Chapter 2: My Wife’s Affliction
Before my wife suffered from an eating disorder, I had never thought much about them at all.
I couldn’t fathom starving yourself to achieve weight loss. Logically, it didn’t make sense to me, and I am very
driven by logic. The damage being done in the process seemed so obvious.
I soon learned just how serious an eating disorder could be and just how much it could flip your entire world
upside down.
Two years into my wife’s struggle with her eating disorder, she spent four months in an eating disorder
recovery center in Denver, Colorado.
By the end of her stay there, we had nearly ended up divorced.
I had little understanding or sympathy at the start of her recovery. I was extremely selfish, fixated on what her
eating disorder was costing me and the strain it was putting on my life instead of focusing on supporting her.
This was the first major awakening of my adult life. My selfish behavior was finally exposed, and I was forced
to face it or lose my marriage.
From the very beginning, my wife had been afraid to tell me what was going on. Looking back, I understood
that I had given her every reason to be afraid.
I was prone to outbursts of anger when things did not go my way. I was much like a spoiled child, thinking
only about how something would affect me.
I was caught completely off guard when she informed me that she would be going away for several months
to a recovery center.
I had seen her extreme weight loss, but I attributed it to the diets she had been trying—and she had tried
many.
Ignorance is bliss, as they say.
It didn’t affect me, so I never gave it much thought.
Little did I know just how wrong I was.
Early in her recovery, I could not stop thinking about my own wants.
I wanted her home. I wanted life to go back to “normal.”
This was the first time in our marriage that we had been apart for so long. Soon, my lack of self-confidence
reared its ugly head in the form of jealousy.
I began to worry that she might be unfaithful, halfway across the country on her own for four months.
I had absolutely no reason to believe this.
She had never given me any reason to even consider it, and yet I let myself fall into the trap of doubt and
fear.
The way the recovery center excluded me from her treatment also contributed to how isolated I felt. I don’t
say this to excuse my behavior, only to explain my perspective at the time.
My wife was my only source of information throughout the recovery process. Understandably, she did not
always want to talk about her treatment or what was happening while she was there.
I felt left in the dark, my mind a torrent of fear and doubt.
Her treatment team did not contact me at all—not a single time during the first three months. I felt helpless
and alone, with no understanding of how serious her illness was.
When her release date was within reach, I was permitted to join a therapy session with her.
During that session, I was blindsided by a request for a divorce.
I spent the next week deeply reflecting on everything that could have led us to this point.
I began to see my own actions from her perspective, and I felt such deep shame.
My mom was now dealing with an eerily similar situation.
My wife picked up on it early. I caught on much later.
We tried to approach the topic several times, but it was always met with anger. My mom would become upset
and act as if we shouldn’t even question what she did. She was older than us, after all.
This mentality—that we had no right to speak to her about her own behavior—would be used against us time
and time again.
This was one of the most frustrating parts early on: the rejection of my perspective and opinions on anything
relating to my parents.
More frustrating was the dismissal of my wife, who had firsthand experience with an eating disorder.
Regardless of our intentions or whether what we said made sense, our concerns were rejected.
And the reason?
Age.
Complete rejection because we were the “children” and they were the parental figures.
We were adults with a child of our own now, and yet we still felt as though we had no voice with either of my
parents.