Hope is the thing with feathers
that perches in the soul
and sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all.
Emily Dickenson knew something secret and beautiful. And she shared it with us in this poem about hope. But, you become afraid of that thing with feathers because it might mean you are disappointed again. That your loved one might relapse, might use symptoms, might go back in treatment. So we you lose hope. You grow weary and tired and complacent.
It is easier to not get hurt when we can put a label and an expectation on someone. When we can define them as an anorexic or a bulimic. Sure, maybe they have been struggling with an eating disorder for 10 years, but why can't you still hope? If you don't, the parents, then who will?