A Story of Recovery:

Angels

When I first started losing weight in FA, which happened quickly and visibly, friends and colleagues began congratulating me on my enormous willpower, my fine self-discipline, my hard work. And as I kept the weight off and continued to eat abstinently in all kinds of situations, through all kinds of events and occasions, the backslapping continued, although increasingly from those who don’t know me very well. “You’re so good!” (said not always in the friendliest of tones, by a friend who was wanting to share a rich dessert.)  Or, “That’s just amazing!” by an onlooker who simply could not grasp how to survive without flour or sugar. My mother’s comment was most heart-warming, as she had watched me balloon up and down over the years, and knew the pain my weight caused us both. “I’m so proud of you!”

I had heard enough at meetings to understand that without FA, and, certainly before coming into Program, I had no such willpower or self-discipline around food, no matter how hard I worked. Nonetheless, each time someone complimented me on my weight-loss, secretly I still felt filled with pride: what a good person I was (at last!). I was thrilled and surprised, but I was prideful.

I’ve been in Program for over six years now, and am better able to understand just how misplaced that pride was. I know now that I am carried by others: the many people in FA who provide me the support, instruction, honesty, suggestions, clarity, humor, distraction, and fellowship that I need to carry myself through the next day—my angels. I experience how God works through people.

For example, I wouldn’t be a member today if one long-term member hadn’t first introduced the concept of a disease of “fear, doubt and insecurity.” I didn’t know her well; we were dining together at a restaurant. I hadn’t in fact requested information about how to lose weight or control my cravings. I merely mentioned that I had compulsive tendencies when it came to the basket of baked goods on the table. Still, she could tell from my comment and our conversation that I needed help. She self-identified as a food addict, showed me her photos, and told me about a local meeting.

Another angel along my way was a woman from Revere, who sat next to me at my second meeting. She wanted to provide comfort, and proceeded to do so by identifying for me the “FA Fascists” amongst those who stood up to sponsor. She assured me that I needn’t go to three meetings a week if I didn’t want to. While I knew that her negativity and defeatism wouldn’t help me on this new journey, I also appreciated her reaching out. I didn’t want what she had, but for the moment, I had someone to sit next to, someone to talk to at the break, and someone to look for when I came back a second week.

An angel that still stands out in my memory—and who remains an inspiration to me today – stopped me in the parking lot after my fourth or fifth FA meeting. Here I was, early fifties, still overweight, wearing my somewhat frumpy clothes, and driving my little white pick-up truck. I was going from the meeting to visit my mother, who I had only recently moved into an assisted living facility. I was feeling guilty for having pressured my mother into moving from her apartment, and understood how unhappy she was at her sudden confinement and lack of independence. This was to be her last home, and we both knew it. I also was feeling guilty for putting my own recovery, and my morning meeting, ahead of her interests. I worked during the week, and instead of devoting a whole Saturday to her, I would be lucky to arrive at her place by 1 p.m.

Still, this calm, trim, soft-spoken man from FA stopped me, mid-rev. And although I was in a hurry to get to my mother, I slowed down enough to listen. I don’t remember all he said, but one sentence stuck with me:  “You’re a good daughter,” he assured me. I knew better; I wasn’t. I felt self-centered, resentful, and impatient with my mother’s encroaching illness. I knew that I was nowhere near as dutiful as the daughters I saw at the retirement home, who spent dozens more hours with their mothers than I did with mine. But I felt calmed by his comment. Someone believed that I was a good daughter— that I could go on being a good daughter…or at least, a good enough daughter.

There are such angels outside as well as inside of FA. I don’t know why such people arrive in my life when they do. But, it’s a reminder to me to be one of those people whenever I get the chance.