It was supposed to be the trip of a lifetime. My parents had inherited a small sum of money after my grandparents died, and they decided to use the money to take my brother and me on a trip to Italy. As we boarded the plane, I felt an impending sense of dread. Though this was supposed to be a fun family vacation, I had never really gotten along with my brother, and I was not looking forward to being trapped in a foreign country with him for 10 days.
At the time, I was back on my favorite low-carb diet for the third time and had lost about five pounds over two months by avoiding flour products while bingeing on protein and fat. Although I had spent the last five years on and off various low-carb and no-carb diets, I still weighed over 200 pounds and was miserable and uncomfortable. I didn’t like the way I looked in any of my clothes, and the last thing I wanted to do was head to Rome, where all of the women were probably thin, fashionable, and confident.
The worst of it was that since I was on no carbs, I had to deal with my family without having the buffer of flour and sugar to protect me. I was resentful, hungry, and uncomfortable. After about three days of cramming into tiny hotel rooms, having arguments with my 31-year-old brother about who got which bed, and watching my family eat all the foods I was denying myself, I reached a breaking point. So at 27 years old, in broad daylight, on a busy Roman street, I had a tantrum. I told my mother, with angry tears streaming down my face, that I hated my brother, that I had always hated him, and that he was ruining this vacation with his immaturity and self-centered behavior. At the time, I had no idea that the person who was really ruining the vacation was me.
That night, I decided to give up that low-carb diet and just “enjoy myself.” By the end of the vacation, I was bingeing on flour products every night and stopping two, even three times a day at the cafes to get my fix of a certain sugar item. I told myself that this would be my last chance because this food doesn’t taste the same in the U.S., so I’d better get as much in as I could. When I got home, I just kept eating sugar and flour, and my low-carb diet became a thing of the past.
Three months later, I joined FA. I still don’t really understand what brought me to that meeting in the dingy community center basement on a Wednesday morning, but something in me knew that this was where I needed to be. I kept attending meetings, got a sponsor, and began to eat three weighed and measured meals a day. Over the course of ten months, I lost 75 pounds and I began to think more clearly. Through working this program and studying the Twelve Steps, I began to see that I didn’t have just a weight problem; I had a life problem. I became aware of the inflexibility and intolerance inherent in my personality that made traveling, with all of its chaos and uncertainty, so uncomfortable for me. I started to understand that my problem wasn’t my brother, my parents, thin Italian women, or restaurants that deliberately taunted me with my favorite foods when I was trying to diet. My problem was my attitude towards life and my fear, doubt, and insecurity.
After six years of recovery from food addiction and five years of continuous abstinence, I decided it was time to attempt another foreign trip with my family, in honor of my parents’ fortieth anniversary. So three weeks ago, on a hot day in August, my brother, his pregnant wife, my parents, and I climbed into a minivan for a 17-hour car ride to Quebec, Canada. But this time, instead of bringing resentment, intolerance, and fear with me, I packed my AA Big Book, copies of connection magazine, my scale, and my higher power. Throughout the week, whenever it looked like an argument might ensue over sleeping arrangements, the daily itinerary, or restaurant choices (a big bone of contention for me), I took a deep breath, said the serenity prayer, and asked my higher power for patience. I didn’t always get what I wanted, but instead of having a post-adolescent tantrum, I calmly discussed the options with my family, and I absolutely got everything I needed.
After we returned, my parents said that it was the best trip we had ever taken as a family. For me, it was a way of making amends for all the misery I put them through when I was eating addictively. For all of us, it was the trip of a lifetime.