A Story of Recovery:
In a family of addicts, there was never enough.
I was born into a family of addiction and mental illness, and I was the biggest offender. My drug of choice was food.
I was the oldest of four children and always had to set good example for my younger sisters. My younger brother had to fend for himself most of the time. The poor guy was brought up with three extremely obese sisters.
When we all sat down to eat dinner, as we did in those days, we never had enough, no matter how much my mother put on the table. We had seconds and thirds and it still wasn’t enough. My father retreated to the bedroom to nap. He either worked or napped, his way of escaping from the problems in the family. I suppose he thought my mother could and would take care everything, along with the cooking and cleaning. I do remember her always being there for us, but even that was never enough for me.
My addiction was always there, always. The weight skyrocketed when I got married the first time. I had only known the guy for four months, but I was 22, and in those days you either got married or you became an old maid, which I didn’t want to be. Or, God forbid, I would have to study to become a nurse or a teacher. I had an aunt and a godmother who never married. They were old maids, and I detested what they stood for. I did like my godmother though, because she always came to visit after going to the bakery.
When I was pregnant the first time with my son, the doctor told me not to drink soda and to keep my feet up. I had toxemia, but it didn’t stop me from doing whatever I wanted. My disease was out of control. I was also a very heavy smoker, and my son was born only weighing 6 pounds 12 ounces. I prayed that he would be okay, and thank God, he was.
I had another child a year after and she was okay also, by the grace of God, but I could never stop eating. I went up to 300 pounds, which was my top weight. I never enjoyed my children; to me they were a burden. I used to complain to my friend, “When will these kids ever grow up? I hate my life.” She would tell me that before I knew it, they would be off on their own, and it would be over.
Today my children are my job, but I didn’t realize that in my addiction. The pain of addiction was awful, and I walked around from year to year not even realizing it. I knew there was something wrong with me, and it seemed like I just couldn’t do anything about it. I thought I was damaged and couldn’t change anything. I went to counselors, hypnotists, diet clubs, and I took pills (uppers and downers). I was hopeless.
My children were about seven and eight years old when I found Twelve-Step programs. A neighbor told me about a meeting at the high school where I lived, and I went with her. I asked the woman who was speaking that day at the meeting if she would be my sponsor, and she agreed.
When I came into FA, I followed whatever my sponsor said and it truly helped me. When I got complacent and wanted to eat what the other thin FA girls ate, I had to wait and put my time in. And then it happened one day. I had lost all my weight and, wow, I was like my sponsor—thin, beautiful, and getting mentally healthy, a little at a time.
It has been a journey ever since. I have had many mountains to climb and valleys to go down since then, but I kept coming. I realized that I was addicted to sugar, flour, and quantities. What a blessing to just surrender to that fact.
Fear creeps in at times, but I turn everything over to God in my quiet time and enjoy the ride. My love of this program has grown and grown. I have found friendships, love and, most of all, support for this terrible addiction.
I still come from an addictive family. Both of my children are food addicts, but they know it today. Someday with prayer and the help of God, they will find their way to help them recover like I did, one day at a time.