I was chuckling to myself as I noticed how my vocabulary has changed since becoming abstinent. Words that I normally used to describe or procure food now have a new meaning. I enjoy walking on crunchy leaves while wearing a sweater in the crisp autumn air, salty lips from an ocean mist in the summer, and a delicious fire on a cold winter night. My skin is creamy, my lipstick hues are hot, my new red convertible is spicy and the clothes in my wardrobe are flavorful and colorful now that my body is pint–sized instead of super–sized. I contemplate fresh ideas. My relationships are rich, especially with my Higher Power. Sweet treats are an unexpected hug or “I love you” text from my teenage children, and a luscious back rub from my husband. A pick up is a program call, a delivery is a care package to my parents,... Continue Reading
I have just returned from a five night vacation with my husband and two college-aged sons. We toured the amazing rocket laboratory where my older son is interning visited my brother, and attended my younger son’s college orientation, which meant a lot of coordinating schedules and meal times. Every day, I prayed on my knees, asking God to help me stay abstinent, and every night, even the late nights, I thanked him. I am so grateful for my recovery in FA and my willingness to go to any lengths to stay abstinent. I never want to go back to where I was before: the fat body, the painful remorse, and the obsession which plagued me every waking moment. Eating addictively was a symptom of my disease, a maladjusted way of handling life’s challenges. I ask myself how I maintained my discipline while the rest of the family enjoyed drinks, appetizers,... Continue Reading
The day before school started, I thought my son needed a haircut; he adamantly disagreed. All that was needed was a little trim to the layers around his face. I have some experience cutting hair and could have done it myself. However, I was pretty sure that, if I cut it, he’d complain about it no matter how it looked. Having put off the task for so long, I’d limited the choices of salons to those that don’t require appointments. This meant I would not know the stylist, but I was hoping for a conspirator who would craftily convince my 12-year-old that there was a reasonable compromise between what he wanted and what I wanted. That did not happen. The woman who cut his hair was not the least bit helpful. She ignored most of my questions and the few responses I did get were, “That’s not possible,” and “It... Continue Reading
I am 49, and I have been cooking meals since I married at 23 and moved to my own home. I wanted to emulate my mother and aunts who entertained regularly, cooking feasts of food for our large extended family, including the traditional Greek foods they had learned in their homeland before migrating to Australia. Early on, I collected cookbooks, attended cooking classes, and obsessively collected recipes from magazines, collating them into folders. I was determined to compile the perfect menu for each upcoming dinner party or family barbeque. As the years passed, cooking became less of a creative pastime and more of a chore which I resented. I was fearful of not serving the perfect meal or not serving adequate quantities, and I spent hours deciding what to cook. I was constantly afraid of not having enough time to prepare the meal. Any pleasure I had previously experienced in... Continue Reading
Record-setting rains created large-scale destruction in my area this past spring, as rising rivers overflowed their boundaries and caused massive flooding. As I watched the televised reports, I realized how this principle applies to my own life. Just like a runaway river, out of control eating causes many levels of destruction: added weight, shame and guilt, loathing of my lack of willpower, and spiritual disintegration. I experience sanity and abundant life only when I live within certain prescribed boundaries. Otherwise, my body, soul, and spirit suffer. While I know that I have no power to stop outside circumstances, fear and my desire to control warp my thinking. “Maybe I have no say over life in general,” I think, “but I can control my intake of food.” In my head, control equals no boundaries—nothing off limits, no censure of quantities or types of food. I will eat whatever I want and no one can... Continue Reading
