By: Jane (Parent, shared with permission)
This heartbreakingly raw and personal blog has been shared by parent Jane. Despite it being one of the hardest things she has ever written, Jane knows the importance of sharing her family’s experience in the hope it may help even one family avoid going down a similar path, or support those who have already begun their own journey.
Her reflections also highlight an often-overlooked reality: when one child is struggling, the impact is felt across the entire family. Siblings can experience confusion, worry, grief and significant changes to family life.
Jane’s story:
It’s the world’s deadliest mental health condition, yet rarely talked about – and if it is, it’s often dismissed as a vanity issue like it’s a choice.
It doesn’t discriminate, but it does target a stereotype, and it’s not what you’d think. And guess what? It’s probably you, with ‘high functioning’ families and, in particular, children known to be conscientious, well-behaved, perfectionists, increasingly presenting for treatment.
It came for my daughter when she was just 11. By the time she was halfway through her 12th year, my kind and confident little girl was all but gone. Ravaged to within an inch of her life by the disease we chose to call Sharon.
We had to give it a name, to separate the illness from her identity, because what followed was so irrational and consuming that we needed to hold onto the truth: this was not her, and she should not be blamed.
Like our medical experts told us, you wouldn’t get frustrated with a cancer patient over the symptoms of their disease, so why respond that way when someone has a meltdown over the accidental inclusion of an extra strawberry in their lunch box?
Which initially seemed extreme, to compare cancer with anorexia, because we all know how deadly cancer can be, but anorexia?! It’s just a vanity issue! A choice! Surely an intelligent, self-aware person could simply stop once they recognised the harm?
But no, they cannot. Because after it comes for your body, it goes for your mind, and a malnourished brain, as it turns out, is a very deadly thing indeed to be calling the shots.
Sharon came for her slowly at first.
An emotional reaction to a passing comment about food, a growing sensitivity to sugar and carbohydrates. Comments we’d made casually for years, unintentionally demonising these critical sources of energy while thinking nothing of it, suddenly landed differently. But she’d been listening.
Her habits began to shift. Dessert became occasional, then disappeared. Meals became lighter, then more restrictive. She developed an interest in ‘healthy eating’, wanting to prepare her own lunches. At first, it seemed positive: independence, initiative. But gradually, then very quickly, variety disappeared. Entire food groups followed.
We clocked it. But we rationalised it. Told ourselves she was making good choices. That we’d been setting a good example through our own healthy lifestyle. I mean, I’d grown up during the 90s when ‘nothing tasted as good as skinny felt’, so even though I’d never talked about dieting or forced my choices on my family, I’d been following a low-sugar, low-carb diet for years, combined with a bit of fasting to boot. And she’d been watching.
Then we found a page in her notebook. A simple title: ‘Why I’m Not Enough’. It listed all the reasons she hated herself.
I launched into action. Trawled sites like The Embrace Collective and The Butterfly Foundation. Realised nearly every early warning sign matched her behaviour, and the one message every parent who’d gone through this wanted you to know: Act early. Don’t wait.
We sought medical and psychological support immediately. And thought we’d done that. Acted early enough.
Not all support was equal. Our first GP dismissed it, confirming all the stereotypical thinking, ‘Just Eat!’ he told us, sending us on our way. But eating disorders are not solved through logic. By the time we found the right help, the physical impact was already significant.
Her body was shutting down, desperate to conserve energy. Loss of menstruation, digestive issues, and a dangerously low heart rate. These were not lifestyle choices; they were the biological consequences of starvation. She had to stop playing sports. Every day activity puts her at risk of a heart attack.
I began sleeping with her at night, curled up with her as I’d done as a baby. Comforted by the rise and fall of her chest and waking as I had in those earliest of days, so relieved to find her still breathing.
As the condition progressed, the psychological toll intensified. Anxiety, depression, and obsessive behaviours. She lost interest in everything she once loved. Her world became smaller, her thinking more rigid.
There was nothing, literally nothing, we could do to make her happy, and it was at this point that I realised Sharon wasn’t just content with taking down my daughter; she was now coming for me. Because what other reason is there to have been put on this earth than to make those you bring into it happy? You start to question the point of it all.
Our care team grew: paediatrician, psychologist, dietitian, psychiatrist. Each reinforced the same reality: the eating disorder was most likely a symptom of deeper psychological or even neurological issues, but that could not be addressed until her physical health stabilised.
Then shit got more real than I ever thought I’d have to contemplate. Self-harm, suicidal thoughts.
We had to remove all aerosols, scissors and knives from her reach. We hid all the medications. One of us had to be with her 24/7.
We were like the walking dead, walking on eggshells. Passing each other like ships in the night, pausing only to hand over the life raft and bail out more buckets of cash as we each clocked in and out of our surveillance shifts and tried to stay on top of all the medical bills. While still holding down full-time jobs and caring for another high-needs child, because you know – ‘high functioning’. I had never felt less high-functioning in my life.
And that’s often a tell-tale “symptom” of a sibling child – the people pleasers, the high-functioning ones, who are often battling their own demons or Sharons.
There were quite literally times I thought she would never be happy again. That I would never know happiness again. That she would not make it to 13.
She was still only in grade 6. She didn’t even own a phone.
Then one night she screamed for me. Having found an aerosol can and about to use it. She screamed as I’d never heard her scream for me before.
She was still in there. Her voice could still win out over Sharon’s. There was still hope – of course, there was still hope.
Slowly, painstakingly, and with the support of our excellent medical team, we began to understand it, and it did not make for pleasant viewing.
She was the younger sibling to a child with complex needs and had, from early on, taken on the role of the ‘easy’ child, the peacemaker. Her way of coping was through control, perfectionism and people-pleasing. Part of me knew this, and I hate to admit it, but part of me let it play out because, with the demands of my older child, this quite simply made what was already a very demanding life just that little bit easier.
She’d also been masking her own neurodivergent challenges, and that part came as a shock – so keen was she not to add further challenges to our load, she’d been carrying more than any child should ever have to, just to keep the peace. I will now carry that forever.
All it took was for one mean child not to respond to her niceness. To tell her she was ‘too tall and too big’ to play on a swing, for that control to unravel. And once disrupted, it pushed her to find new ways to cope. YouTube shorts accessed via her laptop offered a distorted solution: control your body. Count calories. Become smaller. In that structure, she found temporary relief.
Recovery was gradual and far from linear. With intensive family-based therapy, supervision, medication and the support of an exceptional clinical team, we began to make progress. But it was often one step forward, two steps back. To get better, she had to do the one thing she wanted to do the least. Gain weight. Every appointment was so fraught; each win for us was a loss for Sharon. Our daughter is still on the fence, unsure as to which team she is playing for.
The turning point came when she found a reason to recover. After missing seasons of netball, she set a goal to return. Finally, there was a ‘why’ that made sense to her. Gaining strength became a means to something she valued. That was the key, finding something she wanted more than what Sharon did. That EFFING BITCH (I’m sorry, just had to let it out…)
From there, progress finally tilted. Two steps forward, only one back.
As her nutrition improved, so did her thinking. Her personality began to return. The first time she laughed again, I cried.
Her heart rate stabilised. She was cleared to return to sport. She made the team. She had something to live for.
We are now six months into recovery. There is still a long way to go; she is still following a very restrictive diet, but managing to hold on to a healthy weight range.
She is back at school, rebuilding friendships, reading again, and engaging with life.
She turned 13.
Jane’s advice:
- Don’t wait. It will never be too early to seek help, but it will almost always be too late.
- See a GP – get an eating disorder management plan.
- Find a psychologist and a dietician with experience with eating disorders – the Butterfly Foundation has a great search function for this.
- Find a paediatrician. GPs can only do so much, and once your child is on that slippery slope, you will most likely soon need the additional support.
- Start searching for a psychiatrist because they are very hard to find, and most will have waiting lists. Get on the waiting list – you can always cancel if things end up improving.
- If disability or chronic illness is already a factor in your family’s dynamic, consider seeking support from a dedicated organisation, like Siblings Australia, who offer a range of programs, supports, and educational resources for families, siblings and professionals.
- Start saving. Because, unfortunately, even with an eating disorder management plan, these appointments cost a bomb, and I shudder to think how most families, even ‘high functioning ones’, cope with these ongoing bills. It is brutal.
- And stop, please stop RIGHT NOW demonising sugar, carbohydrates, healthy fats and all the things a growing child needs to grow, to thrive, to stay alive.
Because they are listening to everything you say and watching everything you do.
If this story resonates with you, you’re not alone. Siblings Australia offers support and resources for parents navigating complex family dynamics and for siblings who may be quietly carrying more than they should. Reach out — early support makes a difference.
If you or someone you know needs immediate mental health support, contact Lifeline on 13 11 14 or the Butterfly Foundation on 1800 33 4673.
