In my young life, I was the one who was seen as the problem. If I was uncomfortable, I spoke up. My family did not want to hear it. I turned to the food for the comfort and nurturing that was absent at home. If I was afraid of getting my share, I complained, and did so loudly. When I wanted more, I spoke up. If I didn’t get what I wanted by asking, I found another way to get it. 

One time, as a teenager, my family overheard me talking in my sleep, saying “I want extra!” At the time, it was a big joke to them, but a humiliation to me. Now I know that I was a food addict then, just as much as I am now. I had no idea when enough was enough. This was true with the food, but also with anything else that I thought would bring me pleasure. If some was good, more had to be better. Of course, that was not the reality of the situation. But the belief that it was true kept me on a never-ending cycle of trying to get the good feelings, only to find myself disappointed and often humiliated, over and over again. 

I was the heaviest one in my family and, as I mentioned, the problem child. I remember being deeply insulted when I was passed over for positions of responsibility within the family. As was true in primary school, I was the last one picked for the team. I felt the world was an unfair place, and that I was its biggest victim. I did not see how my behavior and addiction had a natural consequence… that people did not trust me. 

Because I was so extreme in my addiction, I hit a bottom when I was pretty young. I knew, beyond a doubt, that I needed help. Thank goodness I had people in my life who took me to my first Twelve-Step program. The people at the meeting were so friendly and welcoming that I wanted to return, and I did. With that warm introduction to Twelve-Step recovery, I found my way to another Twelve-Step program, then another, and another. 

I learned a lot and met many nice people, but the day came when I realized I needed the same help with my food that I had received for other things. After a lot of resistance on my part, I finally made it to an FA meeting. It was here that I found the fellowship I craved. I found fellows who understood the problem and offered a solution that worked. I could see physical evidence in the lives of others, and I knew it could work for me too. 

With abstinence and working the tools and steps, my life has been transformed. I now know how much is enough. I know what is mine and what is not mine. I weigh and measure my food, my life, and all that comes along with it. I am in a normal-sized body and have been maintaining this weight release for a number of years. I no longer am seen as the problem in my family. Now, I have become a stabilizing presence for those I love. Living life on this basis, I have been able to face and abstinently move through difficult situations that I could not have handled before. 

A few years ago, my father’s alcoholism caught up with him. He had a terminal diagnosis and was rushed into surgery. I rearranged my work schedule, packed some food, and started the 10-hour drive to my parents’ winter home. My mother was completely overwhelmed. My father insisted on leaving the hospital before he had recovered or regained his mobility. Despite the drama, I went to a grocery store, got what I needed, and weighed and measured my food. I packed my meals so that I could have exactly what I needed at the hospital. 

After returning home, my father got up in the middle of the night and started drinking. He quickly lost all ability to care for himself. In the traumatic scene that followed, he demanded that my small, frail mother physically lift him out of bed. She desperately tried to do so. The mess was unimaginable. He refused to return to the hospital. My mother was completely baffled. Thanks to the spiritual practices of our program, I knew what needed to be done and I did it. I called the ambulance and he was returned to the hospital. I ate my weighed and measured meal, and then took Mom to see him. 

My father could not imagine a life without drinking alcohol and passed on in a matter of weeks. I was there for both my parents throughout that time, weighing and measuring my food, working the tools of the program, and showing up for whatever life had to offer each day. 

In the days, weeks, and months following his death, I continued to be present as a support for my mother as she navigated through her grief and the overwhelming tasks which lay before her. Thanks to recovery, I was able to feel my feelings and get the support I needed to process my own grief. 

Now, years later, my Mom seems to be approaching the end of her life. Although her physical health is fairly good, her memory has been failing. This is presenting a whole new set of problems for me to navigate. And still, this program supports me in taking care of my needs with the tools and steps. As I do what I need to do for myself, I know that I am able to show up in a much more loving and compassionate way than would have otherwise been possible. 

Through recovery and these family experiences, I have become the trusted family member who can handle things that others do not feel equipped to do. I know I cannot do it all. I step back when I need to let others take the lead and, through it all, I weigh and measure my food, my life, my tools, and my recovery. 

It is not always an easy life, but I am grateful – for our program, this freedom from food addiction, and the sure knowledge that I can stay abstinent, no matter what.