My daughter has struggled with an eating disorder since she was 14. At her lowest, she weighed 80 pounds.

• My daughter Violet was 14 when I noticed she was spending more time in her room and skipping meals.
• She weighed 80 pounds when she was at her lowest and was admitted to the hospital for two months.

My daughter Violet was 14 when I noticed she'd started spending lots of time in her room, didn't want to talk much, and would regularly skip meals with the family. I dismissed Violet's behavior because I thought she was just being a teen.

There were times I thought about questioning some of her behaviors, especially as I saw her losing weight. I'd watch her push her food around on her plate to make it look as if she'd eaten more than she had, but I was so tired and stressed that I simply didn't have the capacity to challenge her.

Nine years after her struggles started, we are both on the path to recovery. She from her eating disorder, and I from a habit of worrying about the future. Now I'm focusing on being present. Both for myself and my children.

The first time she went to a hospital, I was in a panic

In June 2013, our family — me, my husband, Violet, and our three other children — relocated to Ontario and moved in with my parents until my husband could find work. I knew Violet was getting worse but hoped she could wait to be seen by a doctor until we were covered by health insurance.

That summer, she looked like a zombie, an empty shell, not my baby girl. I remember one time she fell down the stairs, and when I went to help her up, I could feel the ridges of her spine through her shirt. I tried getting her to eat — giving her healthy alternatives and snacks, but she rarely ate them.

I didn't know what else I could do as her mother, so I knew it was time to get help, even if it would cost a fortune. My biggest fear was she would die, and I couldn't live with that.

In a moment of panic, I took Violet to the emergency room at 11 one night in September 2013. After a series of professionals saw her and weighing only 80 pounds, she was admitted to an eating-disorder unit for children, where she remained for 2 1/2 months.

My initial feeling was of shame

I felt so much shame that I hadn't been able to help my own child, so much confusion wondering why she was choosing to do this to herself, to our family.

It was only further into our journey that I learned to separate the disorder from my Violet, recognizing she didn't choose this illness. But in those early days, I couldn't get my head around why she just wouldn't eat.

Luckily, during the time she was on the unit, housing was provided so we could be close to her. Every day, either my husband or I would go and sit with her while the other stayed at home with the three younger children.

We never spoke about the eating disorder on our visits. Sometimes I pushed her around in a wheelchair outside — she wasn't allowed to walk as the team wanted to minimize the number of calories she burned. I'd sit with her at mealtimes, using the training I'd been given by the staff to coach her while she ate. It was as if I was the bad guy, forcing her to eat, watching each bite, or lack thereof.

When I was with Violet, I felt guilty for not being with my other children. When I was with my other children, I felt guilty for not being with Violet. But I pressed on, not giving in to my emotions too much. I had to be resilient.

She ended up back in the hospital another eight times that year

She came home two months later, but it wasn't long after that we went back to the emergency room with Violet. The back-and-forth happened eight times over the next year. Our life stalled because of this eating disorder. When she was home, the family was on constant alert, trying to assess how she was feeling, whether she was eating, whether she was going to disappear into the bathroom to self-harm.

For a few years, Violet seemed to improve. She worked at the local library, went to outpatient appointments for support from her team, and her weight stayed stable. But when she was 20, something happened, and all the old habits came back. It was a punch to my stomach. Just when we thought we'd passed the finish line, we were back at the starting point.

In June 2019, Violet overdosed on meds in an attempt to take her life. She was placed in an adult's psychiatric unit, released, but then overdosed again and was readmitted. When I found her having overdosed the second time, I couldn't catch my breath.

We are both on our way to recovery

Slowly, Violet is making a recovery. She has enrolled in a local college and is applying to university to study nursing.

Two years ago, I felt the ends of my rope unraveling. I knew it was time to take care of myself, and I've been getting therapy ever since.

I'm learning to listen to, rather than trying to fix, my children. I can feel myself softening, no longer blaming Violet for the eating disorder but better understanding that she has an illness that will most likely continue to need treatment. As her mother, I know the only way I can support both Violet and my other children in the future is by making sure my own body and soul are looked after.

Instead of worrying about the future, I'm choosing to live in the present, preparing myself for whatever might come next.