A Story of Recovery:

Tsunami Relief Effort

I have been abstinent for more than 12 years, maintaining a normal weight of 107 pounds on my 5’1″ frame for most of that time; my top weight was at least 60 pounds heavier. I was plagued with the accordion body syndrome, going up and down the same 10, 20, or 30 pounds dozens of times.

I was raised in a family of privilege in the Chicago area. My parents have a storybook marriage and modeled a strong partnership. I was showered with affection and attention as I grew up, but I was unable to take in the love. My folks were not perfect. They passed on to me some not-so-subtle messages that their love was conditional. I grew up believing that in order to be loved, I needed to play the part of the good daughter—and that meant looking good (thin) and behaving properly. I was a dutiful, obedient child, did well in school, followed the rules, and kept my many negative thoughts and feelings to myself.

Fear, doubt, and insecurity appeared for me at an early age. I had no safe outlets for such disturbing thoughts, and I turned to food—an easy choice. My mother prided herself on her cooking, and much of our family life was centered around large gatherings, where copious amounts of ethnic foods were served. My mother was very concerned about my weight. Fearful that I would be overweight like my relatives, she tried desperately to control my eating. Of course, it didn’t work!

At around age 10, I channeled my anxiety and rebellion into secretive eating. I became a master at it. My mother and I played a cat-and-mouse game with the treats hidden all over the house. She locked the freezer where she stashed the baked goods and I would locate the key. She hid sweets in out-of-the-way cupboards and drawers and I would find them. No matter how stealthily I nibbled away at the specialty items, their absence would eventually be noticed, usually at an inopportune moment (like when company was expected). My mother and I would have a huge row, with me denying, then eventually confessing, that I had eaten the missing food and promising to diet. Through a combination of her attempts at control and my lack of access to quantities of food, my weight was still in the normal range when I graduated from high school, but I wasn’t thin. The 20 extra pounds I carried might as well been 200 in my head. I thought I was fat, was obsessed about losing weight, and woke up nearly every day thinking I would begin the diet that would change my life.

Nevertheless, I looked like I was destined for success. I entered an Ivy League college on the East Coast. I took my anxieties and insecurities with me, and struggled with massively low self esteem and extreme self doubt. In college, I was free to eat however I wanted, and I did, still secretly. I snuck food in pockets and made surreptitious trips to the vending machines and stores, while fantasizing about losing weight and finding the perfect man. Now the weight began to pile on, and I was seeing shocking numbers on the scale. That didn’t stop me from eating, however, and by the time I graduated, I had reached my top weight of 170 and was bulging out of my size 16 clothes.

My parents understood my misery and offered to send me to an in-patient weight loss program at Duke University. I was on the rice diet for six weeks, dropped 35 pounds, and got a great tan. When I entered law school, I was a reasonable size, but once again I took all my fears and insecurities with me. Unable to concentrate, I dropped out of school after one semester. I couldn’t stop eating. The binges were debilitating and I never knew when one would be triggered. My mother suggested I attend a meeting of Overeaters Anonymous (OA) in the Chicago area. I knew I was home, but I had a very long way to go.

I struggled for more than 20 years in OA. Clouded by fear and shame, I was unable to reach out when I felt the urge to eat. My eating pattern was unpredictable; sometimes I would be abstinent for a week, sometimes a month, and occasionally for an extended period of time. I tried to forge ahead with a normal life, and again, on a superficial level all looked well. In college I fell in love with a wonderful man to whom I have been married for more than 30 years. I followed him to California, where he conducted graduate research, and we lived there for five years. During that time, I enjoyed a two-year hiatus from the disease, and for the first time, lost all of my excess weight. Thin at last, I was among the few in the Bay Area with extended abstinence. But there was little guidance on how to maintain the weight and the fit spiritual condition that would ensure my recovery.

After two years of abstinence and heavy involvement in OA, I picked up a bite of extra food that ended the reprieve from the disease. For the next 15 years or so, I fought food, a battle that I am always destined to lose. My husband and I moved back east and I began a new career in higher education fund-raising. We struggled with infertility and eventually adopted a baby boy, then later a baby girl, from Korea. We were incredibly devoted parents and blossomed as a family. But I couldn’t stop periodic, episodic binges that would wash over me like a tidal wave.

One day a member of our Monday meeting attended an OA event in Syracuse, New York that changed her life, and eventually mine. She brought back news of the weighed-and-measured, no-flour-no sugar program. I listened to her with great resentment for two years, vowing silently that I would never accept those limits. But food was the great persuader. After a series of binges that were as bad as ever, I had a moment of clarity. I came to understand that I would always be a food addict, no matter what the circumstances of my life, good or bad. The disease had a life of its own, and I would go to the grave with it. In short, I surrendered. I attended a 90-day meeting and took a sponsor who still offers me her wise, gentle guidance today. Two weeks later, our OA meeting became an FA meeting.

My journey in FA has taught me that the disease is progressive, but so is the recovery. The change in personality that has come with contented abstinence and a steady working of the Twelve Steps has manifested itself in many ways. My anguish over work-related challenges has subsided, and I have been able to hold increasingly responsible positions. My marriage has withstood the tests of two difficult adolescents and come out stronger on the other side. The hours I have poured into extended FA service work have reaped enormous benefits, and my confidence has soared.

Life in FA has been full of promise and hope, and the best news is that it keeps getting better!