My Eating Disorder Almost Destroyed My Family

From Good Housekeeping

On a gloriously sunny afternoon in April 2002, the kind of day that southern California is famous for, my friend Maria came to pick me up at the gym where I worked. Before heading to lunch, she told me she needed to run by her house. When we got there, she asked me to come in. It wasn't like her to be so mysterious. Something was up.

When I walked into the living room, I saw my 18-year-old daughter, Aubrey; her high school counselor; my best friend, Cathy; and my mom, all sitting in a circle and looking grim. Why the surprise get-together? It wasn't my birthday. They certainly didn't look like they were celebrating anything. And then I thought: Oh no. I'm in deep trouble. I had a feeling this was about my weight, which had gotten lower and lower over the years.

"Sit down and be quiet," my mother said. Her voice was both stern and extremely sad. "You can speak after you listen to us." She rifled through a pile of letters and plucked out one from my younger brother. "I know how much you love bodybuilding, but you have taken your exercise and diet too far," it began. "Not only is it hurting you, it's harming Aubrey." Then she read another, from my younger sister: "We have to distance ourselves from you. It's too hurtful to watch you wither away."

As I listened with increasing terror and panic, I realized: So this is an intervention.

I started daily weight training in my early 20s, when I was living in Kokomo, Indiana. It helped to relieve the stress of my job teaching autistic children, and raising Aubrey as a single mom (her dad and I divorced after a little over a year).

Besides relaxing me, exercise helped me feel in control. So did monitoring my food, which was something I'd learned from my mom. She'd cut refined sugars and processed foods from our diets when I was growing up and training as a gymnast and cheerleader. After reading a book about corporate farming as a teenager, I also quit eating red meat. When Aubrey was a baby, I eliminated dairy from both our diets, so we drank rice milk and bought rice or almond cheese. Eating this way made me feel powerful, strong and - most importantly - "clean."

Shortly after my workout regimen began, one of the trainers encouraged me to enter a bodybuilding competition. I thought, Why not? And just after my 30th birthday, when Aubrey was six, I took third place at the Indiana State Championships bodybuilding competition. I was elated: For the first time, I knew exactly what I was supposed to be doing with my life. I left teaching and became the fitness director at our local Sports Center.

Soon after, we relocated to a cute little surfer town outside San Diego. My mother had moved there two years prior, and we wanted to be closer to her. I started training clients at a nearby Gold's Gym, and continued to work out for hours every afternoon. Before I knew it I was bench pressing 150 pounds, squatting 250 pounds and doing over 12 pull-ups in a row. Not bad for someone who's 5-foot-4-inches and 114 pounds.

With the new job, I became even more disciplined with my food. In the morning I'd have a rice cake and black coffee. For a mid-morning snack I'd eat a small can of tuna in water, half a cup of green beans and half a small yam. Lunch would be a boiled, skinless chicken breast. In the afternoon I'd have a non-fat yogurt and a protein powder smoothie. For dinner I'd eat a salad and a small piece of steamed or boiled fish. My motto was "lean and clean." (I fixed Aubrey healthy meals, but she didn't share my diet.)

My hard work paid off: In 1991, two years after moving to California, I placed first in the Ms. Natural California contest, and second in the nation in drug-free bodybuilding. My image was plastered in Female Bodybuilding magazine. I did an infomercial for exercise equipment and three exercise videos. In the small world of bodybuilding, I was becoming a star.

A few months later, I told Aubrey, now eight, that I was going to compete in the American Natural Bodybuilding Conference's California Championships. She started bawling. "I'm going to go live with Nana, because you get too grouchy when you're competing!" she said. She may have had a point. Once you get past the hunger pangs, a light-headed euphoria sets in, but until that happens, your head throbs, your blood sugar drops and you feel like you could bite the head off anything.

But I pushed Aubrey's feelings aside. I was so caught up in the bodybuilding scene; winning was all I focused on. "The contest is a month away, and then I'll go back to not being so grouchy," I told her. "I promise." Aubrey just shook her head. She hated that I only bought health food and loved going to friend's homes, where she could munch on junk food. During our weekly dinners out with my mother, her grandmother, they'd order pizza or a hamburger, and I'd get a salad. If the salad had grilled shrimp or vegetables I'd dab the oil with a napkin, which made my mother furious. "Can't you be a normal person?" Aubrey cried.

It's hard to be a good parent if you're so focused on your diet. It just doesn't work. One Mother's Day when Aubrey was still in elementary school, she and a friend decided to make me breakfast. They whipped up some bagels and cream cheese, but I refused to eat it. I simply couldn't. I can still remember the hurt and anger in Aubrey's eyes.

After winning third place in the 1993 ANBC Natural nationals, I ran into a few judges in the elevator. "You're too thin," they said. "If you're going to compete again next year, you have to bulk up."

Instead, I quit competing.

Aubrey was thrilled. She thought she'd get her mom back. But I continued to work out daily, and I still lived mostly on vegetables. Aubrey grew desperate.

Nearly a decade later, when she was a senior in high school, Aubrey made an appointment to see her school counselor. At 96 pounds, I was so thin that she was worried that I was going to die. Together, they hatched the intervention.

I was 42, and my 18-year-old daughter was trying to save my life.

Back at Maria's house, I was in shock - and angry. How long had my friends been plotting against me? Yes, I liked to eat a certain way. And I was small. But I was also really, really strong.

If I didn't go to rehab, Aubrey promised she would move in with my mother. My friends swore they wouldn't see me anymore. "Do you understand what we're saying?" my mother asked.

Tears pooled in my eyes. I didn't want to lose my daughter. "I don't have a choice," I whispered. Everyone in the room nodded. "How long do I have to pack for?" I asked.

"Three months," my mother said.

My insides turned to liquid. I wanted to punch a wall. "What about my clients?" I screamed.

"They've been notified," my mother said quietly. "Other trainers will work with them."

Aubrey stared straight ahead, like a zombie. "You have to do this, Mom. You have to," she repeated. "You have to go."

My mother left with Aubrey, and Cathy helped me pack. I was apparently heading to Wickenburg, Arizona, for a rehab which cost $35,000 and which insurance didn't cover. Everyone in my family had pitched in to pay the bill. That's how badly they thought I needed it.

We arrived at the facility, smack in the middle of the desert, near midnight. The sky was pitch black, save for a billion stars lighting up the sky. I could make out the silhouettes of cacti and mountains. My head throbbed from crying so hard.

After a night spent in the fetal position, shaking and crying softly, I was awakened at 6 a.m. in the intensive care unit, where I would remain for three weeks. I couldn't believe my life had come to this: I was a champion bodybuilder! I was in magazines and newspapers! And now I was in an eating disorders facility. There had to be some mistake. I missed my daughter so much I ached.

A nurse weighed me - 94 pounds - and snapped my picture.

At breakfast I lined up with ten other women, ranging in ages from 18 to mid-50s. As I neared the front of the line, I scanned the hot tables and kitchen area and saw an array of processed food. There was no way in hell I was going to eat this crap. We were in need of proper nutrition. "I'm a vegan and allergic to wheat," I told the food attendant. There was no vegan option, but I was allowed to omit two food categories. I chose meat and dairy, but I would have to eat bread.

After breakfast, I met with a psychologist, an earthy woman in her 30s with a theory about me. She believed I was a high-strung athlete escaping a hurtful past - like what? - and only pretending to be super-positive. I had control issues, she surmised, and often isolated myself to avoid anyone commenting on my food choices. "You're probably right," I admitted, thinking of the times I refused going to restaurants or parties because I worried about others watching how I ate.

Next I met with a psychiatrist, who diagnosed me with "orthorexia." Orthorexics limit their food consumption to organic, fresh produce, refusing anything processed, he said. They're obsessed with eating "clean." Many female athletes have this problem, he added.

After eight weeks of mandatory group therapy sessions, I had a breakthrough. For my entire stay, I'd stuck to the same lines: "I've had a great life," I'd say. "I'm close to my parents, siblings and daughter." But then one day, completely out of nowhere, I had two strong memories: When I was 12 years old, I had been sexually molested by an acquaintance of my parent's. I'd told my sister when I was in my twenties, but I'd pushed the memory so deep down that I could barely remember it.

I also recalled a physically, mentally and sexually abusive boyfriend, someone I'd long ago tried to forget. The psychologist concluded that these were the core events that lead to my need to be in control. While I couldn't control what someone else had done to my body, she surmised, I could control what I put in and out of my own mouth. This was a massive revelation for me.

Still, I was desperate to get out. Aubrey was about to graduate high school, and there was no way I could miss it. My therapist said I hadn't gained enough weight - their goal for me was 108, but I was just 106. I thought it was incredible progress: The "cushion" I could feel around my butt freaked me out, but I also knew it was a mark of success.

I finally got approval to leave in time for Aubrey's graduation, but before I did, I had to undergo family therapy with both my mother and daughter. "I was so scared you might die," Aubrey told me, her voice cracking. "I felt like you cared more about bodybuilding than me."

"You have no idea what it's like seeing someone you love fade away, and you can't do anything about it," my mother added.

"I'm so sorry," I said softly. I was heartbroken that I had caused them such pain.

I arrived back in California two days later, the day before Aubrey's graduation. For months, everyone watched me to make sure I was eating. I met with a psychologist and a nutritionist weekly. I kept my vegetarian, non-carb diet, but added some healthy fats and protein, which was a big deal for me. My weight stabilized at around 112, and I actually felt good. I still exercised, but not maniacally. After a year, Aubrey finally felt safe leaving me alone, and moved to Florida to attend college.

After Aubrey left California, I moved to Hawaii and opened up my own fitness retreat, Body Temple Boot Camp. In 2013, I married a terrific man, Steve, but then we split up in 2015. The stress was so great that I couldn't sleep, and I felt like I was having a constant panic attack. My weight dropped down to 98 pounds. I worried that I was sliding back into pre-rehab behavior like avoiding my friends and exercising constantly, and I had vowed to never, ever to return to rehab.

In the mean time, Aubrey had grown up even more. She got married and became pregnant. She was only eight months along when she felt bad cramps. Her husband, Adam, called me in Hawaii: "She's having the baby right now!" Four hours later, my granddaughter Amelia was born.

Amelia didn't have to go into an incubator, but she stayed in the hospital for days, struggling to gain weight. Doctors monitored her every ounce. At one point she was a mere 4 pounds. Aubrey didn't admit it, but I knew she was scared - and exhausted. My daughter needed her mom.

I flew to their home in Atlanta in January, and stayed for three weeks. The minute I laid eyes on Amelia, I felt all the misery of the past year dissipate. She was this fragile little thing, now weighing in at 5 pounds, 8 ounces. I was so instantly obsessed with Aubrey and Amelia that I could set my heartache over Steve aside. There was a much more important being in my life to love.

The only thing that mattered was this teeny, tiny baby, who was fighting to live. "I'm not leaving until she gains at least two pounds," I announced. I spent the days running errands with Aubrey, cooking almost every meal and cleaning the house while Aubrey tried to relax and feed the baby.

And a funny thing happened while I was with my little family. For the first time in months, I felt hungry. I was no longer in fight or flight mode, and I actually managed to eat.

Whenever Amelia cried, I'd whisper, "You are so precious and beautiful, and you will gain weight, and be a healthy big girl soon." Sometimes she looked up at me, and I swear she understood what I was saying.

The irony hasn't escaped me. I had starved my body in an effort to control it and make it look a certain way. And here was a little baby, for whom weight gain was literally a matter of life and death. She felt like a bird; I could wrap a finger all the way around her arm and still have space left over. My arms had been that thin once too.

Aubrey was aware of the irony too. "She loves her tutu!" she said one afternoon, as I cradled Amelia in my arms at home (tutu means "grandma" in Hawaiian). "She's a fighter like her too."

Amelia gained her two pounds, and then some: She now weighs 12. I'm back at my home in Hawaii, and up to 110 pounds myself. I feel physically and emotionally stronger than I have in a long while. I've made a choice to be healthy and maintain a good weight. My growing family needs me. And I plan on being there for them.