A Story of Recovery:

Abstinence as a Rock

When I was new in FA, I heard over and over, almost to the point of the ridiculous, “Just weigh and measure your food and everything will be okay.”  It seemed trite and a bit simplistic to me, and it got a little irritating after a while. Little did I know that those words would be coming enthusiastically out of my own mouth a short time later.

After only being seven months abstinent, I had an opportunity (I can call it an opportunity now in retrospect) to understand first-hand how weighing and measuring my food and working the tools of my program can change everything.

I have a 22-year-old daughter who was diagnosed with bipolar rapid cycling seven years ago, at age 15. Her descent into mental illness at first, before we got a diagnosis, was more than I could handle emotionally, and my addictive eating got completely out of control. My weight ballooned up to 215.

I also turned to alcohol, because the food didn’t numb me fast enough. I did not have the tools to cope with this cruel thing that came out of nowhere and made no sense. I had no control over what was happening to my youngest child. Never in my life did I feel such pain as I did then, watching my talented, bright, beautiful, and athletic daughter go from a 4.2 GPA student and record-breaking athlete to a high school dropout who cycles between suicidal depression to psychotic mania several times a year, with repeated hospitalizations and death-defying experiences in between. She doesn’t appear to have any stable periods without medication, and being young, and unaccepting of her illness, she has a history of going off her meds and having to be hospitalized yearly for varying periods of time to get stabilized.

I was relatively new in FA, and my daughter happened to be living at home when she went off her meds and our lives were turned upside down again. Since she doesn’t sleep much while in a mania, she spent her nights doing things like rearranging our house and removing almost all the family photos from neatly arranged albums and taping them to her bedroom walls. Once, I was awakened by a burning smell and went to the kitchen to see a pan in flames on the stove while she was in the shower. Needless to say, I didn’t get much sleep during this period, and my stress level was high.

I had recently gotten a new job, so I had to go to work every morning and pray that my house was still standing at the end of the day. I know she wasn’t aware of her actions and I don’t blame my daughter—her behaviors are part of her illness—but nevertheless, life was extremely stressful, and fear was in charge. I was afraid for her life, and ours, for that matter. Mental illness is scary and defies logic and reason; it leaves the ones who love the mentally-ill person feeling helpless and hopeless.

With FA, things were different for me. I was abstinent and I had a program. I never knew what I was going to wake up to nor what trauma and drama I’d have to face during the day. Literally, the only tangible thing I could count on was my weighed and measured meal, three times a day. Everything else was spinning around me, but I took care of my abstinence and managed to cook my food and put it on a scale.

Abstinence became a rock for me during this period, and I truly understood what my FA fellows were talking about when they said, “Just weigh and measure your food and everything will be okay.”  I also employed the other tools of the program; I hit my knees every morning and asked God for another day of abstinence and to help me cope with my daughter’s illness. I prayed for her safety and stability, and for strength, courage, and guidance to know what to do in all the moments of the day.  I made my phone calls and talked about my fears and frustrations. I asked my fellows for advice. I found other FA members who had loved ones with mental illness, and I received empathy and understanding from them.

I realized that my daughter has a higher power who is watching over her and who is in charge of her life, and that I need to let go, get out of the way, and let her higher power work for her. I learned to let go of my fears during quiet time and listen to what God would have me do to help, and when to stay out of the way and let natural consequences teach my daughter how to deal with her life.

I learned also that all things pass and I learned much having lived through that summer abstinently. My daughter was hospitalized six times in a seven-week period, and the last time, they kept her long enough to get her stable before releasing her.

Now, almost two years later, she is still stable, with no help from me! She has gotten through a semester of college, got all As, has friends, and seems to be having some fun in her life. I am so grateful that she is finally realizing (thank you God) that in order to live a normal life, she has to take her meds and take care of herself—just like I have to weigh and measure my food and work my tools if I want to have sanity and serenity in my own life.

I am a grateful food addict. Even through all these hardships, I have been blessed immeasurably, but these blessings would have escaped notice if I hadn’t been putting my food on a scale. For me, it all begins there. If I’m not abstinent and doing all of the things I need to do to stay abstinent, all the promises of the program go out the window and all the emotional pain and suffering will be right there waiting to take up residence again, along with the extra 90 pounds of fat on my body.

So, you see, it really is as simple as “Just weigh and measure your food and everything will be okay.”