Posts about Recovery

It Takes One to Know One

If it takes one to know one, I recognize a fellow in my little dog, Sniffy. Sniffy is motivated by food and nothing else. He is willing to do the most amazing tricks if he knows there’s a treat in it for him, and he will do nothing if there isn’t. This makes me think of of all the times when I would decide to go or not to go to a party or other gathering, based on the food that would be there. The place where I worked had numerous meetings and training sessions. Some of these occasions were required, but most were optional. I would opt for the ones that would be serving food. At meetings, parties, or banquets, I would calculate where to sit in relation to the food—close enough to be in the first wave to be served, or near the buffet table so that my... Continue Reading



Learning the Hard Way

At my first meeting, I couldn’t relate to the term food addict; addicts poured drugs into their bodies with needles. And, I certainly couldn’t relate to the statement that we had an allergy to sugar and flour; I had no allergies. The hook for me was when I heard the phrase “and our lives had become unmanageable.” That was me inside. Outwardly, I appeared to be a successful professional woman who had my life under control. Even though my original intention, those nine years ago, was to just dabble in the idea of FA meetings, I was blessed with the gift of desperation. I got a sponsor that first night and was abstinent for almost four years. Then I had a break—with a binge of dairy products. But I was sure that I could resume my prior life of abstinence. I was terribly wrong.  I experienced over three years of... Continue Reading



Food and Secrets

A few food memories One morning I woke up early and my mother was still asleep. I went into the living room and saw an empty frozen concentrate can with a spoon in it, on the coffee table. I still remember saying to myself, “I didn’t know you could eat that.” I never mentioned it to my mother, so right there I learned about “secret foods” and not talking about them. Once the mother of a little boy next door, who was several years younger than I, made us each a half of a common children’s lunch item. I wanted a second one and asked him to ask for another one. I was mortified when he told his mother that I wanted another half. The concept of eating secretly became a learned behavior. To calm my terror of going to the dentist, my mother would tell me that we’d go... Continue Reading



The Gift of Life

As a child, my mother, (God Bless her), would break a wooden spoon over my head or crack a thick yardstick on my back. When she realized what she had done, she would calm herself down and ask me what I would like her to fix me for a meal. Consequently, I got used to feeling better when eating a meal or two. My mother would tell me to clean my plate because of the starving children in China. I cannot blame my mother for my problems, especially since once I reached the age of reason, I continued to eat the same way as I did in my childhood years. I grew up in a family where life always centered on food and drink. On holidays all of our family came to our home because of the good food, which we all found comforting. In my eighteenth year in the... Continue Reading



Progress not Perfection

The trails around Stephens Lake switchback and intertwine. Each new vista opens up a tableau worthy of an oil painting. Perfect. Except for the stinging bugs. Swatting away a persistent one I consider how I would compose a painting. I picture brushing in an irregular row of honeysuckle vines like the ones standing guard against encroaching woodlands. Maybe with fountains steepling high over a windblown lake. Gray boulders fencing in brightly flowering mounds would add a touch of color. I admire a sculptured blue metal butterfly bench, which beckons me to sit and think about my composition. Joy gushes from my heart. It’s Mary-Poppins perfect. I swat a black fly away from my face. Except for that. Being perceived as perfect has long been one of my greatest passions because early in life I learned that being a “good girl” earned me points redeemable in extra attention and praise. I... Continue Reading