I had already lost my weight. My top weight was 320 pounds. I was down to 150 pounds. I’d had my weight off for about five years by the time I started dating Mark. I had known of him because we went to the same church for several years, but never really knew him. Mark had been divorced for maybe three years and I was separated from my husband for about three years. I had no plans for ever dating or marrying. I had had enough of that. I had a full life, committed to my God and my church. I had my own home and business and a full circle of friends and a big family that I was also committed to. I had a secret. Though I looked great on the outside, I knew my body was ravaged by the disease of food addiction. What I’m talking about... Continue Reading
From my earliest memory, I always had an issue with food. I loved food, especially sweet flour and sugar products. I couldn’t get enough. I always wanted meals as big as those of my brothers and dad, and it didn’t seem fair if I didn’t get what they had. The biggest part of my journey commenced when I was about 36 years old. A guy I was dating left me—he stated that I was too good for him. In truth, we met when I was dieting and he left when the weight came on. This was a pattern in my life: I would diet, meet a man, then put the weight on, and then they would leave. After this particular relationship, I attended a workshop called Relationships and You, in which a woman spoke to me about recovery and suggested that I attend Overeaters Anonymous (OA). This was the beginning... Continue Reading
I am riding my bike the few blocks to the beach. It is dawn and the sun is about to rise into a glorious daybreak. My heart is hearing Pete Townsend on the ukulele as he sings, “I love every minute of the day.” I look down at my body as it easily maneuvers the bike, and I smile. My stomach is flat, my legs are slender, and my hips are proportionately curvy. I am wearing polka dot leggings that I purchased on clearance in the junior section while shopping with my daughter. I am 53 years old, and I look adorable. I am enjoying myself and having fun with my husband and children. I am not controlling every activity or overstuffing our day with a flurry of things nobody really wants to do. When they say, “What are we doing today?” I can respond, “Whatever you want,” and mean... Continue Reading
My old way of reacting to family time was to avoid it. I remember being a kid and knowing that my aunt and uncle had driven from another state and were finally safely resting in our home visiting with the rest of the family. I hadn’t seen them in a long time. I was scared to go into the living room. Maybe it would be awkward. The more I ignored the cheerful voices in the living room, the bigger the fear became in my mind, which made me feel uncomfortable. So I stayed in my bed, read my book, snacked and told myself that I didn’t care. They can’t make me. I spent a lot of my time avoiding life and being defiant, but deep down I felt sad because I was missing out. And deep down I blamed myself and I avoided more. That behavior continued to grow. I... Continue Reading
I was in the biggest airport in Europe. After waiting for eight long and uncertain hours, I was taken off the plane, along with all of the other passengers. There were long lines of angry people waiting to talk to airline employees who could only give vague answers and work hard to calm their customers. The board showed a flight schedule of 60 flights, almost all of them marked with an uncanny “cancelled,” due to an unexpected airline strike. There were people, suitcases, announcements, signs, noise, and in the midst of all this, me—a recovering food addict who had missed a connecting flight to the FA convention. My mind was racing. Thank God I had packed dinner, but where was I going to get my abstinent meals for the unexpected 24 hour layover ahead of me? Where was I going to sleep? I had no clue, but I did have... Continue Reading
