My father was going through radiation treatment after his cancer came back. I received news of the reoccurrence while I was across the country at college, but through G-d’s impeccable timing, my summer break aligned with my father’s treatment. I was able to spend precious time with my dad driving him to his treatments, cuddling on the couch, and helping my mom around the house. Yes, there were many special miracles during this time, but there was also much frustration. The doctors prescribed a very particular diet for my father to eat during radiation, and being the good food addict that I am, I hovered over every meal. I offered to make him the suggested foods, but he didn’t want any of it. In fact, he didn’t want much of anything. Yet I kept at him–fueled by fear of what he was up against and resentment that he was not... Continue Reading
After a semi-successful bout on a commercial diet, I weighed 170 pounds. At 5 feet 3 ½ inches tall, I was far from slim, but considered myself acceptable. I was 47 years old. At a routine visit for my COPD (Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease), my pulmonologist said, “You could do less damage to your body by gaining 100 pounds than you are doing by continuing to smoke.” I quit smoking, and with his “permission,” promptly gained 50 pounds. Then I developed breast cancer and had a lumpectomy. A few years later, I reached 236 pounds. In addition to being morbidly obese, I also developed type 2 diabetes, high cholesterol, fatty liver disease, an enlarged heart from high blood pressure, and stage 1b lung cancer. I had more doctors than friends. After having a procedure for my lung cancer, the thoracic surgeon said, “You better hope this worked. I don’t feel... Continue Reading
I did not want to be in FA. A friend and I went to a few meetings years ago, and the speakers seemed so odd to me — self-indulgent, wallowing in their mistakes and “character defects.” Who wants to latch onto the idea that you have “character defects?” It seemed so negative, like self-flagellation. And all that God talk. I didn’t believe in God. The God of my childhood was punitive and vengeful. I couldn’t get away fast enough from that negative and guilt-ridden existence. But I was desperate. I could not stop eating. I felt sick, felt like I was poisoning myself. And I kept taking it out on my husband. So I dragged myself to a meeting, but crossed my arms over my chest at the idea of having a sponsor. I didn’t want someone telling me what to do. I didn’t want to ask permission from someone,... Continue Reading
I am almost two years into program, with over seven months of abstinence. I have lost my weight and am feeling good. Fundamentally, all is well. But then, some stress over work comes up, and I find myself eating mouthfuls of flour and sugar, and then deciding I just won’t tell my sponsor! Thankfully, I am having a “food dream.” Or, rather, a nightmare! I wake up in a cold sweat with my heart racing. The images of picking up and eating the very things I know can destroy me and send me spiraling back down into my addictive thinking and eating patterns was definitely nothing short of a nightmare – a floury, sugary, food nightmare. I know now that when I am experiencing anxiety in my day-to-day life, negative thoughts and fears start to creep in. These things are powerful and manifest themselves in my subconscious thoughts. I guess... Continue Reading
I couldn’t believe that my knee hurt. It didn’t just hurt—it was a stabbing, searing pain that I remembered well, but hadn’t felt in over three years. When I weighed over 300 pounds, that pain was a constant companion. I had to use a cane at the ripe old age of 49 just to walk the hallways of the school in which I taught. All that had changed, though, when I lost 160 pounds in FA. I have had the weight off for over three years and I haven’t even thought about my knee in that time. The cane is hanging idle in my front closet. I walk everywhere and have even been known to run a few places. I have enjoyed a freedom of movement I never dreamed possible. But Friday night, there was something wrong—something terribly wrong. It was my first full week of teaching in the new... Continue Reading
