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.
Being 50 pounds overweight was a huge part of the reason I felt like I didn’t fit in, but I found out, after joining FA, that it wasn’t the only reason. What I know now is that I had the disease of fear, doubt, and insecurity, and no matter what I did or said, I just felt like I was dumb and wrong about everything. Nothing I said or did was worthwhile or enough. In FA I found out that this way of thinking is extreme self-centered fear—thinking nothing of myself, but thinking about myself all the time. If I dared to show up to a social event, I was positive that everyone had me under a microscope and was analyzing my body, my words, and my every breath. I even thought that people could read my mind! I was so critical and judgmental of others because of how poorly... Continue Reading
When I was a kid, Halloween was one of the greatest opportunities for a binge. My mother always got Halloween treats, to hand out to children in the neighborhood, that nobody in my family particularly liked so that my sisters and I would not binge on our own stash. Every year, she put the candy in the same huge brown wooden salad bowl (I can still picture it). And every year, I remember eating all of the candy I collected in a pillowcase after walking around the neighborhood for hours on end. Immediately upon arriving home, I would start with my favorites, and then eventually resort to the things I did not like but couldn’t help eating. After that, I always headed for the treats that were left over in the bottom of the salad bowl. I still remember the nauseated, stuffed feeling I had every year, and the bafflement... Continue Reading
I had been around a program for people with food compulsions for a few years, and for a while could practice binge maintenance. I was essentially eating what I wanted for a couple of days and getting “abstinent” again (under eating, really) while over-exercising. As this became more and more difficult, I became more desperate. It was inevitable that without a real solution, I would start vomiting again. That part of my disease had progressed tremendously. I had heard about people working the FA program but did not feel that I was bad enough to have to do that. When the day came that I realized I was that bad, I was bitter and depressed. I was not happy to finally surrender to this program. I sat in the back of the rooms with my arms folded and hated everyone, especially myself. Thirty days. I was going to give this... Continue Reading
I come by addictions quite honestly. I was a sick baby, born to a young mother who was grieving the death of her mother. Mom would cry with me until she could no longer bear the competition. In desperation, she cut cheesecloth into small squares, placed a sweet and a pat of fat in the center, then twisted and tied the small package. Sugar tits, she called them. If I were especially colicky, she added a step, dipping the rough textured, but soft package, in alcohol. I learned to be soothed by this concoction and its delivery. Addictions assured. When Mom was angry with me, she withheld sweets. Once when I was punished, I offered her a nickel to allow me a piece of dessert. I remember her laughing, but then letting the transaction proceed. From then on, I would buy her favor with either money or obedience…until I started... Continue Reading
The most difficult suggestion for me was to put my recovery before my family, and my family before work. Work wasn’t an issue because I’m retired, but being a grandmother meant that my grandchildren came first in my heart and plans. After being abstinent for about a year, my daughter planned my granddaughter’s third birthday party. It was to be at their home in San Francisco, a three-hour drive from my home, on a Saturday at 11:00 a.m. My meeting is Saturday morning from 9:00 a.m. to 10:30 a.m., which meant I couldn’t get to the party until 1:30 p.m. at the earliest. When I explained this to my daughter, her response was thick with anger. “What? You are going to miss your only granddaughter’s third birthday?” Calmly, because I had gained a little serenity in FA, I responded, “I’ll be there, but a little late.” Her response was, “Mother,... Continue Reading
