A Story of Recovery:

Deep Denial

I was eating when I didn’t want to be eating. This phrase came into my head in a small, clear voice one day while I was sitting in my morning quiet time. I had already been in recovery for three years, but couldn’t see how I was a food addict. I spent so long in such a deep level of denial that it took years of abstinence before I was able to see my food addiction for what it was.

I always had some justification for the way I ate. I said I ate a lot because…then I would just choose from one of the following: I played lacrosse. I was a tall girl. I had a fast metabolism. I was bored. I was hung over. I was high. I was Jewish. I was hungry.

What I learned in recovery was that I was incredibly insecure, fearful, and uncomfortable in my own skin. I ate addictively to try to escape from my discomfort and uneasiness. For me, putting food in my mouth was akin to escaping to a gorgeous, tropical island where I felt warm, secure, relaxed and where all was well with the universe.  But as soon as I finished eating, the anxious feelings, depression, negative obsessions, and self-hatred about my body would rush in again. Then I would often eat more in order to suppress those feelings, and the cycle continued.

Despite being raised by loving and supportive parents, I felt insecure and “less than” from a young age. I did not begin eating addictively until high school, but the hallmarks of this disease—fear, doubt, and insecurity—took root at a very young age. Even though I was a talented little girl, excelling at music, dance, gymnastics, and theater, I always felt like I wasn’t good enough and did not measure up to my very talented siblings.

This insecurity followed me to high school where, under the self-imposed stress and pressure of needing to excel in a very rigorous all-girls school, I began to eat to soothe my fear of failure. I would nibble for hours while doing my homework. I couldn’t get the food in fast enough.  Chewing and swallowing food temporarily eased my discomfort, but the effects were short-lived. I always just thought and felt that I was hungry, which is why I kept eating. I know now that it was not hunger that made me eat, but deep-seated fear that I was going to fail, never get into college, and have a horrible life. There was a big, black, gaping spiritual hole inside of me that I tried to fill up by eating. It never worked.

My food addiction took a different turn once I was in college. After binge drinking, I would binge on food like I had never done before, convinced that the greasy foods would soak up the alcohol. I never had the chance to experience the joys of college life, as I was consumed with insecurity about my body.

I spent much of my energy controlling and calculating my food intake and exercise. Years later, I read a story in the AA Big Book, in which an AA (Alcoholics Anonymous) member stated about her drinking, “If I controlled, I couldn’t enjoy it; if I enjoyed it I couldn’t control it.” This describes my eating. I only really let myself go when I was smoking pot or hung over. Then I absolutely could not stop eating. Otherwise, I controlled my food, always wanting more, but denying myself as well as I could.

I became so anxious that I started having panic attacks. As I got into my mid-twenties, I used to have bleak, dark thoughts of not wanting to go on. I wasn’t actively suicidal, but had those tendencies. I used food to try to cope with all of my fear and discomfort. As a result, I stayed stuck in those feelings and hated myself and the way my body looked. I was hypersensitive and overly dramatic. I thought the world was out to get me, and had a hard time trusting people. I had nowhere to go with all my fears and feelings, even though I was in therapy, on psychiatric medication, in social work school, and had a loving family and a supportive (but fed up) group of friends. None of these supports took away that black hole I felt inside of me or the sheer terror of facing the world as it was.

I was so lucky to have two friends who were in FA. I watched them for about eight years, marveling at their thin bodies, sparkly eyes, confidence, calm, joy, and an overriding sense of peace around the food and in the world. I was sure that I was not a food addict, so I never thought to start FA.

Then, when I was 27, one of my friends suggested I try FA, after she saw me go through a major personal crisis. She said, “You kind of sound like a food addict, and you have a little weight to lose.”

I finally took the plunge and I never left. And after a few years of questioning myself in this program, it finally started to sink in that I am not normal with food. I was obsessed about my food all the time. Although my cravings left almost immediately, it took a long time before the desire for food ceased.

My first reaction now is to turn to G-d; it used to be to turn to food. I have no desire whatsoever to test if I could handle flour, sugar, and quantities on my own. I know that I would not be able to stop eating. Before I got here, I obsessed constantly about my weight and feeling fat, but was powerless, despite some very strong efforts, to do anything about it.

The AA Big Book instructs us that the false notion that one day we can drink normally, or in our case, eat normally, has to be smashed. I tried for so many years to have peace around food and to be happy in my life. I was completely incapable of achieving this until I walked into FA. That’s how I know I am still a food addict. I am grateful to know that my internal appestat is eternally broken and that I have a mental obsession with food that can be arrested, but not cured. These truths keep my feet planted firmly in this program. I was eating when I didn’t want to be eating—it’s as simple as that. And now, thank you G-d, I have a solution for my disease.