A Story of Recovery:

A Cynic’s Journey

This is my fifth attempt at my first 90 days. So many describe their experience as a moment of epiphany (often some sort of “bottoming-out” experience) followed by a headlong dive into the program. These “all in” folks seem fueled by trust and fervent commitment. They’ve given their will a kick in the pants and turned themselves over to their sponsor for guidance and their God for spiritual sustenance.

I am not one of those people; my journey has been that of a cynic. Having tested and re-tested all of the homilies of the program and tried every-which-way to torque the program to my needs, I have finally — first in the dim recesses of my mind, then in the new energy and health of my body, and, most powerfully, in the new calm and joy in my spirit— finally come to accept the wisdom of each tool and each truth the program has revealed.

While I know I am not alone in the cynic’s slow journey into FA, I have to laugh at how “special” I have felt myself to be. Other people don’t go to restaurants in the first 90 days of program, but I’ll be fine, I’ve got this. Other people might need three meetings a week to fully connect with the program, but I’m a quick study, and besides, I’m super busy – I’ll just go to two meetings. Other people thoughtfully train themselves to live “one day at a time” but I will nervously “future trip,” obsessing about Thanksgiving, Christmas, birthdays and weddings while grieving all the missed opportunities. I indulge, indulge….and indulge some more. While I know FA is not a race, I can’t help but wonder why I have been so reluctant to embrace each and every tool and to settle peacefully into a new place where I am not in charge.

Luckily there are “bumpers” in the program for people like me. The gentle guidance of my sponsor, the revealing wisdom of fellows, the truths of the printed materials, and the Pavlovian repetitions of the tools of the program have guided me to return, to try again, and to trust.  In so many ways I am like the child who has to touch the hot stove to believe that I might be burned. And now that I have touched the hot stove again and again, I am in a place of understanding and acceptance. I am not special. I am no different from the hundreds – thousands – millions of people who struggle in their relationship with food and who seek a grounded, loving, and balanced way of living. I am not in charge. I am asked to do very little, just my part, and each day and each truth will be revealed to me by my higher power, when I am ready, willing, and open.

Here I am, God. My path has been full of twists and turns; taken me to dark forests, windswept plains and across swift rivers. I am ready, willing, and open.

 

This story was originally published in the Connection Magazine. Subscribe to the Connection Magazine for more stories of recovery. Or submit your own story of recovery.