warnings: mentions of eating disorders and disordered behavior
age: 16
reminder that eating disorders aren't just starving and purging!
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WANDA's POV
"Y/N?" I say, confused as to why she's raiding the fridge and accidentally spooking her a little.
It's currently one in the morning, and I woke up due to the noise of someone in the kitchen downstairs. This isn't the first time it's happened.
"Hon, why don't you tell me what's going on?" I ask tiredly, walking over to where my daughter is standing.
"It's a binge episode," she explains, her voice shaky. "I can't stop but I want to."
With my hands on her shoulders, I manage to get her to stop wandering around frantically and bring her to a halt.
"Okay. Calm down. How much have you had to eat so far, baby? I'm not judging you, I promise."
"Too much," she mumbles, clearly not feeling able to tell me.
"Alright, lovely. What's going through your head right now?"
"I-I don't know. I feel out of control," she tells me, grabbing a Nutter Butter from the counter and shoving it into her mouth.
"So it's a control problem, how about we find something else for you to be in control of?" I suggest, not taking the food from her since this has to be done on her terms.
"Like what?" she queries, picking up another cookie.
"Whatever you want. Drawing, going for a walk, painting. I know they sound like the sort of things you'd hear from a crap therapist, but they really can help. Or I can give you some kind of chore to take care of? But like a fun one so it feels less like a job. It may be the middle of the night but we could garden?"
Y/N takes some deep breaths as she makes her decision, until she finally answers me with a nod of her head.
Wanting to put her in control of something quickly before she breaks down, I grab the gardening tools and unlock the back door, ushering Y/N outside.
Once we reach the plants and such, we both get to work right away. Me pulling out weeds, and Y/N digging for bugs to throw them away. I don't want any of those aphids eating my vegetables.
Once we've spent a bit of time outside and doing something we both love, I start to notice her hands stop trembling and she seems a lot calmer.
"I feel so guilty for eating all of that," she admits suddenly, breaking the silence we've been sitting contently in for a while now. "Am I greedy? Should I go work it off? We still have the treadmill in the garage, right?" she asks in a panicky way, attempting to stand up before I pull her back down.
"Y/N, you don't need to do that. No, you are not greedy and no, you do not need to work it off. You have an eating disorder and that is not your fault."
"But I have stretch marks, mom! That's not normal."
"Says who?" I counter, "Who says they aren't normal? I have them."
She shakes her head in disagreement. "Yeah, but you had a baby. You have reasoning."
"Hey," I say more assertively, taking my gardening glove off and reaching to place my hand onto her knee. "You don't need to have carried a child to have stretch marks. I got them when I was a teenager, too. It's normal and I promise you, literally no one cares. Everyone's too worried about what they look like themselves, so no one is judging you and especially not me. And if someone does judge you, then what do you care? It. Doesn't. Matter. You're beautiful. Inside and out."