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.
Today I got angry because a package was delivered later than I expected, and I acted abstinently, thanks to FA. Instead of writing an impulsive and angry email, I took quiet time. Then the doorbell rang and it was the package. I thanked the people who delivered it and felt a sense of dignity. I did not act upon my angry impulse. I acted abstinently. Food is not calling to me anymore. It has nothing to offer me. I surrender upcoming resentments, self-pity, and fear to immediate prayer. My life has surely changed. In the past, I had numerous visits to dentists, who started to look at me somewhat strangely. I experienced frequent stomach, throat, and bowel inflammations. One day I spent a hundred marks within a few hours just for food, while my bills sat unpaid. I spent desperate hours in movie theaters, where I sat alone and silently... Continue Reading
I remember clearly the first time I heard someone in the fellowship of FA speak the words, “Don’t eat no matter what; no matter what, don’t eat.” I also recall thinking, That was easy for her to say; it would take a miracle for me to be in that place. But, one day at a time, miracles like that happen in this program. Before I came into this program I ate no matter what! Every emotion, every crisis, every concern, was my perfect excuse to put something in my mouth, hoping to rid myself of any uncomfortable feelings. The absence of difficult experiences often caused me to eat even larger quantities. Boredom sent me to the cupboard and the pantry, and I would end each day feeling more and more self-hatred, shame, and regret. Negativity and self-pity were ever-present, and I often forgot to be grateful for the many blessings... Continue Reading
I was out of control! I binged to soothe my hurt feelings and I binged to celebrate the good stuff. Nothing ever completely satisfied me, so even my celebrations ended in frustration. I came into Program when I was 42 years old. I weighed 271 pounds and had tantrums. I would keep my cool as best as I could in public and in my job. But, the ones I loved the most—my husband and my three precious boys, were the ones who heard the screaming fits, and saw the emotional, all-over-the place tantrums. Now four years later, I hope they are seeing and experiencing a different wife and a different mother, one who wears the weight of the world like a loose garment and not one who melts down like a two-year old. I hope they see what I feel—someone who is in recovery, on a beautiful journey with... Continue Reading
At my first FA meeting almost eight years ago, I was struck by a comment in the reading that this was a “disease of isolation,” and that through our daily call to our sponsor and outreach calls to fellows, the telephone serves as a tool for support. When I first came into Program, I was desperate. I felt alone, helpless, and hopeless over this disease. My sponsor urged me to use the phone to reach out and talk to others in FA. But I didn’t know what to say when I called. What do I say, “Hi, this is Connie, and I am fat, lonely, angry?” It felt so foreign to call anyone, let alone strangers, to talk about problems. Ask for help? Are you kidding? I was desperate, so I did what was suggested. My sponsor taught me to build a list of folks in various time zones and... Continue Reading
When I came into Program, I weighed 187 pounds. I had been overweight since I was nine years old, and although I always wanted it to be different, I really couldn’t see how it would be. I long ago figured out that diets didn’t work. I grew up in an abusive household. It was crazy, violent, and strictly religious. My mother, though, was my angel. She was almost a child herself; she had me when she was 16. She did her best to care for us under my stepfather’s repressive regime. My brother, sister, mother and I were all being abused by him. When I was nine, I woke up one morning and my mother had gone. She couldn’t take it anymore and fled, fearing for her life. I don’t remember being fixated on food before that time, or being self-conscious about my weight. Maybe I was, but maybe, as... Continue Reading
