Do I Dare?

I stared at the stairs leading down to the basement where I knew my parents were sitting watching television. What I was about to do would change everything. I wavered unsure if I wanted to tell them. This past year with my secret knowledge had given me more than I had ever had, or dreamed of having. They had given up ages ago leaving me to my own devices, what would happen when I told them there was something they could do? I could remember all the fights and fear and unrelenting pressure they forced upon me. All the shame I had finally freed myself from. What if all of that returned? Did I dare give them hope? Did I dare risk all I could gain on the thin hope that they might understand? Would telling them destroy the relative peace I had gained?

Or, whispered a small part of my mind. Would it save you? Save you from the damage you didn’t know you were doing to yourself? Save you from the fear that keeps you locked up in these chains. Save you from the consent pain and exhaustion that you never dare tell anyone about? Save you from the starvation in your bones? From your long hungry nights? Save what little you have left. They might understand you. They could listen. They could let you go slow. They can show that they care and not scare you. They could help you feel safe again.

Or they could use force. I thought, feeling myself tense. They could use the knowledge against me. It could bring back the fear and fights and walls. Destroy the small progress I have been making.

Or, my mind whispered again. They could ease your fears. They could use the knowledge to know how best to help you. They could take down the fears and walls and help you find more progress than you ever thought possible.

I looked down again. Did I dare?

Did I dare not to? To resign myself to this life of secrecy and slow progress? To give myself to the wills of a fate which had been so unkind in the past? Or, did I dare risk it all on the hope that my parents could help me? That they might understand?

I nodded taking the long, hard, steps down the stairs each one making my mind scream in fear at what I was about to do. I looked up at my parents, my voice constricting to try and keep my secrets inside where I would be safe from the knowledge being used against me.

“I have an eating disorder. It’s called ARFID.”

With the words spoken my strength failed and I collapsed to the ground finally showing the pain and exhaustion I had fought through every day. I was shaking with fear and closed my eyes to block out the exclamations and demands for answers I was sure were about to come. 

I was surprised to feel warm,gentle hands pull me into a strong embrace. Loving words and soft touches easing my fears and helping me relax and feel safe. Curious questions and understanding coaxing my eyes open to see the happy faces of my loving parents glad that I had finally told them what was wrong. Tears and apologies building bridges where walls had once been built. Plans were devised and written down. Curiosity inspired and progress lovingly encouraged. Fears banished and safety grown. Strength regained and confidence found. 

Life ignited and friendship created. 

So? What do you say? Do you dare with me?