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.
One recent Sunday, I hung my washing outside in our lovely South African sun to dry. When it was time to take my washing down, I noticed some of my items had dirt and mud stains on them. At first I was puzzled and wondered how it had happened. Then I heard my neighbor’s small children playing next to the fence. It struck me they must have made some mud clay, tossed it across the fence, and hit my laundry on the line. My first thought was to tell my neighbor what his children had done and explain that this was unacceptable. Then all of a sudden a gentle feeling came over me, and I remembered how, as a child, I had also played in the mud. I was innocent as a child, never deliberately wanting to hurt anyone. Before I came through the doors of FA, my life was... Continue Reading
I had bought four tickets to a summer concert for my husband, my two adult sons, and me. On the concert day, my sons became unexpectedly detained and both were unable to go, with their cancellation calls coming only an hour before the concert. I had feelings of disappointment from my unrealistic expectation that the evening should have been a wonderful family get-together, and I even blamed my sons for their thoughtlessness. My emotions were misdirected and wrong, just as they always were before Program, but at least now I could recognize my foolish ways! I could and would certainly have a wonderful time with my husband at the concert and didn’t need to feel incomplete without my sons. As I walked up to the ticket area, I saw two women scrambling for their wallets to buy tickets. I walked over, gave them the two extra tickets, and told them... Continue Reading
“I received orders for a year in Bahrain,” he said to me. My husband serves in the U.S. Navy and was up for new orders. My heart stopped. To think we’d be apart for a whole year was so upsetting to me. We had just gotten married. “But that’s so far away,” I responded. Trying to make me feel more comfortable with the situation, he said, “You could probably come visit me during your summer vacation.” Instead of responding out of anxiety, I took a breath and became quiet. I was trying to figure out if the visit was even possible. I had just gotten my first passport, but I hadn’t ever used it. Aside from visiting Canada when I was three years old, and a day and a half of intoxication in Canada when I was 18 (before passports were required), I had never even left the country. Eight... Continue Reading
I came into the program when I was 14 years old. Before that, I knew I had a different relationships with food than other people but never really knew I was a “food addict.” I just knew that my two thin sisters could eat whatever and whenever they wanted; but that when I ate like that, it showed. My body reacted differently. For me, one was never enough – I was always asking for seconds and thirds. I had lost my “hunger meter,” and I ate as long as there was something available. I ate when I wasn’t even hungry; but felt bored, tired, happy, sad, excited, or just happened to be sitting in the kitchen. Food was my comfort zone, and I used it to numb my feelings. I used to be very hard on myself about schoolwork and was in a constant struggle to excel. While studying, I... Continue Reading
I always resented being fat. I never fully accepted responsibility for what I put in my mouth and how it showed up on my body. All my life I had been told that I was “statuesque,” “big-boned,” and had “child-bearing hips.” My mother was overweight, and so was her mother, and I was told that heavy women run in our family. It really didn’t seem to me as though I could do anything about my weight. So I ate to numb the pain of the rough hand life had dealt me. At age 55, standing 5’7” tall and weighing around 270 pounds, I really resented the doctor telling me I was morbidly obese, that the knee replacement surgery I had hoped for to cure my arthritis could not be done unless I lost some weight, that I was pre-diabetic, and probably had sleep apnea. I also suffered from a litany... Continue Reading
