Dads And Daughters With Eating Disorders

 

Introduction

 

My 26 year old daughter just came home 5 days ago after 3½ months of intensive in-patient treatment at Remuda Ranch and Remuda Life. 

 

Just before Christmas her MD told me she would die – not “might” die, “would” die – if she did not get into intensive treatment immediately.

 

I did a lot of research on treatment programs and facilities.  She selected Remuda Ranch.  I don’t think she could have made a better choice. 

 

That whole process – finding and evaluating treatment programs and facilities and then figuring out how to pay for them and sorting through the insurance morass is a blog in itself.  I’ll address that soon.

 

So for 3½ months my daughter has been, as she often said, “watched like a hawk,” tube fed, counseled, schooled, and otherwise often not allowed to do much but sit on the couch, read, journal, and make bead bracelets and necklaces.  Oh, and color in coloring books.  Fine bit of good that Masters in Education was doing her. 

 

She was weighed, blood pressured, counseled, poked, prodded, forced to eat every morsel on her plate at every meal like it or not, and often likened herself a prisoner. 

 

Her fellow inmates all suffered from Eating Disorders, too, so the support group was, if not always kind and friendly, at least all in the same boat.  They certainly had an understanding and could relate to each other’s struggles, feelings, and emotions.

 

All of the treatment she received from the doctors, therapists, dieticians, and everyone else at Remuda was top notch and was administered and given in love and with her health and best interests at heart.

 

She didn’t always see it exactly that way.  She often had that prisoner mentality. 

 

Fast forward to 5 days ago and, voila, she’s released.  Out of jail.  No hawks watching.  No tubes down her nose.  No blood pressure cuff first thing in the morning.  No one to see if she eats all of her burnt grilled cheese sandwich or not or drinks every last drop of her Ensure.

 

She’s finally coming home and as her dad, I’m torn.

 

Grateful that she’s coming home.  Grateful that she’s healthier.  Grateful that she got terrific treatment. 

 

But anxious, too.  How will she manage without the hawks, tubes, and constant monitoring? 

 

I felt pretty secure when she was in in-patient treatment.  After all, even if she “slipped” there was a whole team of dedicated and caring professionals to help her get up and move on.  And a large support group of other women who had shared experiences with her.

 

Now, at home, god knows I am ill equipped to deal with her Eating Disorder.  I’m smart enough, have researched enough, and was well trained enough at Remuda’s Family Week to know that my job is NOT to deal with her Eating Disorder. 

 

But what if she has a slip?

 

What am I REALLY – you know, like in the real world – supposed to do?

 

So, if you think about it, it’s easier for me when she’s in treatment. 

 

Wouldn’t it be great if she could come out of treatment cured?  All better?  Well?  Perfectly Healthy?  Stable?  Secure?  Self Confident? 

 

Ah, if only it were that easy.

 

Guess what dads.  She gets out and comes home with her frickin’ Eating Disorder.

 

She’s way, way better.  They force fed her and actually had to re-teach her how to eat, what to eat, and how much to eat.  So she’s healthier for sure.  Clearly not about to die right now. 

 

So that’s good.

 

But you have to realize that treatment, whether private or institutional in-patient treatment, doesn’t result in a cure.  This isn’t like going into the hospital with appendicitis, having an operation, and you come out perfectly healthy.  Heck, I went to the hospital one day thinking I was going to get an antibiotic for a lung infection, had a pacemaker installed in my chest the next morning to get around a malfunction in my heart’s electrical system, and drove my motorcycle home the morning after that.  That, my friends, is really fixing the problem.

 

It doesn’t work like that with Eating Disorders. 

 

ED sufferers, unfortunately, go into treatment with their Eating Disorders and come out with their Eating Disorders. 

 

But stronger and healthier.  With tools and skills to help them through difficult situations.  With weapons to fight ED.  And with more insight about what led them down the dark road of self sabotage and self destruction in the first place.

 

In other words, the treatment is not the end of the Eating Disorder, it is only the beginning of learning how to deal with it, manage it, and, with luck and the grace of god, overcome it.

 

Fear

 

So when my daughter came home 5 days ago, along with joy and gratitude, I felt fear.  Fear that she’d slip back into her old ways.  Fear that I wouldn’t know how to handle it.  Fear that ED, who had been repressed to some extent while she was in treatment, would re-gain the upper hand in her head.

 

Fear that her friends, though well meaning, would prove to be a negative influence.

 

Fear that her co-addiction might tempt to make poor choices and start the cycle over again.

 

Five days ago after I drove her home to Newport Beach, CA from Chandler, AZ, after visiting with her sister, nephews, and mom, the next thing she did was “go out” with her friends.  I believe (and I’m only just a dad, so I could be wrong) that “go out” is code for do some bar hopping. 

 

In my caring dad’s view, this is not the ideal first night home from “prison” and I feel fearful that she’s putting herself in the path of unnecessary temptation.

 

But she’s 26 so there’s not a thing I can do about it.

 

Except feel fear. 

 

I talked to her the next day around noon.

 

“How did everything go with your friends?” I asked.

 

“Great.  They were so supportive of me.  And, of course, I got a lot of compliments on how good and healthy I look.  It made me feel really good.  They were so supportive and it was so good to see them and do something fun.”

 

“While you were out did you face any situations or temptations or urges that you had to really fight against or that made you feel uncomfortable or anxious?” I asked – a bit fearful of the answer.

 

“No.  Not at all.  It was just so great to be out and doing something really fun and seeing my friends.”

 

Whew!

 

Frustration

 

That day (the 2^nd day home) she went apartment hunting.  She called later on to tell me about the various apartments she’d seen and to ask some advice.  I gave her my opinions and advice freely.  That’s what we dads are really pretty good at, huh?  Not that it’s always good advice, but we’re happy to dish it out anyway.  And, it’s really exciting when we’re actually asked for it.  That’s a rarity.

 

Next day (the 3^rd day home) we missed each other’s calls in the morning.  I called again around noon, but didn’t hear back.  I called around 3 or 4 but didn’t hear back.  I called around 8 but didn’t hear back.

 

I felt very frustrated. 

 

While she was in treatment, I talked to my daughter at least once every day – often several times a day.  I’d kinda gotten used to it. 

 

And now here she is at home, “free,” and she can’t pick up the phone and give me a ringy-ding?

 

Had I not felt fear in the first place, I assume I wouldn’t have felt so much frustration about not talking to her all day.  But I did.

 

By the way, I wasn’t trying to monitor her or harass her or bug her or anything.  But, I remember when her doctor said she was close to death, so I just wanted her to call and say I’m OK, Dad.  Or, I need your help, Dad.  Either way would be fine.  Anything, actually.  The silence and not knowing was what led to my frustration and that lead to more fear.

 

The fear-frustration-fear-frustration cycle feeds on itself, leading to…

 

Fantasy

 

I think when we experience the combination of fear for the well being of a loved one combined with the frustration of not knowing what to do, if there is anything we can or should do, or even if they need or want our help, leads to fantasy. 

 

And not in a good way.

 

I can’t begin to tell you how many different fantasies I dreamed up that day and night about all the horrific things that may have happened to my daughter both of her own making and as a completely innocent bystander. 

 

I’m calling them Fantasies of Doom.

 

This is the hardest thing for a parent – well, at least for a dad – well, at least for me.  Not knowing.  The not knowing leads to the fear to the frustration and they feed on each other in a circle of ever increasing momentum ‘till the Fantasies of Doom just take over.

 

And there’s nothing you can do.

 

Just hold on. 

 

Next morning she called.  Had a great weekend, Dad.  Sorry about not calling back.  Busy and at brunch with a friend, then watching the basketball game with a group of people, then out and didn’t hear the phone.

 

She was so excited and had THE BEST WEEKEND in years, and felt more self confidence and better about herself than she can even remember, and….ta da….picked an apartment and put down a deposit.

 

So there you go, dad.  Nothing to worry about. 

 

She managed all on her own, just fine.  Without me interfering or having anything to do or worry about.

 

And even if she would have had some difficulties, there isn’t anything I could have done anyway.

 

Bottom Line

 

The most difficult thing for us dads to do when our daughters are suffering from Eating Disorders is to let go and not try to fix it. 

 

Not to say we turn our beautiful daughters out on the streets, shoo them away, and abandon them. 

 

The contrary. 

 

Actually we hold them closer.  Closer than ever before.  But we don’t do it with physical constraints, rules, yelling, threatening.  Even when they’re younger.

 

No sir. 

 

We hold them closer with love, understanding, compassion, LISTENING TO THEM, learning to connect and identify with their emotions and feelings.  Learning to communicate openly and honestly and without judgment. 

 

We tie them closer to us with our encouragement, positive reinforcement, and unconditional love. 

 

I’m not sure I really knew what that meant – unconditional love – until my daughter and our family starting living through this Eating Disorder Test that we’re in.    

 

It’s not easy.  It’s not over for us.  She’s not cured.

 

But she’s better.  Stronger.  Well equipped to deal with it.  Armed to overcome it.  Ready for the battles to come.  Excited for the opportunity to prove she can do it.

 

And me?  Well, this week I’m working on letting go of the Fear, Frustration, and Fantasies of Doom. 

 

I know she can do what she needs to do. 

 

My job, with love, support, and encouragement, is to trust her and let her do it. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This entry was posted on Wednesday, April 22nd, 2009 at 7:13 pm and is filed under Eating Order Awareness. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.