During my college years, I faced a traumatic experience that led me to seek comfort in food. This coping mechanism spiraled into a full-blown eating disorder. It wasn’t long before my mother uncovered my struggle while I was home for the summer. Upon returning to school that fall, I began attending sessions with a counselor specializing in eating disorders. Dr. Carter was a former military man, tough on the outside but with a gentle heart who guided me through my challenges. Just as I began to reclaim control of my life, he dropped a bombshell: “It’s time to involve your family.”
The journey to Dr. Carter’s office is a blur, but I vividly recall the moment my family entered the room. The expressions on their faces are forever etched in my memory: Mom looked pale and anxious; Dad was quiet and stoic; my sister wore a confused, frightened expression. As we talked, Dr. Carter asked me to map out my relationships with each family member using lines to indicate their strength. One line represented a weak connection, while two lines indicated strength.
I started with my mom, drawing two lines without hesitation. Next was my sister; we had fought like cats in our youth, but as teenagers, we became inseparable friends, so I confidently drew two lines again. But when it came to my dad, I faltered. Tears welled in my eyes as I hesitated, eventually sketching a shaky line and looking down at my feet.
Dad looked up, waiting for an explanation. “Why only one line?” Dr. Carter inquired. The silence enveloped us, amplifying my anxiety. “Because I never feel good enough for him,” I blurted out, immediately wishing I could take the words back. I had blamed him for my turbulent teenage emotions and failed to see the devoted father before me, who loved my sister and me selflessly.
After that session, my dad was tasked with writing me a letter expressing his feelings. Days later, I found a small bundle of hotel notepad paper in the mail from their recent visit. I could only imagine the effort it took for my dad, a man of few words, to pen such a letter. It contained everything I had longed to hear and acknowledged his commitment to show me his love more openly. He wrote that one day, we could draw that second line together.
I still treasure that letter, tucked away in my closet. Even though our relationship struggles weren’t his fault, Dad took on the burden without complaint, supporting me with quiet strength. Years later, when my marriage crumbled, it was my dad who helped me navigate budgeting to avoid bankruptcy. It was he who offered to come to Atlanta to bring me home. Through these experiences, I learned to recognize love, and when I met my second husband, I was finally prepared to see with both my heart and mind, not just my eyes.
The issue wasn’t that Dad failed to express his feelings; the problem was that I expected those words to convey love when it was his actions that truly mattered. This is a lesson I intend to pass on to my son:
- Love is someone who refills your soap when it’s running low.
- Love is someone who fills your car’s gas tank so you don’t have to.
- Love is someone who celebrates your achievements rather than tearing you down.
- Love is someone who stands by your side and fights for you.
- Love is someone who says, “I believe in you. We can tackle this together.”
- Love means that “I love you” is just the starting point.
I may have been a slow learner, but I eventually understood that my dad’s genuine, steadfast love far outweighs any number of “I love yous.” Dad, I hope you know that I drew that second line a long time ago.
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Summary
This article highlights the author’s emotional journey through an eating disorder and the vital role of family support in overcoming personal challenges. It emphasizes the importance of recognizing love beyond mere words, sharing valuable lessons on familial bonds that resonate deeply.