I think most people (ideally) have parents who a) think they're special and b) want to protect them. When we're kids, if we have that safe home base we can always go back to and know there are people there who love us, then we feel comfortable exploring the world on our own and learning self-reliance. If we don't have that need met, we will be constantly looking for it. I don't think it's necessarily learned helplessness; I think it just feels a lot better to have someone else comfort you after a panic attack than to comfort yourself. Sure, you might feel good about yourself for being independent, but other than that, it feels much nicer to have someone else be there for you.

I used to do that melodramatic thing with my former ED T when I was about sixteen. The funny thing was, I never cared if I was her FAVORITE client but I definitely wanted to be the client she felt most sorry for because then she would protect me and stand up for me to my dad. (Which she did.) Which was a lovely arrangement because I couldn't stand up to him myself and tell him that I need him to pay even a little bit of attention to me, so I just acted really pathetic and attention starved with ED T and she would write my dad emails commending him on taking me out for lunch one day this week and reminding him that what I really needed was for him to spend more time with me because I felt ignored and neglected. Also, because I acted so pathetic, she would give me hugs and tell me she really cared about me.

She drove all the way to my house (45 minutes from her office, which was in her house) to see me because my dad didn't want to take me and she would sit beside me on the couch and she would compliment me on my dolls that were always sitting in the living room and how pretty their hair ribbons were and how their dresses all matched and we would talk about my week and she would tell me she was proud of me for eating better and she would hug me. The kind of care she showed me filled that hole inside me a little bit, but it could never be enough, because she wasn't my mom and I knew it. I was always hungry for more.

In hindsight, it's probably good that my father terminated our sessions well before ED had been cured, after maybe eight or nine sessions, because he thought I didn't actually have an ED; I was just too lazy to cook for myself. (????????? How about the fifteen hours a week or so I spent planning meals and meticulously measuring portions, reading ingredients, shopping for food, and so on?) If I'd kept seeing her, the obsession would have gotten worse and worse. When she left I relapsed and I was miserable, but eventually (two years later) I learned that she couldn't cure me of my ED; I was the only one who could do that, and I did.

I had similar situations with a teacher when I was thirteen and my mother had just abandoned me and I needed someone to latch onto. I wanted to be the most pathetic kid ever so Ms. B would love me like a daughter and take care of me like I needed to be taken care of. She did take care of me (A LOT) and fed into the desire to feel special. I think I actually was really special to her though; she told me at the end of the year that I was her best student. She actually said it when she was giving me a hug; she whispered it in my ear and I melted. I told her she wasn't supposed to say that (because I didn't know how to accept a compliment like that) and she just gave me the sweetest smile and said, "It's okay; it's just between us. You won't tell anyone." (This became the blueprint for my most recent teacher debacle, although that one ended quite amicably.)

I used to act out situations over and over where Ms. B would have to take care of me, maybe because I was testing her or maybe because I needed attention. One time I went to my mother's house at lunch time when my mother wasn't there to see my brother, and I told a classmate to tell Ms. B where I was going. It was fine, but I KNEW that her knowing that was going to worry her, and sure enough, when I came back, she was in the main office pacing around and she ran to me and gave me a big hug and said, "I was so worried about you! You must promise to never, ever do that again." And I felt completely seen and cared for and loved in that moment. How could I not want more of that, especially at age thirteen after my mother had just left me?

I always had this fantasy that Ms. B or ED T or a million other mother figures that came and went would adopt me, that they would whisk me away from my life of a father who ignored me, a stepmother who hated me, a mother who refused to admit she had hurt me and tried to get me institutionalized just so no one would believe me when I said that. (This fantasy stemmed from watching Matilda way too many times. I had that movie memorized word for word. It was pathetic.)

But age thirteen is much too late for that. So, I learned. And I'm still learning how to take care of myself, but definitely doing a lot better with that. And I don't have those fantasies anymore, or that need for specialness, or that need to act this stuff out to get attention. I don't need to exaggerate to get my needs met; I'm learning how to just state them and be honest with other people. It feels much better that way, anyway.