A Story of Recovery:

It Takes One to Know One

If it takes one to know one, I recognize a fellow in my little dog, Sniffy.

Sniffy is motivated by food and nothing else. He is willing to do the most amazing tricks if he knows there’s a treat in it for him, and he will do nothing if there isn’t. This makes me think of of all the times when I would decide to go or not to go to a party or other gathering, based on the food that would be there. The place where I worked had numerous meetings and training sessions. Some of these occasions were required, but most were optional. I would opt for the ones that would be serving food. At meetings, parties, or banquets, I would calculate where to sit in relation to the food—close enough to be in the first wave to be served, or near the buffet table so that my second trip there would be less noticeable.

Sniffy hides food in odd corners, under the bed, and even behind sofa cushions, apparently waiting for a special occasion. Later, if his regular food doesn’t appear according to his desirable time timetable, he takes matters into his own paws and gets something from his hidden stash.

How many times did I keep snacks in my desk at work, anticipating that three o’clock urge to have something…anything? How many times did I store leftovers far back in the refrigerator so that only I knew they were there, waiting for the right time to “clean them up?” How many times did I dash to the refrigerator as soon as my husband took Sniffy out for a walk, eat as much as possible until I heard him come back, and then be seated again before the door reopened?

Sniffy pretty much turns his nose up at regular, nutritionally balanced dog food. He wants it enhanced with whatever protein we’re eating. Better yet, he’d just swap his dog food for our plates. Although he has never had the luxury, I’m sure he would eat until he got sick if we let him. This reminds me of all the times I let fresh vegetables go stale while I served meal after meal of mostly protein and flour-based products. I would spend hours pouring through a huge collection of cookbooks, looking for ways to jazz up the nutritious but plain food there was on hand. I can’t even count the number of times I insisted on going out to eat exotic because the food we had around was boring.

Many a time I have eaten until I thought I would be sick. I always thought I should clean my plate, even if the amount of food on it could have fed a family of four. I thought if I paid good money for it, I should eat it all. I thought that, surely, restaurants had some special formula they went by as to how much food the average person should consume; therefore, whatever they served should be within my capacity to eat it. And I always thought that throwing away food was terrible waste—better to eat it even if I was too full, rather than throw it out.

This crazy thinking and behavior around food drove my weight up to over 250 pounds on my 5’7″ frame, and drove my mind into the deepest depression I have ever experienced. The elements of my life were fine. I should have been happy to have the life I had, but I couldn’t appreciate it. Somehow God, the Higher Power I had neglected for so long, saw this and guided me to the FA program. It took about a year and a half to lose 100 of those pounds. But as I embraced Program and worked the tools, that awful depression began to lift and was replaced by profound gratitude for recovery and a new, saner way of life.

Now I get a real kick out of weighing and measuring my food. I like the simplicity of the food and its freshness. Going out to a restaurant now seems like an inconvenience, as I would rather prepare my own meals, knowing where the ingredients came from and how they were handled. Best of all, I have lost that all-consuming obsession with what is in the refrigerator, when I will be able to get at it, and from whom I need to hide it. I have developed a deepening trust in God. I am now a food addict in recovery.

Does anybody know of a program for little dogs?