At first glance, these photos of Liam could be mistaken for snapshots of a happy childhood: a boy running through fountains, another smiling at the school with his instrument in hand. The last image captures a moment when the truth about Liam’s condition was painfully obvious to any observer — except, willfully, to his father — whose refusal to acknowledge reality actively endangered his son’s health and well-being.

But the story behind these images is anything but simple — and it’s one that must be told.

The first photos were taken while Liam was actively struggling with his severe eating disorder, Avoidant/Restrictive Food Intake Disorder (ARFID). At this point, Liam’s body was medically growth-arrested: his height and weight had fallen completely below the growth charts, his bone age lagged years behind, and his pubertal development had stalled altogether. Despite these alarming facts, Liam’s father, Mark, told his son he was obese.

“As someone who has treated eating disorders in inpatient, high intensity outpatient, and clinic settings, it is important to note that Liam’s case is one of the most severe and chronic I have seen in terms of impact on the body. […] The window for intervention for this growth arrest grows narrower every day as Liam more fully enters his teenage years, which is something I cannot highlight strongly enough. Growth arrest is associated with a multitude of risks from cardiac to skeletal to neurologic and may even influence risk of cancer.” Dr. Rao – Kartini Clinic

This wasn’t just an insult. It was a calculated, harmful narrative that directly undermined Liam’s care.

Mark used this distortion to argue against Liam’s medical treatment, attempting to pull him from expert care at Kartini Clinic, a nationally recognized facility specializing in pediatric eating disorders. The clinical record is clear: at that time, Liam’s BMI was in the 16th percentile — not even close to overweight, let alone obese — and his life was at risk if his malnutrition continued.

“My interactions with the father, Mark Stephens, have been challenging due to alternative health beliefs, accusations, and misrepresentations, and difficulty understanding that Liam’s condition is medically severe and not simply a behavioral pattern. […] Mr. Stephens seems to struggle with retention of certain facts of illness and intervention, as well as understanding consequences of delays in treatment, interruption of nutrition, and how his own language and behavior affect his son.” Dr. Rao -Kartini Clinic

And while the clinicians at Kartini Clinic worked tirelessly to stabilize Liam, Mark’s behavior in parent support sessions revealed just how little interest he had in understanding the severity of his son’s condition.

During one Zoom parent group meeting (THIS IS THE ONLY ONE MARK ATTENDED. There was a parent group each week, to help parents navigate the difficulties of care), led by none other than the Clinic’s founder, Dr. Julie O’Toole — author of Give Food a Chance, a seminal book on childhood eating disorders — Mark was asked a direct question:

“Mark, have you done any reading or discovery on eating disorders?”

Mark replied confidently: “Oh yes. I’ve read a lot of stuff.”

Dr. O’Toole followed up gently but firmly: “What kind of reading or discovery?”

“I read a lot of stuff,” Mark repeated vaguely.

Then came the obvious question: “Have you read Give Food a Chance?”

Mark, seemingly unaware of who was asking, said: “Oh yeah. I read that. Strange book.”

You could feel the awkward tension among the other parents on the Zoom call as Dr. O’Toole calmly pressed further: “What did you take from the book, Mark?”

Mark grew evasive, failing to provide any meaningful takeaway from what should have been required reading for any parent navigating a child’s eating disorder. Dr. O’Toole asked where he obtained the book. Mark answered: “The library,” — an unlikely response, since Give Food a Chance isn’t a typical library offering.

And then the moment that left the room silent: When asked about the author of the book, Mark — completely oblivious to the fact that he was speaking directly to the author herself — dismissed her as sounding like a “quack.”

At that point, the discomfort among the other parents was palpable. Some glanced awkwardly at one another on screen. I nearly burst into laughter but stayed muted. Even Mark’s wife had to step in, quickly redirecting the conversation to get him off the hot seat — fully aware that Mark had never read Give Food a Chance or, likely, anything at all about eating disorders. I have to say that Dr. O’Toole handled it with grace. She didn’t argue, she didn’t even tell him that she was the author. She just moved on.

This scene illustrates more than just a cringeworthy moment of arrogance. It’s emblematic of a larger pattern: Mark’s lack of humility, his refusal to educate himself, and his instinct to undermine experts even as his child’s health deteriorated before everyone’s eyes.

Now look at the second set of photos, taken this past spring: after being separated from Mark’s direct influence and allowed to heal, Liam had gained nearly 30 pounds since the first photo. But this isn’t “obesity.” This is recovery. This is what it looks like when a child receives the care they need, without sabotage or interference.

These two images — and Mark’s behavior throughout this ordeal — reveal how dangerous ignorance combined with arrogance can be. Mark wasn’t simply a confused parent struggling to understand a complex illness. He was willfully ignorant, dismissive of medical expertise, and careless with words that carried real weight — especially to a child in crisis.

Being called “obese” by a parent doesn’t merely inflict shame; it can drive a child battling an eating disorder deeper into restriction, anxiety, and self-loathing. Mark’s words didn’t just hurt. They endangered Liam’s life.

Liam’s healing is a testament to his resilience, the skill of his clinical team, and the support of caregivers who chose facts over denial and compassion over control. But it’s also a stark warning: the most damaging lies are often disguised as concern — and the most dangerous denial can come from those closest to us.