I just returned from a nostalgic trip to Freeport. It was here 20 years ago when I began to come out of the denial of thinking that someday soon I could control my eating, and that I “wasn’t that fat, just a little overweight.” Twenty years ago, I remember arriving at the hotel in Freeport, so very excited that I would have time and money to buy a whole new wardrobe of clothes. I was teaching middle school at that time, and badly in need of outfits that would look professional and fit my body without strangling me or having to be left unbuttoned or half zipped. I went into the dressing room with my arms filled with skirts, sweaters, pants and cardigans. I soon had feelings of frustration, as one thing after another was too tight. I thought: “Hmphh…they are making these things so skimpy! A nice store like... Continue Reading
What would you think if you were holding a beautiful red rose in your hand? Would you look at the pretty flower, feel the soft petals, and smell the wonderful scent, or would you look at the spiky thorns and think how much they could hurt you? Negativity has been a big issue for me. Over the years in FA, I have learned that it’s so very easy to be negative and that it comes rather naturally to me. For instance: I am in the middle of organizing a birthday party for our 12-year-old son. I thought it would be a great idea for the kids to go to the movies. I was uncertain about whether this would work out, but I did some research and found a movie that the boys would find very “cool.” But what did I do and think? Rather than being happy about the outcome... Continue Reading
“Grandpa, you are fat!” my then-five year old granddaughter told me. “I know,” was my reply. A week later, she told me again. It hurt, and I asked her not to say that again, but that was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Her grandmother, my wife for over 30 years, had never been quite that blunt with me, but she had told me at different times that I needed to cut back on my eating, and so had my skinny doctor. “Shoot for a pound a week” he would say; “two-hundred-fifty calories in less food, 250 calories in exercise. Five hundred calories a day, seven days a week, equals 3500 calories, which is one pound. It is slow and easy, not so hard to do.” Right, I thought. A friend and I had been talking to each other about losing weight—but what to do? He had been in... Continue Reading
I am back in England visiting my father, sitting in the bedroom of the house he moved into about 20 years ago. Little has changed in the house, and the views all look the same; the morning fog rising off Romney Marsh, dotted with its sheep, and the River Rother, lined with fishing boats snaking through it. The seagulls squawk and clatter about on the clay-tiled roof, and the distant cooing of wood pigeons is as comforting as ever. What is completely different is how I feel. I grew up in England with my father and left angry at both at the age of 23. England and my father were the root of my troubles, and I was headed for California, land of the free. I have come back to visit every year or so for the last 23 years. Initially my visits were long and drawn out, at least... Continue Reading
I have a special affection for using the tool of writing on a daily basis. Writing works to get me back on track when I am feeling off center. It always brings me into contented abstinence and serenity. It quells the drive to become frantic when my thinking becomes muddled and confused. In my disease days, I would quell my frantic energy with a “snack” that would turn into a binge. I almost always chose sugar and flour items to numb my thinking and my feelings. I would then end up in front of the TV with a cheesy talk show and pretend I was watching, while I was really planning the trail back to the kitchen for my next food item to consume. This behavior led to a weight gain of 40 pounds more than I am now, asthma, bulimia, anorexia, and obsessive-compulsive thinking. I was not free to... Continue Reading
