A Story of Recovery:

Clean and Present


When I came into Program, I weighed 187 pounds. I had been overweight since I was nine years old, and although I always wanted it to be different, I really couldn’t see how it would be. I long ago figured out that diets didn’t work.

I grew up in an abusive household. It was crazy, violent, and strictly religious. My mother, though, was my angel. She was almost a child herself; she had me when she was 16. She did her best to care for us under my stepfather’s repressive regime. My brother, sister, mother and I were all being abused by him. When I was nine, I woke up one morning and my mother had gone. She couldn’t take it anymore and fled, fearing for her life.

I don’t remember being fixated on food before that time, or being self-conscious about my weight. Maybe I was, but maybe, as people say, I was born an addict. I only know that I defiantly became one, and that from the age of nine, until 99 days ago, much of my energy was consumed by eating, or thinking about eating.

In my mid-teens, I lived with my mum and her new husband. I would get home from school and cook myself a full meal, and then have another one when my parents got home. Food was always a big thing. We never had much money, but there was always enough to buy a bar of something sweet.

I always enjoyed eating quickly. My ideal would be a bowl of savoury food, cut small or mashed up, ready to gobble up with a spoon. I liked the feeling of my throat being full until I was almost choking. I would eat with the TV or radio on, never being present for my meal.

For a long time, as a result of the abuse, I didn’t have much feeling in my body and so I could never tell when I was full. In fact, I spent my teens trying to be as numb as possible, using alcohol, smoking pot, and taking pills. In time, one by one, I managed to give those things up. But with food it was different.

By my twenties, I was getting healthier. I faced my past with regular therapy, and I reported my abuser to the police. I wrote a book about my experiences and got it published. I achieved so much, and yet at every single meal, I would make the wrong choice for myself. I would always overeat, every time! Often the food I was eating would have been healthy, had I eaten normal amounts of it, but I’d sit down and eat a whole pot of something from the health food store. Holidays with my family were physically painful. I couldn’t help dipping my hand in tins and boxes of sweets until I literally made myself sick.

It wasn’t until a few months ago, at the age of 32, that I began to think of my eating as addictive. I always figured that I ate a lot, and that it was understandable because I had experienced a hard life.

By the time I was 30 years old, things started looking up. I’d fallen in love, was living in a beautiful home, and was being encouraged by my partner to pursue my dream and write a novel. And yet, I still overate at every meal. Life wasn’t hard anymore, but I couldn’t put the food down. As much as I loved my partner, I sometimes wished he’d go out so I could eat the way I liked to, in private.

As my relationship with my body slowly healed, I began to be able to feel the damage I was doing. Every night in bed, my stomach hurt from being full, and I felt despair because I knew I would do the same thing the next day.

I calculate that there were about eight days between my first thinking, “I’m a food addict,” and seeing a flyer for FA posted to a wall in a café. I went along to a meeting, and joined the programme shortly after that.

It has been a very, very difficult time. At first I battled with cravings, then worse… I battled with having to feel my emotions. But there’s some energy that’s keeping me here, even as I kick and fight. There’s a steadying hand that seems to know what to do. I’ve lost 23 pounds and gained some lovely new friends. And best of all, when I go to bed, I feel clean and present, not weighed down with sugar, flour, and guilt. I used to know what the next day was going to bring. Now anything could happen.

 

This story was originally published in the Connection Magazine. Subscribe to the Connection Magazine for more stories of recovery. Or submit your own story of recovery.