Life with ED: Part 1

I grew up in Newton, a suburb right outside of the city of Boston. My parents were both two hardworking people, traits I would learn to love in hindsight. Because of their grueling hours, I had a babysitter taking care of me every day after school until the night, and would even go home with her most weekends. She became my "mama." Every time she had to leave for the evening, I would clamp on to her leg, scream and crying, and begging for her to take me with her. I can now only imagine how that must have felt for my parents who were working to support our family and following their passions.

I was a happy kid. I had a great group of friends, who I had been in school with since I was in pre-K. I had a passion for theatre and thrived on stage, but also a mother who wanted me to be involved in sports as well. She used to figure skate growing up so I followed in her foot steps. If you saw me, I was good, but if you saw me compared to all the other kids my age skating the same amount of hours--I was not so good. I remember going to the skating rink at a 11 year old with my babysitter after school. She would always get me a snack, whether is was a McDonalds apple pie, or a yogurt parfait from the skate shop. I would walk into the girls locker room with my food, not knowing anything different. It wasnt until one day one of the other 11 year olds looked at my food and said "I wish I was allowed to eat that."

That wasn't the first time food had been brought up in a good vs. bad context. I had two older half sister who were 18 and 20 years older than me. I remember growing up and hearing what "life style changes" they were on this week. My mom owned restuarants and had a love of food, but also an obsession with weight, making food part of a bipolar love affair. I already had an idea of a "perfect" body and weight before I had even been through puberty. I remember in 4th grade standing next to one of my bestfriends. I asked another girl in our class to tell us who had bigger legs--it was me. CUE the obsession with my legs. I went home that afternoon and wrote a diet plane for myself.

One day my world got turned upside down when my parents told me we were moving to California. As my mom likes to say, it was as if they told me I was moving to Afghanistan. But in all seriousness, I was a 12 year old leaving everything I knew: my friends, my "mama," my routine. I balled my eyes out for days and refused to speak to my parents. It was then I realized how deeply I could feel my feelings.

The day we left for California I had to say bye to my babysitter. She was my rock, my world, my "mama." This may sound light and ridiculous compared to others struggles (and believe me I know it is), but I was in so much grief saying goodbye to the women that raised me, that I completely blacked out this memory until a few years ago. Saying goodbye was one of the hardest moments of my life. To this day, I find it difficult to call her on the phone because of how much remerging pain in brings up. Anytime I discuss her with anyone in my life, I am close to tears. She gave me her whole heart and raised me like her own. And for that I am so beyond words grateful for.

When we landed in California it was clear we were not in Boston anymore.