About six months ago, my parents were visiting for a few days for the first time since my husband and I moved to our new place. It was a Sunday morning in March and they were about to head back home. We were all walking out to our garage, where their car was parked, to see them off. As soon as we were about to enter the garage, we saw a man dart out with some of my parents’ belongings, which he had grabbed from their car. It was a scene from an adventure movie—a thief, quick and low, escaping with goods, and frantic victims trying to run after him. The man managed to flee, leaving us behind to deal with the police, the loss, and the fear.

During those initial moments, the thief had no clue about all that he had managed to steal. As he would discover later, in his possession was a bag full of valuable items. It was a huge financial and sentimental loss for my parents and family.

The following days and weeks were very difficult. Every little crack I’d hear would alarm me. “Did you hear that,” I’d suddenly sit up in bed and ask my husband at night. I’d stay awake as long as I could just in case the thief returned or sent a group of his friends back. Throughout the day, I’d run to the window every time I’d hear a car approach, to jot down its license plate number. Further, I’d spend hours on Craigslist and eBay looking for the stolen items. I was even expecting the thief to regret what he’d done and leave the goods at our front door on some random day.

Moreover, I was waking up completely hungry every morning. It was simply this food addict’s common response to discomfort. Before Program, smaller jolts in life would’ve taken me into bouts of bingeing, isolation, and despair. Now I was dealing with a bigger episode and feeling a very gripping fear. How could I not eat over this? I had never dealt with a thief before in my 34 years of existence. I knew I had to stay abstinent. “Don’t eat no matter what; no matter what don’t eat,” I’d tell myself. I just couldn’t afford to lose my precious abstinence. Losing it would mean losing my sanity.

I felt violated. I felt guilty. I felt frightened. I felt many other emotions at the time, but now what I feel is grateful for FA for faithfully standing by my side. I used what I had learned during my two years in FA to save me from destructive fear. I realized that even though going from 146 to 113 pounds at 5’ 2¼” and maintaining it was a miracle; a greater miracle was the opportunity to have a peaceful life because of FA, regardless of what came my way.

I Told my Sponsor

To do so, I talked to my sponsor about everything that passed through my mind. I didn’t hide things or pretend that the whole ordeal didn’t happen, like I would have done before Program. I needed to get it up and out in order to heal. Having my thoughts and fears rolling around in my head would’ve sent me straight to the kitchen cabinets.

I told my sponsor about the guilt I felt about my parents having their valuables stolen while on my turf. I told her about the fear I had about taking my dog out after his meals and how he had a couple of accidents indoors because of it. I told her about the anger I felt toward the thief and numerous others. I told her about the intense hunger I’d feel from the minute I’d get up in the morning. As time went on, I did some writing about the situation and I talked to my sponsor about the shame I felt about my materialism playing a role in my sadness.

I had more admitting to do. I told my sponsor when I engaged in obsessive behavior. I told on myself if I spent hours on the Internet searching for the stolen items, and if I’d visit consignment stores in my quest. Well aware of my addictive nature, she helped me steer away from my unhealthy actions. Like my food addiction, my obsession with the crime was becoming unmanageable; admitting my thoughts and wrongs helped me from delving deep into insanity.

Gaining Acceptance

I followed my sponsor’s suggestions in terms of tools that would aid in my recovery from the crime incident. As distracted as I was, I managed to turn to God for help. I relied on a conscious contact with God to help me get out of the house and overcome my fear of the garage, where the crime took place. I started to gain an acceptance of the situation through reading the acceptance pages of Alcoholics Anonymous (pages 416-417).

Gradually I was able to develop a positive outlook, as I started focusing on the fact that my family was safe and no one was hurt. After all, at one point the thief pushed my dad’s arm as he was making his getaway. He could have easily hit or run over my dad with his escape vehicle, but he didn’t. The safety of my family made its way to my gratitude list, and it’s still there each night.

Further, I prayed to God for the release of my resentments toward the thief who robbed my parents of their security, the police who I thought were not doing enough, our neighbors for not running out to help us, and myself for asking my parents to stay another day when they wanted to leave earlier. I used the resentment prayer in Alcoholics Anonymous (page 552) to help me with my resentments. I could not believe that I was praying for a criminal, but he needed it, and I needed it, too.

I found comfort in the sayings emphasized in my AWOL. I’d remind myself “The problem in front of you is never as great as the Power behind you.” At the time, I was already reading the Just for Today card daily, but I focused on, “Just for today I will be unafraid.” I repeated this line over and over again throughout the day. The AWOL helped me tremendously, as I was able to talk about the occurrence and explore my emotions while tying them to the Twelve Steps.

My FA meetings helped me greatly, as well. Not only did they provide me with examples of experience, strength, and hope, but they also got me out of the house at a time when I wanted to stay indoors and keep myself from the danger that lurked outside. I couldn’t isolate at home all week long when I had committed meetings to attend.

Eventually, my heart softened, my mind eased, my fear and obsession lifted, and things went back to normal—and I hadn’t eaten over it all.