I once heard that addicts have arrested development—that when our disease takes over, we simply stop aging emotionally. That is certainly my story.

Although I have had problems with food for as long as I can remember, my addictive eating really took off when I was 11 years old. That was the year when I went from the safe, protected world of elementary school, to the rough and tumble halls of middle school. Suddenly, my best—and only—friend decided that she was too cool for me, I became a latchkey kid because my mother picked up more hours at work, and I was thrust into a world of social pressure that I was totally unequipped to handle. My first reaction to life was always food, and life started to get very uncomfortable. So I ate. A lot.

My daily routine began with a trip through the ala carte line to spend my lunch money on junk food and sugary drinks. After school, I stopped at the truck on the corner to buy more food. When I got home, I would eat whatever was in the cabinets—mostly “healthy” flour and sugar products—until my mother came home at four. After dinner, I would sneak back into the kitchen, hide food under my shirt, and go up to the safety of my bedroom to eat, read, and hide. My life was eating, reading, and hiding. And that continued to be my life for the next seventeen years.

On the surface, I was doing many of the things that a normal teenager does. I participated in extra-curricular clubs, acted in school plays, and ran cross-country track. I babysat, did well in school, and even made a few close friends. But I didn’t date. I didn’t go to parties. I stayed awkward and nervous, self-centered, and insecure; a 12-year-old kid in the increasingly heavy body of a teenager, then a young adult, then a 20-something.

Before I knew it, I had been to college, studied abroad, lived in New York, and had a graduate degree. But I still didn’t feel like an adult. And I didn’t act like one. At 27 years old, I wore pajama pants out in public and refused to get up early enough to put on makeup or style my hair. I didn’t clean my contact lenses or brush my teeth on a regular basis, and I never went to the dentist or got a yearly checkup.

I watched my friends start to get married and have children, and I felt like that world was totally beyond my reach. How could I take care of a family when I couldn’t take care of myself? I knew that something was terribly wrong. The world was moving on, and I had come to a complete standstill, hiding in my bedroom with my DVD player, surrounded by empty takeout containers.

Then I found Program, and I started to grow up. Within the first two months of giving up flour and sugar and eating weighed and measured meals, I began to get clear enough to see that my life, up until that moment, had been completely unmanageable. One day, I realized that it just wasn’t appropriate to wear pajama pants at times other than when I was actually in my bedroom. I started to feel uncomfortable if I didn’t brush my teeth every night. I cleaned my room, learned to make my bed, and even bought an ironing board. I made an appointment for a checkup, and went to the dentist for the first time in seven years.

Now I’m able to do all kinds of things that I never thought possible. There are little miracles, like getting my pants tailored, flossing regularly, and writing thank-you cards. And there are big miracles, like buying a new car, finally investing in a 401K, and showing up for my friends and family. Three-and–a-half years after joining Program, I’m finally beginning to feel like a grown-up. I’ve had to take off my pajamas and “put on my big girl pants.” Thanks to FA, and the 72 pounds I’ve lost since joining the program, they fit pretty well.