About six-and-a-half years into recovery, I started dating a man who turned out to be an alcoholic and had panic attacks at night. Unfortunately I got caught up in trying to be his mentor and help fix his problems. This took me away from looking at myself. The very thing I should have been looking at was the fact that I stopped taking care of my own needs, staying up too late and engaging in the emotional drama of his world. I became overtired and stressed and eventually made a mistake making my dinner one night. Another time, I went to a party and didn’t make any plan for my meal. I had clearly broken my abstinence. What did I do? Thank you God, I realized the severity of how I was hurting myself. This man was not good for me in many ways. I took quiet time and wrote... Continue Reading
When I first came to FA, I was skeptical when people went to the podium and shared about how GOD had given them the man of their dreams, the house of their dreams, or the job of their dreams. I didn’t believe that possibilities that had been hidden or out of reach would manifest just because I weighed and measured my food. That has changed over time, as I have seen the blessings God has brought to my life. I was lonely. My children had moved out to start lives of their own, and I lived alone. I told God that I wanted a dog, a friend. When I asked God for a dog I was specific. I couldn’t handle a puppy for the obvious reason; my shoe collection. I wanted a dog that was two or three years old, mellow, and chill. The biggest factor to consider was that... Continue Reading
Focused on digging my car keys out of my oversized bag, I hurried out of the Walgreens toward my white car. But when I pushed the button to remotely open the driver side door, nothing happened. My shoulders slumped. I pushed again. “Batteries must be dead,” I muttered to myself. So I tried the key in the lock. It would not open the door. Now what? I repeated the ritual. Same results. Just as I’d begun again for the third time, a voice from behind made me spin around. “That door is not going to open no matter what you do.” A scowling woman strode toward me. I didn’t like either her tone or her expression. It called up—what? Fear? What had I done wrong? She crossed her arms. “That’s MY car.” Not until that moment had I noticed an exact replica to the car I stood beside parked in... Continue Reading
At 31 my life looked like this: accounting degree graduate, single mom of a five year old son and I weighed 313 pounds (that wouldn’t end up being my highest). I attempted to sit for the Certified Public Accountant (CPA) exam, a rigorous series of six four-hour tests at that time. However, I was still face-down into the food, so although I spent the money on the books they were merely table mats for my constant snacking. The flour-sugar fog prevented any productive learning from taking place. At one point, I rented video lectures and audio taped them to listen to in the car (yes, back when cars had tape decks) but all the popping sounds of canned drinks and crinkling sounds of plastic bags muted out the lectures. Fellow graduates would ask to borrow the tapes, but I refused, being too embarrassed they that would hear the constant eating.... Continue Reading
Before I go any further, I should tell you, I’ve never been in a real prison; not the kind you are thinking, anyway. I’ve never even had any trouble with the law. No, my prison was of my own making. I had built it up around me, one block and one bar at a time. By the time I was well into middle age, I was securely “locked up,” with no escape in sight. When I was young, as far back as I can recall, I was called “fat boy,” “tubby,” and other unkind names, more than I care to mention here. There is an old saying: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Well, truth be known, the names did hurt me; at least they hurt my feelings. The name calling got me into trouble because I would retaliate. Despite my size, I... Continue Reading
