Karen's page.

The first time I wrote about my niece Amy was eight years ago, when she was 10. I was looking for a magazine for her birthday. When I couldn't find anything that wasn't too babyish or too mature, Girls' Life was born.

Fast forward to May 2001. Sitting in my mailbox was an invitation to Amy's graduation party. A month later, I flew from Baltimore to Detroit in major rain (the Michigan state motto is, "Ten months of winter, two months of bad skating"). Sitting in her kitchen, I heard her voice as she rounded the corner. Though I was thrilled to see her, only one thought popped into my head: "She looks too skinny."

"Hey, Aunt Karen!" Amy rushed over and hugged me--she always makes everyone feel so special and welcome. I forced myself to clear my head. I hadn't seen her in a while, so why was I being so critical? I smiled, congratulated her and vowed to have a good time.

But as I visited with my family, I found myself sneaking looks at Amy. While she leaned down to pet her dog, I peeked down her dress to see if there were any signs of curves. I winced as I watched her boyfriend snake his arm around her impossibly small waist.

All the while, I rationalized her weight. "It's a busy time for her," I told myself, "Prom, a lead role in the school play, graduation, her first summer before college--she's probably just stressed."

Looking back, I can't believe I was so stupid. I've read just about everything on eating disorders. One of my goals at Girls' Life has always been to impart the importance of a healthy body image. Amy wasn't healthy and, deep down, I knew it. But Amy had always been so darn perfect--my pretty, popular, talented niece. She's a smart girl. Smart girls know better. Right?

By fall, my whole family was in a panic over Amy. She'd spent a couple weeks with my brother, her Uncle John. He called me the second she left. Apparently, Amy was so weak she could barely make it from the car to the house. She barely ate, and what little she did eat her body rejected. Her hair was even falling out. John and I both knew we had to do something...and fast.

Amy was headed for college that next week, and I called her. As it turns out, her friends, parents and boyfriend had all been trying to talk to Amy about her weight for months, but she'd just blow them off, deny the problem or scream at them until they left her alone.

But when we talked, there was a small ray of hope. Amy had been to see some doctors, and they told her she had a problem. She seemed to agree. I knew it was time to let the cat out of the bag, so I asked her straight up, "Do you think your problem might be anorexia?" Her response was immediate: "Oh, no! I don't have that." I was crushed. But then she said, "I just need to find someone who can help me eat right again and who I can talk to about stuff." And, somehow, that was enough. I knew we'd turned a corner. Can't say the "A" word? OK, I could live with that for the time being--just as long as she was getting the help she needed to stay alive.

Amy eventually admitted her anorexia and got help. It's still a daily struggle that worries the heck out of me and my family. Say nothing of how hard it's been for Amy. She's had to learn how to eat again and slay the demons that drove her to anorexia. I'd go into it more, but Amy courageously asked if she could share her story with her fellow GL readers. Please, turn to page 50.

Recovery from anorexia is an ongoing process. Amy's journey will be a long one. But, just like her graduation party, I'll be there for it.