By Benjamin S. Randall
There are people in this world who transcend the barriers put on them. People who understand the physical, mental and emotional limitations put on them, yet refuse to accept them, either by choice, or by their innate character.
These people – you might think of them as role models, rock stars, professional athletes, etc. – they are rare. Extremely, unequivocally rare. Nearly everyone these individuals meet is deeply inspired, changed, and, perhaps, even saved.
Sometimes, these people outlast the physical limitations of a human life. Their influence is so powerful, so universally sacred and righteous, that statues are put up in their name. Brands are built upon these legacies, songs written about their trials and tribulations—not just to remember these people, but to continue an impact that was direly needed from their time on this planet.
For an even rarer few, foundations are built. To honor those that benefitted from their influence, to inspire those who needed that inspiration to keep going, and to care for those who were not yet finished healing.
This is the story of the late Chris Bachman, told from all angles. From her husband, Mr. Chris Bachman, who carries on her legacy through the Chris Bachman Endowment Fund, along with the help of Colorado State University Associate Vice President for Gift Planning, Karen Dunbar, and Director of Development, Brittany Habben. This journey is echoed through Lori Roland, lifelong best friend of Chris’s, as well as through the personal account of a student who has directly benefited from the Chris Bachman Endowment Fund: Callie Stephenson, now a development coordinator at CSU’s University Advancement.
The Chris Bachman Support Endowment Fund exists to ensure that students battling eating disorders, which are battles too often fought silently, alone, in isolation, have access to the care and support that can quite literally save their lives.
Born from compassion and a belief that no student’s life should be cut short by a mental illness, the fund turns the Bachman family’s triumph, hope, and heartbreak of Chris’s passing into lasting help for generations of Rams.
This is the story of Chris Bachman, and how her care – despite her departure from this world in 2020 – will not end.
When Callie Stephenson began losing weight rapidly, she was congratulated.
Revered. Empowered. Admired, even.
“Great job,” they told her. Callie wasn’t trying to lose weight. She recalled a nurse weighing her and saying, “You win for the day.”
This is devastating, and is a brief snapshot of how misunderstood eating disorders are societally, how casually harm is reinforced and even uplifted, and, most importantly, why specialized care matters. Callie was seeking medical help after losing weight at such a rapid rate, yet was met with praise. She wasn’t looking for applause. She needed help.
Nationally, millions struggle with eating disorders — it is an illness with one of the highest mortality rates of any mental health condition, yet fewer than a third receive sustained treatment, and many are forced to stop care long before recovery has truly taken root. To further emphasize this, here are some harrowing statistics that just start to paint the picture of the impact eating disorders have:
• Nearly 9% of the U.S. population — ~28.8–30 million people — will have an eating disorder in their lifetime (ANAD, 2026).
• In U.S. college students, 8–17% screen positive for clinical ED symptoms, with some research showing even higher estimates when subthreshold behaviors are included (Grammer et al., 2020).
• Less than 20–30% of individuals who screen positive for an eating disorder report receiving treatment (Grammer et. al, 2020).
• Eating disorders have among the highest mortality rates of any psychiatric illness, especially anorexia nervosa (Arcelus, et al., 2011)
• In the U.S., about 10,000 deaths per year are attributed directly to eating disorders (Pike, 2024).
Recovery does not follow a calendar, a timetable, or any rhyme or reason. Recovery is a journey that is so individualized it’s hard to put words to how one might even start the process of navigating that journey.
“Eating disorders aren’t a vanity thing,” Callie said. “They aren’t about other people, or it never was for me. The mental state is akin to an addiction, so much more demanding than outsiders looking in might guess. Too often, eating disorders get written off as a young woman’s problem, sometimes as ‘emotional’ problems, but there’s so much more to it than that.”
For Stephenson, that “so much more” was not theoretical. It was lived in the quiet, precarious space between progress and relapse — between the care available through standard campus services and the additional support recovery often demands.
Thankfully, the Chris Bachman Support Endowment Fund bridged that gap.
“There was never a moment when I thought, How am I going to pay for this?” Callie said. “If I needed help, it was there, no questions asked. For that, I’m forever grateful.”
That absence of barriers mattered, as it does to anyone looking to recover and grow from trauma. The harder it is to access help – breaking through from the point of “I think I might need some assistance” to actually getting it – the harder it is to recover and change.
“If you’re questioning it, pursue help,” Callie said. “Don’t let it get to the point where you’re at your rock bottom. I know I should have pursued help sooner.”
Chris Bachman believed the same thing.
To Chris, students and patients mattered in the moment they raised their hand – whether they raised it emphatically, quietly, or not at all – Chris understood. Even if they didn’t yet have the words to express what was going on.
At Colorado State University, she built and led the university’s structured eating disorder treatment program within the CSU Health Network, shaping a coordinated model of care that treated the whole person — mind, body, and story. Work that, against all odds and concepts of how much time we have in a day, she balanced alongside being a devoted wife, mother, and later, grandmother in spirit.
As a registered dietitian specializing in eating disorders, she was known not only for her clinical expertise, but also for her ability to read between the lines when students did not yet have the words to explain what was happening to them.
“She was present,” said Lori Roland, Chris’s best friend of more than 30 years. Their backyards were separated only by a green space owned by the city, described by Lori as not even being 100 yards, as she found out when they originally met at a neighborhood Easter egg hunt between their two houses.
“It didn’t matter who you were. When she was with you, you were the most important thing in the room. She had the full range of emotions. She could sit in joy, in grief, in gratitude – all of it. She was there, and that was that,” Lori said.
This was not just ‘casual proximity’ between Lori and Chris; rather, this was daily-life proximity, consisting of morning walks, texts, popping over for talks and a bite to eat, and raising kids alongside each other. This closeness – it is something that is hard to put into words. Very few people have the privilege of having a friendship as intimate as the relationship these two women had.
Chris built Colorado State University’s structured eating disorder treatment program with the same steadiness she brought to her friendships — intentional, compassionate, and unwilling to let someone slip through the cracks. If a student needed more than insurance allowed, she found a way. If someone called past business hours, searching for help, she answered. No matter the situation, Chris found a way.
“She couldn’t let them go,” said Karen Dunbar, CSU’s associate vice president for gift planning, who helped establish the endowment after Chris’s passing in 2020. Karen and Chris were also great friends – going to the same church, walking through significant personal losses in life together – they had an understanding, built on respect, love, and friendship.
“Three sessions. Ten sessions. That’s not enough for someone fighting for their life. Chris understood that,” Karen said.
When pancreatic cancer took Chris away from this world in October 2020, the rest of the world, too, was shutting down. But her impact was not.
At her funeral, story after story surfaced – students who said she had saved them. Families who said she had stayed when others stepped away. Friends who didn’t know what they would do without the influence of Chris on their lives.
Her sons spoke of a mother who showed up to everything, not only as a clinician and advocate, but as the steady center of their home. And Chris often said her greatest pride wasn’t professional – it was her family.
“It was an eye-opener,” said her husband, Chris Bachman. “You realize just how many lives she touched.”
Chris had an idea of the widespread influence of grace and kindness that Chris brought to life, but to see it all pan out like that, at her funeral, and the days, weeks, months, and years to follow. One can only imagine the emotions that would be evoked from Chris.
In 2021, with Karen and Colorado State University’s guidance, and the support of friends and family along every step of the way, he created the Chris Bachman Endowment Fund — a way to ensure that Chris’s care would continue for students she would never meet.
“She would be ecstatic,” Mr. Bachman said. Lori described that the two of them, Chris and Chris, shared something only best described as an “amazing partnership” – one rooted in humor, faith, and a deep mutual respect. Even during her illness, their connection remained steady as time itself.
“This was her heart. This was her everything,” continued Mr. Bachman. “This has always been about the students – you don’t get a handle on this stuff in just two months of care. This fund would be everything to Chris.”
The Chris Bachman Support Endowment Fund
Today, the fund does what Chris once did personally — it removes barriers.
Originally created to help students who lacked the financial resources to access the full range of care needed for eating disorder recovery, the endowment continues to remove barriers that might otherwise interrupt treatment. Today, the fund provides direct awards to students to help cover care-related costs such as nutritional counseling, medical services, lab work, or other treatment needs that might otherwise stall recovery.
It also strengthens the university’s partnership with the Kendall Reagan Nutrition Center, ensuring students can access the nutritional counseling that is often central to eating disorder recovery. For some students – particularly those on Medicaid – nutritional counseling is not covered due to technical licensing requirements in Colorado. Without the endowment, that care would simply be out of reach.
“The endowment has truly been a godsend,” said Helen Bowden, Ph.D., Licensed Psychologist and previous coordinator of eating disorder services at the CSU Health Network. “These clients often need multiple services, such as counseling, medical, psychiatry, and nutritional counseling, and if this fund were not available, they would be unable to pursue the recommended services that are vital to both their mental health and physical well-being. Therefore, this fund has definitely helped me (and many other practitioners here!) do our best work with these clients as a multidisciplinary team.”
In recent years, the fund has even helped cover new nutritional therapy groups launched through the Kendall Reagan Nutrition Center, expanding support beyond one-on-one sessions and into community-based healing.
“The need looks different for every student,” said Brittany Habben, director of development at Colorado State University. “So, of course, the support has to be flexible. Tha
At roughly 4% annual distribution, the endowment currently provides thousands of dollars each year in life-extending support – and growing. Each gift builds capacity for the next student who reaches that fragile, courageous moment of asking for help.
In a few years, student demand for the scholarship will exceed the amount available, underscoring the continued need for philanthropic support for this endowment fund.
Friendship is, well, just as integral a part of life as food and water are for many of us. Imagine your friendship circle, and the branches that extend beyond that circle. Those branches might veer off in multiple directions, impacting dozens of others through one, unique person. The centrifuge of sorts of this collection of branches, veins, or webs, if you will, is usually a person of incredible merit.
Enter, Chris.
Lori described Chris as the center of a web – connecting friends, families, students, and colleagues. A steady presence in every direction, not seeking out the attention and fame that might come with that central catalyst, but central because it was simply her character dictating it so.
“She believed women need women, and that people need people. When it came time…for her, to go…we didn’t avoid that she was dying,” Lori said. “I had practically spent my life with her, raising the kids, going on countless walks – she was my best friend. I told her I was completely unmoored; that she was my rock.”
“When it was her time, there was no way she was going to do that alone.”
In those final months, the web she had woven around so many drew inward. While the world outside slowed to a halt, Lori’s world narrowed with intention. There was no denial, no forced optimism – only honesty, shared memories, and the steady companionship of decades lived side by side.
But in her final hours, Chris was surrounded first and foremost by her family: her husband and her sons, the people she loved most fiercely. It was a private, sacred space.
It was quiet and resolute.
The same presence Chris had given so freely to others was returned to her in full, by bedside, from a family who adored her and from a lifetime of friendship.
Through the endowment, that web has expanded. Chris is no longer sitting across from a student at Starbucks after hours. She is no longer answering late-night calls. But the spirit that drove her – the refusal to let someone walk alone through illness – remains stitched into the fabric of Colorado State.
Her care did not end.
And because of a husband’s devotion, a friend’s loyalty, and a university community that chose to invest in compassion, it will not end for the next student, either.