A Story of Recovery:

Handling Life the FA Way

I’ve been under a fair amount of strain lately. A dear friend of mine is dying from a metastasized cancer. I have an energetic and challenging sixteen year old. My older son is struggling at college. My husband injured himself and has been having a rough time dealing with the injury. Work has been very busy. In other words, life is happening, despite my being in a right-sized body.

All of the above are hard enough, but combine them with the cold and rainy Sunday of last weekend, and I had a potential recipe for disaster. On that gray, wet, dreary day, all I wanted to do was to curl up on my sofa under a blanket and eat and watch television. But I didn’t. Instead, I worked my program. I called people and told them what I was feeling. Aloud, I said to them, “I want to eat.” Somehow, articulating those words made the sensation less scary. I weighed and measured my meals. Someone during one of my calls suggested an extra quiet time. I did it. I also took a nap. I did my laundry. I cleaned. I asked my higher power for help. And, at the end of the day, I was able to get on my knees and thank my higher power for another abstinent day. I went to bed, not dreading getting up in the morning, but with hope. What a gift.

One of my sponsors once said to me that if she could be fat, happy, and sane, she wouldn’t work this program. I so appreciate her honesty and often think of those words. I work this program not just because I get the benefits of being in a right-sized body, but even more importantly, because it helps me lead a sane and useful life. When I am not in recovery, I disappear into my addiction. All of my psychic energy is used up in self-loathing. I make promises about food I do not keep. There is a constant Greek chorus in my brain, chastising me for not being a better person. Tomorrow will be different, I always promised myself. It seldom was.

It is not hard for me to imagine how much more volatile my relationship would now be with my sixteen year old son if I were not in recovery. Absent my recovery, I would not be making weighed and measured decisions about helping my sick friend.

My pattern in the past was to want to rescue everyone, throwing myself into the task with complete abandon and at a great personal expense. Lots of drama was always involved. Today, I do what I can. Helping her is a carefully measured act of doing what I can to be present for her, while at the same time, protecting my abstinence.

I am learning to care of myself. Oddly enough, as I learn to care for myself, I believe I am also learning to better care for other people. With my husband, I recognized that he simply needed time and space to deal with the fact he has an aging body. I knew it was my job to be a comfort to him, but it wasn’t my responsibility to “fix” things for him. I held him. I told him I loved him. I gave him leeway to be crabby if he wanted to do, not jumping on every perceived slight I felt. I recognized that what had happened to him was his, not mine, to take on.

When I came into FA, I weighed 275 pounds. Today I weigh 148. I have given away 127 pounds of flesh, but the greatest weight that has been given away is the self-loathing. Without it I am a sane, useful, and hopeful person. What a joy!