A Story of Recovery:

Breaking Up is Hard to Do

When I walked through the doors of FA at 200 pounds on March 12, 2008, I expected to have some “problems” with the program. I knew it would be very hard to do what the program required, but I had felt an odd, tingling feeling in my chest at my first meeting. I didn’t recognize it at the time, but realized after a few meetings that it was something I’d given up on years before—it was hope.

I’d stopped feeling any real hope that I would ever be in a normal body. I’d been overweight all my life and started my magical thinking about my weight at a very early age. I had the same wish for every birthday candle I blew out, every first star, every coin tossed in a wishing well or a fountain: please make me thin. I begged God and promised anything if only I could wake up in the morning and be thin. As a girl, I even had dreams of watching myself undergo surgery to have all of the fat trimmed off, only to dream that I would awaken in the recovery room feeling horrified by the awful scars it left on my body.

Feeling hope gave me the willingness to work my program and eventually to lose over 60 pounds. Hope also gave me the knowledge that I was going to have to let go of my best friends—flour and sugar, the only things in my life that had been consistent, reliable, and comforting. The thought of not having flour and sugar for the rest of my life was overwhelming to me. I knew there was no way I could do it. I immediately told myself that it was okay, that this was  just a different kind of diet, and when I lost all the weight, I’d quit this darned program and my life would be perfect.

During outreach calls, I’d complain and gripe about all the stupid “suggestions” my sponsor was outlining. I rebelled and pushed back every chance I had, full of the newcomer’s anger at the very idea that I wasn’t unique and that I’d have to follow the same “rules” as everyone else.

Meanwhile, as I voiced my frustration, other things were happening. I realized that letting go of my habits with food had created a huge, gaping hole in my life. Had my life really been so focused on food? Did all of my social interactions revolve around food? Yes, food had been the major focus of my life! I felt lost and lonely and began my process of grieving the loss of my best friends. I began saying goodbye to my life as it was before FA. It was final, the end, over. I was divorcing flour and sugar.

Now the issue was what to do with this emptiness in my life, how to cope with all of the free time, and how to fill the big, empty spaces that used to be filled with food. I felt all of the emotions of the grieving process: denial, anger, bargaining, depression and, finally, acceptance.

I pulled out my toolbox and began applying the well-seasoned tools to help me through this. I stayed determined to feel the success that others shared about how their lives had changed by living by the FA principals and working the tools. I talked just as openly to my fellows about my feelings of loss as I had about my frustration with the rules when I began FA. I went to my meetings. I prayed. I read the literature. I talked with my sponsor. I cried. I felt it—all of it. I raged about how unfair it was. Why me? I wrote volumes about my feelings. I learned to live one day at a time. And, through it all, I stayed abstinent. As strong as my feelings were, I knew that if I took even one bite, I’d be face down in the food again, and my life would be back to where it was when I started FA. My life would be miserable, small, isolated, painful, and hopeless.

I still occasionally feel a sense of loss, but it is very rare because there is so much I’ve gained. My life is filled with daily gifts that I can only attribute to working the tools and the Twelve Steps. Being in recovery has given me so many new best friends, and my life is filled with blessings. Goodbye, my friends. I’ve moved and I’m not leaving any forwarding address.