When I weighed 275 pounds I would lie in bed and say to myself that I would do anything to be thin. Today I realize that my “anything” is working my FA program. Yes, there are moments when I think how nice it would be to stay in bed and not be up before dawn.  There are cold nights when all I want to do is curl up on the sofa and watch television, not go out to an FA meeting.  When I have those thoughts, however, I think them through. Because I know that even though I have lost 125 pounds and proudly wear a size six, I am still a food addict and only one bite away from being off to the races and putting those 125 pounds back on.

Even though I didn’t start to visibly wear my disease until I was in my late 30s, I’ve been a food addict all my life. As a young child, I memorized the eating times of my neighbors, knowing that if I showed up at my friends’ houses at the appropriate time, I’d likely be invited to have dinner with them. I spent summers and after-school hours cruising for food. My best friend for a while was the girl whose family owned the corner store. I honestly didn’t like her that much, but the perks of the friendship were too hard for me to resist. As a teenager, at parties I’d be more interested in the food than the people. I’d watch to see who was eating more than their share and wonder if there would be enough for me. If a dinner food was put on a table for a group, instantly I’d know which piece was the largest and I’d try and make sure I got it. I was on food patrol all of my waking hours.

Food addiction has been a progressive disease for me. For a good part of my life I was able to ignore it because I was in a right-sized body. However, each year it got worse, and to my dismay, I kept getting bigger and bigger. I kept thinking there had to be some magic words or some treatment somewhere that could stop me from wanting to stuff myself until I was sick. I pondered why such a basic problem had no solution.

Very sadly, my 18-year-old nephew was killed in a car accident three years ago. My journey to deal with the grief of losing him made me seek grief counseling. At the conclusion of my sessions, I spontaneously raised the issue of my weight and how desperate I was. My nephew’s death had also made me realize what a precious gift life is, and that I was quietly killing myself with food. The counselor suggested FA. Even though it took me a long time to surrender, I knew from the first meeting that I was in the right place and with people who spoke my language.

Now, rather than waking up each morning and beginning my day by beating myself up for not being able to stop eating, I instead awaken, get on my knees, thank my higher power for the previous day’s abstinence, and ask for help in staying abstinent for the day. I am grateful that I have found my “anything.”