When my son was three-years-old, he would sometimes get very upset when it was time for me to leave the house to go to one of my committed FA meetings. He would cling to my leg and say, “Mommy, Mommy, please don’t go, please don’t go!” I would hug and kiss him goodbye, tell him I loved him, and go. Even though I knew I was doing the right thing, it was still heartbreaking. One day on the phone, I shared this scenario with another fellow, who also had children. The next time my son got upset when I needed to leave, I tried her suggestion. I knelt down close to him and said, “Do you know why I am going to a meeting?” He shook his head no. I said, “I am going so that I can be a better mommy.” He wasn’t exactly satisfied. He said, “You’re already... Continue Reading
I was on a business trip to Dallas, Texas when one of my colleagues suggested I try going to Central Market for my food needs. I was happy to take the suggestion, as I have been spoiled, in terms of fresh produce, by living in California. After my work duties were done, I headed off to do my shopping. I walked into this store and was at once feeling at home. I found all the produce I needed, and it was beautiful! I then proceeded to find the other staples I needed for my meals. It was an overwhelming experience. Everywhere I looked there was food, glorious food. I must have looked shell shocked, as one of their “foodies” (that’s what they call their staff) came to my aid. He asked me if I needed help, and I gratefully said I did. I explained what I was looking for, and he... Continue Reading
My favorite costume—my default outfit from college years through early motherhood— was a soft, worn pair of farmer pants. I loved these bibbed jeans and felt safe in them for years. The pale dungaree fabric was hefty enough to withstand constant use and frequent washings, the double-stitched seams were sturdy and resilient, and the overall sensation was one of being gently draped, much like a nude in a portable tent. My farmer pants had a certain style and statement. While permitting freedom of movement, the loose-fitting pants allowed me to perform my cartwheels and back flips (I was both a daredevil and show-off, even at 160 pounds). I could sit on chairs back to front, legs splayed in ungainly casualness, elbows resting on the back of the chair. The bibbed front permitted me the bra-free bravado of my era and feminist inclinations. The high waistline was as loose and ill... Continue Reading
Eight months ago it would have been absolutely impossible for me to be able to sit quietly, gather my thoughts, and write about them. My body was so exhausted from three-hour-a-day workouts. My life had ground to a halt. I had long since given up on college due to my lack of focus and long hours spent bingeing in the food court, followed by a thorough purge and teeth brushing. That stuff takes time! When I was as miserable as one is after a huge binge/purge, my immediate priority was to seek comfort. Therefore, I ate more food. I could be starving or full and confuse one for the other. I worked full-time at my part-time job as a manager at a grocery store, and I was usually in a completely dazed “stay away from food” frenzy while on the clock. My evenings consisted of all-out flour/sugar fiestas, and my... Continue Reading
When I came into FA, the first thing my sponsor explained to me was the tool of abstinence. The second thing she explained was the tool of meetings. She called them “committed meetings” and explained that we attend the same three meetings every week, except if there is a one-time event like a wedding or funeral. I was in other Twelve-Step programs for food prior to FA, and I had never committed myself to any meeting. I only went to meetings to “get” not to “give.” I regularly switched meetings so I could be the new face at a meeting and get all the attention. Because of this constant movement, I did very little service and was not reliable. Doing service involved time and effort, and I rationalized that I worked full time, needed to have a life, and service impinged on my plans. All my actions were based on... Continue Reading
