Tuesday nights were once a terrible night for reaching my fellows by phone. I was living in my Alaska hometown where there were no FA meetings, but I had built up a close group of fellows in California. They, and my sponsor, were all in an AWOL together on Tuesday nights. So, not only were they not available Tuesday nights, but to make matters worse, they would talk about having dinner with each other before that AWOL. I felt a little left out, and a lot of envy. I wanted a fellowship around me too. I had a low-grade dread of Tuesday nights! My sponsor picked up on it. She encouraged me to visit, to spend time in California, around people who were really committed to FA recovery. So, I came to visit. I loved being in California where I wore a skirt and flip-flops, and could ride a bike... Continue Reading
Sometimes it seems as if I have slipped into life as into a theatre, when half the movie was already over. In this movie, there has been a complicated plot and I have to determine the first, unseen half of it, from developments in the second. I am never quite sure what’s going on. Anger is the aspect my character I have the most difficulty in integrating. Difficult, because it developed in the first, unseen part of the movie, my early life as an addict. I know I released anger as rage in an immature, inadequate cover-up for fear, abandonment, and inadequacy. I also know I had to change, to develop, or be written out of the plot. If only it were really a movie, the protagonist of which “struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more.” Of course, I might complete the quotation... Continue Reading
Growing up, I learned that there were certain “rules” in my family. The rules were: you should know the right thing to do in every circumstance. You should do the right thing in every circumstance. If you had to ask how or what to do, you lost. No pressure there! My father was a minister. He often told me I had to be an example to the church and to the whole community of what a well-behaved child should be, and he enforced that policy with a razor strap. As early as 9, I remember the high school football player and store clerk, who caught me stealing sweet stuff in the grocery store. I was terrified that he’d tell my parents if he saw me with them, so I insisted on staying in our car in 100 degree weather in Texas while they went in to shop. In middle school,... Continue Reading
“Here, eat this, you’ll feel better.” From my earliest years, these comforting words formed a bond of love between my mother, food, and me. However, it wasn’t long before it turned into an unhealthy relationship that took over my life. My growing pathological attachment to quantities of food, used to comfort or to calm me in the moment, became the basis of what I now know as my addiction. Food became my “drug of choice.” Obese, with stretch marks by age five and secretly eating in excess, my entire life was characterized by shame and humiliation around my behavior and my body image. I would manipulate others in order to gain access to more food. I would lie about, or steal, quantities of food, primarily flour and sugar products, which elevated my body weight to 300 pounds by age fourteen. I was the heaviest person in our village and, later... Continue Reading
Last Sunday night my ex-wife called. Twenty years of resentment welled up inside while glancing at my caller ID. Last Sunday night it was my Higher Power’s will that I answer the call. My ex-wife began to express frustration about how our 16-year-old was isolating in her room and not getting along with her mom’s new live-in boyfriend. At first my ex was sharing personal frustration, but then she began to question my parenting skills and schedule with a barrage of out-of-bounds questions. My addict screamed Fight! Defend! Attack! And prior to FA, boy did I! Screaming, profane language and menacing threats would soon be hurled on both ends of the phone until one of us became so emotionally exhausted that we would finally hang up. Our children would then live in a toxic sea of anger and resentment for days as I raged on and violently ate every flour... Continue Reading
