Stories of Recovery
These stories were originally published in the Connection, FA's monthly magazine written by food addicts, for food addicts. Each post shares a different author's perspective. Visit this page often to read more experience, strength, and hope about recovery in FA. To get the newest issue of Connection Magazine sent directly to your mailbox or inbox, click here to subscribe to the Connection.
I did not have the greatest financial education, or any, really. I remember once my aunt sent my mother money for groceries and my mother instead bought a stereo. Both of my parents struggled, when they were together and after their divorce, with how to handle flush times and lean times. I never recognized how this financial flux affected my sense of wellbeing until I came into FA. When I was 18 and had just starting out with a clean credit report, I remember some young-20s friends telling me that they had already destroyed their credit. With no knowledge of how such things worked, I felt perfectly justified in condemning them in my mind, and telling myself that it would never happen to me. Then I began borrowing. I borrowed with impunity—for school, clothes, trips, and food. I felt no shame in putting a $15 binge on an 18% APR... Continue Reading
I received an upsetting letter from my parents yesterday. They recently learned that I am a lesbian, and in their letter, they disowned me and said that my “lifestyle was shameful and an abomination.” My first instinct when I read the letter? It was to get down on my knees and pray for them, which I did. That is nothing short of a miracle. I came into the FA program filled with shame, confusion, doubt, insecurity, and guilt. I was riddled with fear about coming out to my parents, about my sexuality, and about how I would fit into the world as a gay Nigerian woman. I was extremely self-centered, and I had been having suicidal thinking. I was also 62 pounds overweight, and was using food and alcohol, and sometimes drugs and cigarettes. I felt like my life was spinning out of control and slowly unraveling. I thought that... Continue Reading
The people in my childhood family were great cooks. They would cook lots of food, because when they were growing up as children, there were eleven mouths to feed. I was the first maternal grandchild, so I was given 98% of what I wanted. When I was eleven, I was brought to New York to live with my mother and stepdad. My stepdad would bring me a cold treat every night when he came home from work, and my mom would tell me to have something to eat because we’d had an early dinner. It made my mom happy to know that I was eating, because I was a bit narrow in body type. I had gained many friends who, at that time, took the place of food. I actually started throwing away food so my mom would think I had eaten it. As we moved from place to place,... Continue Reading
My sister called me and said that a “diet class” was being held at my childhood parish. I have deep respect for my sister, so I decided to go. Turns out that I was an hour late, so I attended only the last half of the meeting, but it was a meeting that changed my life. The speakers filled me with hope. I had been a thin young man, but when I was hit with the triple whammy of getting out of the Air Force, getting married, and starting college, I shot up to over 200 pounds and never weighed less than 200 again, until FA. I hated living as a fat man, but I had given up hope. I had tried many diets, with some successes, only to rebound higher every time. I was drinking multiple fatty, sugary drinks every day, and I could not stop my intense cravings.... Continue Reading
I was so hurt and angry that I couldn’t see straight, and on top of reeling with emotion, I also felt embarrassed and cornered. Tourists passing me in the street may not have noticed anything strange. I could have been any forty-something female simply waiting for her evening companion. But the sidewalk was crowded, and as I stood outside of the Restaurant, with its large front window, I felt exposed. My eyes were swollen and red, my Kleenex had long since shrunk into soggy uselessness, and I didn’t dare leave the curb. There was no point walking to the car since my husband was still in the restaurant with the keys in his pocket. Having just slung several loud F-bombs at him in that cozy eatery, I didn’t have the nerve to re-enter. I was tired, it was 8 p.m. on a Thursday night, and I wanted a ride home,... Continue Reading
