A Story of Recovery:

Staying abstinent through my father’s cancer

My father was going through radiation treatment after his cancer came back. I received news of the reoccurrence while I was across the country at college, but through G-d’s impeccable timing, my summer break aligned with my father’s treatment. I was able to spend precious time with my dad driving him to his treatments, cuddling on the couch, and helping my mom around the house.

Yes, there were many special miracles during this time, but there was also much frustration. The doctors prescribed a very particular diet for my father to eat during radiation, and being the good food addict that I am, I hovered over every meal. I offered to make him the suggested foods, but he didn’t want any of it. In fact, he didn’t want much of anything. Yet I kept at him–fueled by fear of what he was up against and resentment that he was not listening to my mom, the doctors, or his all-knowing daughter.

On one particular day, I was fed up. Once again, my dad had refused my offers to make him a doctor-approved meal, in favor of a different dish. Can’t he just eat what the doctors tell him to?! It’s for his own good, my inner monologue screeched. Yes, just like you listened when the doctor told you that you were morbidly obese? my recovery retorted.

My fists were clenched and pumping, my teeth were grinding, my chest was tight, and my head felt like white fire. So I walked. I walked, blasted my music, and daydreamed. I wanted to escape—to drown out the voices, to quell the fear, to halt the anger.

Now, we all know that still, small voice, the one that urges us to slow down, get out of the kitchen, relax, or do a number of other things we don’t want to do when we are revved up.  As I thrust my body speedily down the street, that still, small voice sounded like a bull horn: take out your headphones and walk in silence. I tried to fight it. And I did, for a little while, until I remembered the peace that comes when I choose G-d’s will over mine.

So, I took out the headphones, slowed my pace to a brisk, rather than frantic walk, and felt the ever-growing swell of emotion dissipate. As my nerves calmed, I was able to hear what G-d was trying to tell me: if you continue building this resentment by trying to control your father, you are going to eat. The message was so clear and simple that I thought a person had whispered it in my ear. But the weight was lifted off of my shoulders after I heard that message, so I knew that it must have been G-d.

I finally understood what the Big Book says about resentment being an alcoholic’s number one offender. I realized that if I kept trying to control my dad—trying and failing—that revved-up feeling was only going to grow stronger. At some point, I was going to need more than a power walk to release that anger. While I had a year of “doing my tools every day” in my FA bank, my abstinence was too precious a gift to put at risk.

Okay, G-d, I get it. You are better than The Dave Matthews Band, I laughed to myself, while rounding the corner to my house. I walked in a new person, free from the anger, the knot in my stomach, and the boiling resentment I had felt deep down inside. It was a wonderful freedom—that lasted all of a couple days at most.

The next time I felt the urge to criticize my dad’s meal choices, I now knew my abstinence was at stake. Over the next weeks, this awareness helped me to either pause before I said something, or let go of my anger and give my dad a hug after I had opened my mouth. Even more, I started talking to my sponsor and fellows about my fear around my dad’s treatment rather than focusing on his failure to listen to the doctors. My sponsor and fellows acknowledged my fear, but reminded me that I had absolutely no control over the situation. So, I could either choose to love my dad for exactly where he was right then—however disobedient—or continue to try to control him, build a resentment, and put my abstinence at risk.

My Dad continued to eat what he wanted, and I continued to drive him to treatments, cuddle with him on the couch, and help my mom around the house. We had many amazing moments, and, of course some hard ones, but I stayed abstinent and grew so much closer to my father—two things that would not have happened had I continued to try to control him. And, when all was said and done, the treatment did what it was supposed to do, despite my father’s dietary choices.

Now, four years later and five years abstinent, I am moving home after graduating from my masters program. My father is still in poor health, and I am fighting continuous urges to try to control his eating. I am so grateful I have this experience to go back to. Now I know that if I turn off my music and listen to G-d, I can experience many precious moments with my father and keep my abstinence intact.