It took me 20 years of living with a distorted body image and an unhealthy relationship with food to realize and admit that I have an eating disorder. You would think that the moment I realized I was gaining roughly a size a year, I might have realized it. Or perhaps the moment I figured out that the number on the scale was exactly twice the number it was when I was in high school. No, it was nothing so dramatic - the knowledge seeped in gradually, in spite of the shock of those realizations. Maybe I knew it all along and just didn't want to admit it. Perhaps I thought it was normal for parents to control the eating of their preteen daughters, because it just wouldn't do to have a fat person in the family. Was it such a surprise that I rebelled when I wasn't allowed to eat whenever my body told me it was hungry? The problem isn't the amount or kind of food that I eat. The problem is that I don't remember how to take care of myself. I'm having to retrain my brain to recognize the signals of my stomach. I'm having to learn new ways to deal with "negative" emotions that don't involve comforting myself with food. It's no surprise that I learned that behavior - what else did I have to comfort me? My mother was sick from the time I was a baby to the night she died. My father stuffed his emotions down and worked long hours, so that he wouldn't have to deal with his grief or mine. From his example I learned that grief, anger, and depression are invalid and should be ignored. They don't go away though, no matter how determined you are to ignore them. Taking care of myself was never really a priority before now, as I didn't consider myself worth the trouble. I'm now in a position that causes me to worry though, as I have two small boys to take care of, and I don't want to pass on to them the same dysfunctions that I display. In all of my protests that I would never have kids, it never occurred to me that kids might be just what I needed to inspire myself to be a healthy human being. Not that I advocate having kids when you know you're unable to take care of them - it's infinitely better to be healthy first. They weren't really my choice though, as they're my husband's kids from his first marriage. It took me a while to get used to having them around, but now I wouldn't trade them for the world. Right now I'm much more concerned about my emotional health than my physical health, though that is also a concern. I think I need to learn to process and express my emotions before I can hope to develop a healthy perspective on food. I have a lot of shit from the past that I need to work through, as well as present stress factors. I need to learn to be a better parent. I want to be a better wife and a better friend. I want to be happy with myself and my place in this world. I want to be free of the things that hold me back so that I can live my life to the fullest.