Núria Busquet Molist: "As the fear of her dying faded, I was able to open up more to my daughter."

BarcelonaMy daughter is stable but not cured. She's at a point where her life isn't in danger, but the eating disorder (ED) is still very strong, and there are times when living with it becomes difficult.

In the book, she writes, "I will stop being the concept: the mother of the sick girl," but it's hard not to start the interview by being the mother of the sick girl.

— I accept it with humility and gratitude for the opportunity to talk about it. But the book remains a rebellion for ceasing to be precisely that. It's not an essay on anorexia. It's my experience with my daughter's anorexia. But, above all, the intention has always been to create a literary work.

Her daughter can also become another concept: "the girl whose mother wrote a book."

— The book is also an attempt to help her stop being "the sick girl" and become a real person who suffers. Symbolically, I take her hand and say, "I'm here, don't be afraid, I understand, don't worry, I'm not judging you, I'm with you." These are things they need to hear and never feel, and they are things we also need to hear from the mothers of sick people.

Another phrase that shocks: "one doesn't want to die: one wants to perfect oneself."

— Perfection is very reassuring. Anorexia is the disease of control. When you're perfect, you can stop fighting. The problem is that it's a perfection that never comes, because the brain tricks them into believing they're never perfect enough. That's why they can't stop losing weight. And so on, in a loop...

It's terrifying.

— It's like having your head hijacked and not being able to stop it. And having everyone think you're a shallow little girl who just wants to lose weight. The strength required for someone to overcome a mental disorder like this is almost superhuman, because the fight is against oneself and not simply a matter of willpower. And it's hard to be understood.

"There were two sick people, my daughter and me." What relieves you?

— In life's most terrible moments, art is the consolation of the lonely and the suffering. You feel much less alone when you see that you are just as human as everyone else. Only art makes a hole in the shell, because when you create with your soul, what results is intrinsically linked to vulnerability, and we are so afraid of being the only ones vulnerable... Art is an echo of the intrinsic core that all humans share. That's why it's necessary, and why those who want to separate us from one another hate it so much.

"I hate you. She tells me that every time, and I try not to listen." "When she doesn't want to die anymore, she'll still forgive me." What's their relationship like now?

— The relationship is quite good. We've talked a lot over the past few years. As the fear that she might die or get worse has weakened, I've been able to open up to her more, and the mistrust has gradually disappeared. Hers, from not being able to trust me or my ability to understand and support her, and mine, from the fact that the disorder might deceive me as well.

He also has two other children.

— They are the great forgotten, the collateral damage. An eating disorder is a nuclear bomb in a family. They understand, because they love their sister, but it's a years-long, tiring, and difficult struggle to understand. It's hard to explain that it's not that she doesn't want to heal, "it's that she still can't or doesn't know how to heal." They didn't just lose a sister, but also a mother. They have suffered greatly. I trust that suffering will make them stronger, more human, and more understanding. It's the only thing that consoles me.

Does suffering make sense?

— Suffering expands the human experience. It's a pain to suffer, and it's not necessary. But in a world like the one we live in now, suffering allows us to appreciate the wonder of being alive, of being more human, of feeling more compassion and kindness.

What do you admire about Oriol and Emma?

— They often say they're fed up, but they don't realize that by getting angry and worried when they see her struggling with food, they show they truly love her. They're my heroes, but I have to say it quietly, because all parents of teenagers know that saying anything kind or loving to a 15-year-old son in public is reason enough to make him stop talking to you.