Eating with an eating disorder

Let's start from the beginning, lets start with my mother's eating disorder. My mother was a woman who did not eat due to the traumas imparted on her by her grandparents, people I had never met. Mom was told she was fat from her hospital bed as a teen when she passed out because she was so underweight. She had no clue when she was with child how often children ate, as she didn't consume on a daily basis, asking my grandma "do babies have to eat every day?". The news rippled across my family as people realized with a start that she was in no way fit or prepared to be a parent.

Once I was born, she did little to improve, when my step-mom was asked to watch me as a baby, she was disturbed to find I not only could, but insisted on eating six baby food jars back to back, unsure of when I would be allowed to eat again. Growing up poor through adulthood didn't help, constantly unsure if I'd have enough food to make it. The final nails in the coffin for my eating disorder were my first two long term boyfriends, one of which caused a fan fair of his proposed depression exclaiming I was now "getting too fat for him". I was a size 6, I weighed less than 125lbs and I was homeless at the time. The second blow came from the mouth of my ex-fiancé as he proclaimed proudly across our back yard to a group of people, myself included "I never thought I could date someone who wasn't super skinny, but I guess that's what I'm doing with the rest of my life". This statement was immediately dismissed as best we could, a conversation I would have to have in private.

My psychiatrist told me about a year back that I had about as many factors going against me as possible to give me an eating disorder. I grew up poor, unsure when I would find my next solid meal. My bio mom had an eating disorder and was barred from eating by her husband, if she would eat, he would beat her. I had boyfriend after boyfriend obsessed with my weight, obsessed with the desire to keep me unnaturally thin. Finally, I was told from the time I could walk by my bio mom that all women were fat, and fat was undesirable, a dastardly lesson to teach a young girl.

I find myself preferring larger women, I find them so comfortable and beautiful, yet when I look in the mirror, I cannot help but be disappointed in my weight. I find myself wishing I could eat two or three meals a day and remain a size extra small, wishing I could see my ribs still. I am now aware of how unhealthy these thoughts are and I attempt to push them down, but still need to avoid full length mirrors as much as possible. I love the roundness of others greatly, the softness that follows, yet I am unable to accept it in myself fully. I find myself upset that my stomach rises above the water of my bath.

I later left my home town to live with my parents at the age of 25, but that still didn't aid in my recovery, leaving me eating once a day, which was some recovery, but not enough. I didn't find relief until I moved in with my now- boyfriend's family. Not only were they highly accommodating of my dietary issues, they ensured i was eating, as well as my boyfriend, who enjoyed ensuring I was eating. It took 27 years, but I think I can say I am finally on the mend.