I always resented being fat. I never fully accepted responsibility for what I put in my mouth and how it showed up on my body. All my life I had been told that I was “statuesque,” “big-boned,” and had “child-bearing hips.” My mother was overweight, and so was her mother, and I was told that heavy women run in our family. It really didn’t seem to me as though I could do anything about my weight. So I ate to numb the pain of the rough hand life had dealt me.

At age 55, standing 5’7” tall and weighing around 270 pounds, I really resented the doctor telling me I was morbidly obese, that the knee replacement surgery I had hoped for to cure my arthritis could not be done unless I lost some weight, that I was pre-diabetic, and probably had sleep apnea. I also suffered from a litany of other medical issues. I envisioned living another 30 years in a deteriorating body. Life seemed hopeless.

I received a letter from an acquaintance who used to be the same size I was. She included a photo, showing her trim, size-8 body, and a brilliant smile, and I wanted what she had. Well, she had undergone bariatric surgery. Both of her older sisters had surgery in earlier years and had moderate-to-severe complications, but she said that there was a new, less invasive procedure.

A month later, at significant cost, I had 80% of my stomach removed. I was willing to go to any lengths to have someone else remove my weight problem. The weight came off, and in five months I lost 92 pounds and dropped from a size 24 to a size 8. That was success as far as I was concerned. My goal had been to lose 100 pounds and get into a size 10. So, I resumed eating calorie-laden desserts and consuming alcohol. Without the body weight to absorb my previous quantities, I regularly found myself passed out on the floor at 4 a.m., in a sheer panic about what I had said, done, or emailed during my blackout. I didn’t want to be an alcoholic, any more than I wanted to have a weight problem.

I made an appointment at a chemical dependency facility and, as God would have it (and no, I had no spiritual belief at the time), my intake nurse was in FA. When she learned about my surgery, she told me that they see a lot of bariatric surgery patients who lose control over alcohol when they can no longer take in the quantities of food they want.

I started the alcohol program a couple of days later and was blessed with an immediate cessation of the compulsion to drink. But within two weeks, my obsession for food was whipping me badly. With a four-ounce stomach and a four-pound appetite, I was a miserable addict. One day I found myself shoveling fistfuls of snack items into my mouth every time one more minute passed on the clock, until I was in tremendous physical pain and misery. I drove to the treatment facility and asked the nurse, who had told me about FA, when the next meeting was.

That was 31 months ago, and I’ve been blessed with back-to-back abstinence for 22 months.  Instead of regaining all my weight, I lost more, stabilizing at around 130 pounds and a size 4. I’ve been that size now for more than two years and I love it!

I no longer take any medications. And this program also cured the part of me I didn’t know was sick and starved: my spiritual body. I am often asked where I found my passion for this program. Once I stopped trying to analyze and negotiate my way through, and started relinquishing my grip on my old way of thinking, the program worked for me in ways I could never have imagined.

I thank my higher power every day for abstinence and sobriety. With all that new space in my head that used to be filled with food thoughts, I am now a willing member of the FA community, gladly working my tools and serving others whenever the opportunity arises.