I have to admit, even before my daughter developed anorexia, I was never very good at looking after myself.
My mother was kind and nurturing, and gave us unconditional love. But…she wasn’t the best role model for the three of us. She wasn’t big on vegetables or fruit…or anything remotely healthy for that matter. Our staple drink of choice from the age of two were soft drinks, the kind that were delivered in a crate to your front door twice a week, as well as chocolate milk from the milkman. I don’t think I drank a glass of water until I was well into my teens.
I never developed a skin care routine. I never wore much makeup.
I never embraced long lunches, walks on the beach or yoga.
I didn’t enjoy weekends away with the girls, self help books, or dressing up for fancy evenings or weddings.
I’m pretty sure I’ve never had a manicure (although the same can’t be said for pedicures).
What did I enjoy? What was I good at? I had a great career. I was a creative thinker, a problem solver. I believed my superpower was helping people, so that’s what I focused on. That was my role in life.
Along came life
Somewhere along the way I met and I married a wonderful man, and had three equally wonderful children. Like all Mums, I focused on the health and wellbeing of my children…to the detriment of my own. I didn’t look after myself physically, and neglected my emotional needs even more.
I started to develop some health concerns physically, and I had unresolved trauma from experiences earlier in life.
I thought I was just ‘fine’… but I was actually a mess.
An unwelcome knock on the door
My daughter Sara was 16 when she developed anorexia. Gifted and perfectionistic, she was also a ball of anxiety and had been diagnosed with OCD. And although we didn’t know it at the time, she was autistic.
To us she was perfect.
Sara had extreme sensory issues around food from birth, and only ever ate the same eight foods – all were bland and white. She was fussy, awkward and rigid around food. It was okay, we thought, because her Aunt was the same, we believed, naively.
We now know that she had ARFID. I wish we’d known earlier.
The very best anorexic in the country
When she was diagnosed, it hit very hard. And, just like everything else Sara did in life, my darling daughter had to be the very best anorexic in Australia. She won the award that year. And the following. And the following. I became her full time carer, in between her many hospital admissions.
Now, thanks to an incredible team of incredible people, she is in early recovery and we can all start to breathe again.
Or can we? The toll it has taken on her father, brother and sister has been immense, visceral and scarring. I can see it when I look at them, in their interactions with her, and each other. We are working hard to support one another, and trying to take the time to care, communicate and love each other.
But hang on, what about the toll it’s taken on me? I suppose I should address that. Because it’s taken a long while to recognise that I’m not superwoman, and emotional distress can (and does) cause real physical damage.
The devastating effects of seeing my child disappear in front of my eyes affected me in ways I can’t express.
All too easy
When I was caring for, and re-feeding my daughter, it became regular practice to open a bottle of wine at 4pm. After all, I’d already endured four meals at the table, and had another two to go… each meal taking more than an hour at least. So in my eyes I deserved it. It was an extremely damaging habit, but an easy one to develop and maintain.
I also refed myself too. Which was fine, because her health was my priority and if it meant I also ate all the meals she did, despite my body having different needs, that was okay too.
Only, I continued to eat poorly and couldn’t get into a good routine, and it has taken a toll on my body.
This year I decided to do something about it.
Women’s Health Week
Women’s Health ‘It’s all about you’ Week starts in September, but my Women’s Health Week started in July. I was fed up with feeling fed up. Fed up with being foggy, cranky, achy, tired, hazy and to be honest, impatient with everyone.
It took a while, but I finally recognised I really was falling apart. Physically and emotionally.
I thought I carried my carer role effortlessly. I thought I was ‘winning’. But the toll of caring for my daughter was high, and it was only when the imminent danger had passed, that my body and soul started to rebel.
I had spent so long looking after everyone else in my family, that I needed to take some time for myself.
What did that look like?
In July I took a break from alcohol. I had a mammogram, did the stool test I had been putting off, endured a pap smear and follow up tests, got a facial, had my skin checked, enjoyed four massages, attended some Yin Yoga and meditation classes, and started physio for a neck problem.
I said no to people. I went to bed early, and I watched a lot of television. I installed a kettle in my room so I could have a cup of tea in bed watching the news, before I got up in the morning. I walked a lot. Tried to work less. Made a commitment to journal. (Okay, so that part hasn’t been done yet!).
Women’s Health Week 2022
How do I feel, as we approach the real Women’s Health Week? Pretty damn good. Sure, I’m not running marathons or even walking them, but at 50, my goal is to re-prioritise and allocate a little more time, energy and effort into making sure I’m okay. If I’m going to be honest, it feels a little selfish. After all, I’m the Mum around here, and my mostly adult children still (mostly) need me. But I’ve selfishly decided to be selfish, because I’d selfishly like to feel as good as I possibly can.
If there is any advice I can give other women out there in our community… it is to please take the time to prioritise yourself. It sounds cliche, and it probably is, but if you don’t care for yourself, you won’t be able to care for anyone else.
Take the time and remember, “It’s All About You’.
