Tomorrow marks ARFID Awareness Day here in the UK, and today I feel compelled to speak up—not just for my daughter, but for every family fighting a silent battle behind closed doors.

A Mother’s Journey with ARFID

My beautiful girl is fourteen years old. She’s clever, creative, and full of promise. But since she was weaned as a toddler, we’ve been caught in an exhausting cycle of worry, frustration, and helplessness over her eating. Health visitors, doctors, family—all reassured me she was simply a fussy eater. “She’ll grow out of it,” they said. “Just be firm.” I trusted them. I waited. But the truth is, she never did.

Now, over a decade later, she is malnourished, exhausted, and in pain. She is angry, frustrated, and scared. Her body is suffering from the effects of not eating enough to fuel her growing frame. Her mental health is crumbling under the pressure. And still, people continue to say: “Just eat something.”

Let me tell you: if she could, she would.

My daughter lives with ARFID—Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder. It’s not a phase. It’s not a tantrum. It’s not stubbornness. It is a serious eating disorder that often goes unrecognised because it doesn’t fit the typical patterns we associate with anorexia or bulimia. It’s not about body image. It’s about fear, sensory overload, trauma, and—sometimes—something we can’t even name. It is physically and psychologically debilitating.

The last twelve months have been especially hard. Her ability to eat has deteriorated. Her safe foods have narrowed down to nearly nothing. She cries in frustration because she wants to eat, but her body says no. She is in constant discomfort, she’s always tired, and I watch the light slowly fading from her eyes.

As her mum, I am doing everything I can. I’ve offered holistic support. I’ve tried alternative therapies. I make every meal an invitation, not a demand. I listen. I hug. I reassure. But truthfully? I am lonely. I am exhausted. I am terrified. I’ve spent so long blaming myself, wondering what I did wrong, wishing I could fix this with a warm meal and a kiss on the forehead.

Now we’re fighting to access help through the NHS, submitting referral forms, hoping someone in the system will take us seriously. But the reality is, we may end up paying privately—somehow, from somewhere—to get her the specialist support she needs before her body gives up.

ARFID Awareness Day

ARFID Awareness Day matters because stories like ours are far too common, and yet barely heard. There is still so much misunderstanding and stigma. Parents are dismissed. Children are labelled. Entire families are left to cope alone with something they can’t even explain properly.

If you are reading this and you recognise the signs—if your child is struggling and you’ve been told they’ll “grow out of it”—please know you are not alone. And if you’ve never heard of ARFID until now, please take a moment to learn. You could be the voice of understanding that changes someone’s life.

I will continue to fight for my daughter. I will advocate for change. I will hold her hand in the darkest moments. And I will speak up, because silence helps no one.

💜

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