A Story of Recovery:

Fear Factor

I decided to pick up an extra FA meeting because I was feeling out of sorts and down on myself for not being productive the previous day. I hadn’t reached out and shared this with anyone. Instead, I had isolated and avoided life. So, I committed to myself that I would go to a meeting the next morning, which was Sunday.

I woke up the next morning and completely forgot my commitment. I had forgotten it was even Sunday! I went through my routine, took my calls, and had a leisurely breakfast. When I remembered at 8:45, I debated about whether to go. I would need to be out of the house by 9 to get there on time, and I decided to try. I managed to get myself ready and was out of the house by 9:05.

The snow started at 9:15. I don’t know that I would have left the house had the snow started any earlier. I drove to the meeting feeling resentful of the snow and the gray skies. I wished for a vacation in Hawaii—anywhere that wasn’t here, anywhere that would have some sun! I walked into the meeting room as it was still being set up and I started perking up almost instantly. I greeted several fellows I didn’t get to see regularly anymore. I got hugs and compliments and I gave some as well.

As the meeting start time approached, the leader hadn’t shown up and no one knew who it was supposed to be. Other members were always taking on extra service, so I volunteered to start the meeting. I walked right up to the front and we got started. When we finished reading the tools, there was still no leader, so I dug out my photos and I gave my qualification. It felt incredible! No preparation, no expectations, no time to get nervous. I simply talked from the heart, gave my story, and let the words fall out naturally. It felt so good to bare my soul, claim my past, and recognize how far I’ve come.

When I first started program five-and-a-half years ago, I couldn’t imagine feeling good about sharing my story. I didn’t think I had anything of value to say. I spent the first 60 days deciding whether I should deliberately have a break so that I wouldn’t have to get up to speak in front of people. Once I realized that nothing is worth breaking my abstinence over, I spent the next 25 days arguing with my sponsor and simply refusing to sign up to lead a meeting.

Another fellow in program was kind enough to take baby steps with me, asking me to start by leading a Big Book sharing meeting at the smallest of the local meetings. I reluctantly agreed to that, and we set the date. I spent the next few weeks feeling nervous and jittery. I was not pleasant to be around.

As it happens, God laughs at the plans of man. Five days before I was scheduled to lead that small Big Book meeting, I went to my committed Sunday meeting, which had anywhere from 25-40 members. The speaker had cancelled last minute, and my sponsor decided it was a perfect opportunity for me.

I didn’t know what to do or how to do it; I felt totally unprepared and insignificant. I had to trust in a Higher Power that I wasn’t sure I believed in yet. That Higher Power led me to the front of the room and into, what I saw as, that chair in the spotlight. I picked up the format and, stuttering and stumbling through everything, I began the meeting. The format included everything I needed to do, everything I needed to say. All I had to do was to read it and call on others. I couldn’t remember anyone’s name but pointing worked; everyone understood. As members took their turn reading, I found it difficult to listen to what they were saying. I kept praying in my head throughout, “Oh God, oh my God, please help me get me through this!”

Finally, it was time for me to qualify. I stood up, faced the roomful of people, and bravely mumbled my name and, “I’m a food addict?” That was it. I couldn’t think of anything else to say. I panicked for a moment, and then I recalled a couple pieces of advice I had received. The first was just to tell your life story, whatever it may be. The second was that, when I was too scared to share at meetings, if all I did was get up and share my numbers, it would still be an inspiration to someone. So, I began that qualification with my numbers; I had been in program about three months and had lost about 40 pounds.

Then, I attempted to tell my life story. It came out as if I was writing a college essay—just the facts. I was born here, I grew up here, my family moved in this year. Very few personal details came out. I talked for about ten minutes, and then I was stumped. I couldn’t think of anything else to say about my life.

I was so nervous and embarrassed that I had turned a rather bright shade of red in front of all those people, and I started to cry at some point. For another three minutes, which felt like an eternity, I stared at all the people who were waiting for me to continue, and then I sat down. Someone handed me a Big Book, and we continued the meeting with a reading.

I didn’t die. In fact, several people came up to me at the break and shared their own stories of being nervous and scared. It was gratifying to hear that I was not alone, that I hadn’t screwed up; just the opposite. It gave me the courage to try again the next month at a slightly smaller meeting. Again, I turned bright red and cried some, but I talked for about 20 minutes. I included more personal details—things I hadn’t thought were relevant or important, or that I thought were too embarrassing to share in public.

We used the extra time for a reading again. When people got up to share, they commented on how they could relate to my embarrassing memories and then shared their own; I wasn’t the only one to do that, to think this way, to say something I shouldn’t have. It felt amazing. In fact, it felt like I was finally starting to be a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the group, instead of the less-than newbie I perceived myself to be.

That was about a decade ago, but each time I am asked to qualify, the nerves come back. I still have a hard time signing up in advance. But as I get more and more practice, I’ve been able to delve into my real life story, not just the facts, and accept who I am—the embarrassing parts as well as the good. Nothing I have shared has shocked the community or barred me from belonging, and I know that nothing ever will. Today, I am in my right-sized body, having lost 160 pounds. Thanks to my Higher Power and FA, I also feel more comfortable in front of an FA room, which has helped me feel confident in front of other crowds. The acceptance I receive helps me to accept and love myself.