Since coming into FA 11 years ago, my relationships have undergone many adjustments, all for the better. Prior to FA, my treatment of my parents could most aptly be described as neglectful; I did not have any interest in them. It did not occur to me that they might like to be kept apprised of my activities, whereabouts, concerns, interests, friends, boyfriends, or dreams. Perhaps this is because, to a large extent, my goals in life were of the short-term variety. From the time that I left home at 19 to go to college, I was focused mostly on being thin and cool. I figured my parents did not want to hear about my obsession with exercising, which I hoped would eliminate any extra pounds. A tragedy for me, at that stage in life, would be the inability to slip into my favorite pair of black faux-satin pants that always... Continue Reading
When I finally surrendered to the FA program, I was truly beaten down. I was bingeing on mass quantities of food, and I was purging, through vomiting and laxatives. I was actually not overweight; I was probably underweight, but I thought I looked fine. My life looked pretty good: good job, faithful husband, healthy child, and nice home, but I felt crazy. I was very close to losing it all. I had tried to work the FA program every way but the way it was passed down to me. Nothing I was doing worked. Things finally got so bad that I knew I had to just do it. My first day of abstinence was the day I stepped into my first AWOL to study the Twelve Steps. I was willing to follow the Program, but I was not at all happy. I hated everyone in that room (and there were... Continue Reading
When I first joined FA, I could not relate to anything I heard. I wasn’t an addict, I wasn’t 300 pounds, and I didn’t eat everything in sight. And, I was embarrassed that I had to go to a support group for fat people! However, the more I sat in the FA meetings and heard people share, the more I began to learn about the many manifestations of this disease we call food addiction. The first way my disease showed up was in my family. I was born to a family of food addicts. Food was love; it was everywhere. Weight was a daily topic of conversation, and I was taught that I’d never be able to eat everything I wanted. My mom routinely told me that if she ever came back in another life, her only wish would be to eat whatever she wanted to eat and stay thin.... Continue Reading
Growing up with parents whose addictions took them through multiple cycles of sobriety and relapse, my childhood was chaotic at best. I remember their post-relapse promises to NEVER use again and the subsequent anger and despair that would come each time that promise was broken. As a result, I never used drugs and rarely touched alcohol. I was convinced that I was better than them for not having developed a substance use problem. I am grateful today to say that I have since learned humility. During a session with my therapist years ago, I boldly declared that “I may not be perfect, but I for darn sure am not an addict.” My therapist helped me see my glaring food addiction and to realize that each of those promises my parents would make in relapse are things I would swear to myself after a binge—and yet I would always do it... Continue Reading
I depended on my thumb for comfort until I was in fourth grade. My mother says I was a picky eater, always needing special textures, and that I favored only certain foods. The vision when I looked into the mirror was that I was heavy and cumbersome. If I sat down on a chair and my skin folded a certain way, I would get angry and anxious. I was a self-declared “fatso” at five. I was an active, athletic child, so although my physical body was a normal size, my perception was deeply skewed. I wore big sweatshirts and baggy pants. I bought dresses that were three sizes larger than I was, and I wore men‘s T-shirts to cover up my body when I wore swimsuits. I would go to sleep and check to see where my bones were and how far they stuck out, and unless they were protruding... Continue Reading
