seen their child struggle often for years making little or no progress in the treatment they were recommended. The parents who are searching for something different in the very real face of losing hope. The parents who would give anything to see their child find a way out of the all-consuming world of an eating disorder.  

My mums’ answers landed deep in my chest. They weren’t clinical or complicated. They were simple, raw, and honest.

Here’s what she said.

1. Anything Positive

The very first thing that came out of her mouth was:

“Honestly, I would’ve given anything for someone to just say something positive.”

She didn’t mean false hope or sugar-coating. She meant possibility. The chance that things might actually get better. That I could get better.

Instead, she was met with sighs, shrugs, and professionals who gently, or not so gently, placed me in the too hard basket. Many simply said they couldn’t work with me. And now, looking back with the knowledge I have, I actually understand. If someone didn’t have the skills, the capacity, or the training to support someone in recovery from anorexia, I wouldn’t want them to “give it a go.” That kind of guessing can do more harm than good.

But for my parents, in those early days, that distinction wasn’t clear. All they felt was that no one would help, and they were drowning.

Worse still, some of the help they did get was so saturated in hopelessness it left scars that carried far into our futures. Words like:

“This is something she’ll have to manage for the rest of her life.”
“You should prepare for things to get worse because they’re unlikely to get better.”
“You can’t force someone to want to recover.”

There was very little, if any, belief in recovery being possible. There was no one saying, “You’re not alone. Others have been here. There is a way through this.”

But I know differently now.
I am that proof.
And I’m not the only one. I’ve met many people who have recovered from eating disorders and gone on to live lives completely free from the illness.

2. Some Direction. What Do We Do Now?

After the shock of the diagnosis settled in, mum told me they were left with a big pile of information, most of it about what anorexia is, the signs and symptoms, the dangers, the long-term risks, but no actual roadmap forward. (editor’s note: we address this at F.E.A.S.T.)

There was no “step one,” no reassurance, no practical guide that said: Here’s what we do next.

I remember this phase too. (Well, parts of, because a lot of those early treatment days are a blur. However, if I’m honest the treatment didn’t change much if at all from being diagnosed at thirteen to being hospitalised, yet again, at twenty-seven. It was evident no one really knew what to do with me. I felt like an anomaly. A one of a kind that just didn’t seem to be able to try harder. The strange thing is I now know I wasn’t. I now know the fault was not within me but in the treatment I was offered).

What I do remember is that most sessions were filled with people talking about me rather than to me. I was being explained, assessed, and managed, not actually listened to or included let alone understood. There was a lot of pointing out the things I was doing wrong, a lot of talk about how what I was doing was dangerous… but little to no support to understand why I was doing them in the first place or how to do something different (beyond “try harder”).

Each week felt like reliving the same (shame inducing and morally eroding) conversation:

• “She’s still not eating enough.”
• “She’s still exercising in secret.”
• “Her weight hasn’t shifted.”
• “This is harming her heart, her bones, her brain…”

But there was no plan. No collaboration. No forward movement.
Just repeating the same fears and problems. For what turned into fifteen years. 

Mum said what her and my family wanted most was guidance, not just warnings.
They already knew things were bad, they already knew all the ways I was harming myself because the truth is they were living it too.
What they needed was help in getting us out of it.

3. Someone Who Really Got It and Correct Information

One of the most painful things mum shared with me was that a lot of the “advice” she came across in those early days was… wrong.

She was incredulous when she told me this, but I could see the sadness behind it. She said she’d find people online or get referrals and hope maybe this practitioner would be different, only to find the suggestions were completely off-track. 

Not just slightly wrong but life threateningly damaging. 

“Health professionals would tell me it was probably an allergy. Or maybe she should cut out sugar, dairy, nuts or gluten. And I’d think… are you serious? She’s terrified of eating anything already and you want me to restrict more?”

Mum told me that sometimes, she’d book the appointment just in case, desperate for any kind of solution, but cancel it once her gut told her it wasn’t right. That it would do more harm than good.

She knew that elimination wasn’t the answer.

What she was really searching for was someone who got it. Someone who could speak with authority but also compassion. Someone who had actually seen people recover or better yet, had walked that road themselves.

She never met anyone who told her recovery was possible.
She never met anyone who said, “I’ve been through this.”

She was just trying to protect me, and herself, the best she could, while seemingly flying almost completely blind.

What I Know Now (That I Wish She’d Known Then)

I’m not writing this to place blame or reopen old wounds.
I’m writing it because if you’re a parent (and your child doesn’t have to be young), a partner, or someone who loves someone in the depths of an eating disorder, maybe this helps you feel less alone.

I also write this as someone who now gets to support others through the very process we once stumbled through in the dark.

Here’s what I want every parent to know now:

• Recovery is possible.
• You’re not wrong for wanting to believe that.
• Hope isn’t naïve, it’s necessary.
• You don’t have to do this alone.
• It’s necessary to ask for help, and it’s okay to expect qualified help. 

And maybe most importantly:

Just because someone has a title or a license doesn’t mean they’re the right fit.

It’s ok to close a door and do something new. It’s what led me to finding the person that guided me into a full life on the other side of an eating disorder.

Find someone who sees the person behind the illness.

Find someone who knows recovery isn’t linear, but it’s real.

Find someone who knows there’s more to life than just “managing” an eating disorder.

Most importantly find someone who can help you develop the skills and resources to do and be different because your life is not found in understanding your past, your life is what you choose to do from now. 

To the Parents Searching Now

You’re not failing.
You’re not weak.
You’re not alone.

It’s okay if this feels impossibly hard, in many ways and with the “wrong” tools it is.
But there is light ahead.
There are people (like me and MANY others) who’ve made it through.

And if no one’s told you:
Thank you.
Thank you for not giving up on your person, even when things feel hopeless.
Thank you for fighting for support, even when doors keep closing.
Thank you for searching for something positive even after being let down again and again. Because that search matters more than you know.

Final Words from My Mum

After our chat, I asked mum what she’d say to another parent starting out on this path, desperate for answers and afraid of what’s ahead.

She paused for a moment, then said:

“Don’t stop looking until you find someone who sees your child, not just their diagnosis. Someone who believes in them, even if they can’t believe in themselves yet. Find someone who treats them on the same level rather than condescending to them”.

I couldn’t have said it better.

And to my mum: thank you for being that someone for me. Through it all.

Editor’s Note: F.E.A.S.T. has many resources to educate, guide, and support parents like the author’s mum; they can be found on our website.