My childhood was stormy, and whenever the sky looked dark, I turned to food. My parents divorced when I was four, and I lived with my mother and three older siblings. Fear was a constant in our house. My mother’s first husband was a paranoid schizophrenic, who hurt my mom on a particularly bad night. When my mom’s brother confronted him, they got into a brawl that ended in bloodshed, and my mom’s husband was institutionalized for life. He broke out of the facility more than once, and we lived in fear of his repeated threats toward my mother. My mom’s brother fell into serious addiction, murdered a woman in a drug-induced rage, and called from prison on a regular basis. We were all frightened of him. My mother was single for a long time, with four kids to support. She did her best to keep the cupboards stocked and... Continue Reading
The day of high school homecoming last year was also the day of the choir car wash, the cross-country race, and the dance. I woke up early, ate a very small breakfast, and put on my uniform. The entire time I was at the car wash, all I could think about was my appearance: How do my legs look? Am I flexing enough? I hope I don’t look bloated. I even insisted on wearing my spandex to show off my muscles instead of wearing my sweatpants in the 50-degree weather. In addition to being a food addict and an over scheduling addict, I was also a compulsive runner. I left the car wash early to warm up for the race. On the way, I ate three flour/sugar products when I was only supposed to eat one. I reasoned that I could not eat lunch or I would throw up when... Continue Reading
I had been in FA for about six weeks when I went to a café with a neighbor in my tiny, quaint home town. It was warm and cozy as we stood in line waiting to order, and I looked in the curved glass case at the food items I used to buy. I noticed a particular baked item that someone had decorated in a unique and beautiful way. Both my food addict brain and my artist’s heart were entranced. I mentioned it to my friend. “Isn’t that the prettiest, most beautiful item like that you’ve EVER seen?” “Oh, yes,” she said. We ordered our beverages and went out into the sweet air and fall sunshine to sit on the patio. I began telling her about the new program I was in. “You know, I think I might be a food addict,” I said. “Oh, no! I don’t think you... Continue Reading
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
