Open to All
Ihave been a Type 2 diabetic since I was 25 years old. At 23 I was a gestational diabetic when pregnant with my daughter and taking insulin injections. My whole family had diabetes. My father was an American aircra! engineer who was an alcoholic and died on the streets at age 47. Alcoholism is also part of my family history. My father’s mother died in her forties from alcoholism. I had a half-brother who killed himself when he got into drugs and had a mental illness.
As a child, my siblings and I were not allowed "our and sugar items except for special occasions. Life was chaotic. My mother worked full-time and we were le! alone before and a!er work. I craved security, order, and acceptance. I was told from a young age to watch my eating because of diabetes and to watch my drinking because of alcoholism in the family. I became part of A.A. I le! home when I was 16.
When I was 51, I weighed 170 pounds at 5 feet, 2 inches tall. I struggled with my diet, identity, and self-worth. I tried commercial diets, a cabbage diet, a no-sugar diet, "our replacement diets, restricting my food, exercising, drinking more alcohol, and smok-
ing. Nothing worked to stop the overeating. My late husband died of a heart attack at 47 and my sister had gastric sleeve surgery; she had several heart attacks since she turned 49. My husband and sister used to ask, "Why can't you just have one piece of a sugar thing?”
My weight would yoyo up and down. I had di erent-sized clothes in my cupboard. I could lose weight and reach a goal and then I would put the weight back on again. I knew not to touch certain types of foods that would set o cravings and hunger. At times I used food to make me feel better. I hated myself. I hated how I looked in my clothes and how I felt. I isolated and was miserable.
My diabetes was at its worst just before I came into FA. I was working full-time in a stressful job and stopped attending A.A. meetings. I felt helpless and hopeless. I knew I was killing myself but didn't know what to do.
I came into FA in December 2017 when someone at an A.A. meeting said she was a food addict. I knew I was one, too, because I could not stop eating when I picked up certain foods. It was similar to my drink-
ing.
I decided to attend a small FA meeting on the central coast of New South Wales in Australia. ree people were there, and I listened to what they said about trying it for 90 days. I thought I could do that. I understood the principles of Twelve Step recovery and was willing to see if it helped with food.
I found a sponsor and she told me I would lose weight. She gave me hope. My head argued about getting up early and making calls, taking quiet time, going to meetings, journaling, and praying. ose early days were di cult. I was tired and had a headache for a week coming o ca einated co ee, sugar, and "our. It was hard getting into a routine with my food prep. I was also scared of my sponsor and didn't dare do anything to displease her. Despite this, I felt it was such a blessing to have that daily 15-minute call with her. By 90 days I had lost enough weight for me to see that it was working. My head stopped arguing and I was using the tools as part of my daily plan of actions for recovery. I was grateful for the support and network I found in FA. I didn't feel alone anymore, and I found many friends in the fellowship. I felt accepted. I had found a
Higher Power in A.A. and that relationship grew.
For two years I have weighed about 110 pounds. I talk to people all over the world using internet calling apps, am studying the Twelve Steps, and have sponsees. I am o all the diabetic medications I took for 12 years and have come o my cholesterol meds.
I felt helpless and hopeless. I knew I was killing myself but didn't know what to do.
I love that this program is for everyone. FA welcomes people with diabetes or other medical issues, those from different cultures, and people living in many countries around the world. I have learned tolerance, inclusiveness, love, faith, and how to identify my feelings.
I am a night nurse, and this doesn’t have to a ect my recovery. I am aware that, when I am tired, food sometimes comes to mind and I need to sleep instead of eating. I work part-time so I have time to take care of myself, something I never did before coming to FA. My meals are normally prepared days ahead and, most of the time, I am neutral with my food. I love my simple food. I am an anxious, nervous person who used to use substances to cope. Now I use my tools and my Higher Power.
Fiona M.,
Australia
Back to Wholeness
Icame to FA more than 20 years ago. Emotionally and spiritually bankrupt, full of self-hatred, guilt, and remorse, I pretended to be okay. I was living a lie. To comfort myself, I ate bags and boxes of junk food. Once I started eating, I could not stop. Physically, I was only 25 pounds overweight, but in every other way, I was dying. I identied with a popular song at the time, “Jeopardy,” by the Greg Kihn band. My life was de nitely in jeopardy.
How could this be? I’d been raised in a stable family where eating three healthy meals a day was the norm. My parents did a wonderful job raising me and my siblings. Life was predictable and secure. What happened to me? A life-threatening disease called food addiction, a robber and killer of all that is good in life. at’s what happened to me. But I didn’t know it yet.
It started early. From the time I was little, I did not want to eat healthy food. I wanted sugar, and there was little of it in our house. So, I started stealing it to get my x. As a teenager, when "our and sugar were no longer delivering the desired relief, I took up cigarettes, wine, and weed. Soon I graduated to more serious drugs. But still, it was the
food that had me by the throat. rough college, getting married, joining the military, and having kids, my disease got worse. Dealing with the demands of being a responsible adult was too much for me. I couldn’t go anywhere without food in my pocket. I secretly stashed food all over my house, in my car, and even at my job. I couldn’t stop eating no matter how many times I tried. Self-loathing was on the rise. So was my weight.
For years I searched for a solution. I prayed, went to church, and tried psychotherapy, yoga, spiritual retreats, and self-help books. Occasionally I used diets and exercise. I knew something was desperately wrong with me. en I met someone in FA. ey invited me to a meeting. Still full of shame, pain, guilt, and remorse, I went. Everything changed for me at that rst meeting. I was welcomed by gracious strangers who were “living in the solution.” ey looked healthy, happy, and, best of all, eager to assure me they were there to help me! By the grace of God, I knew I belonged. I thought, !ere’s a solution for me, too! I had hope.
I did not magically achieve abstinence right away. I had to learn that food addiction is a physical, mental, and spiritual disease. It took
me a couple of years to fully adopt this new way of life. It was initially strange and scary to call a sponsor every morning and talk about myself. I was afraid to use the telephone to connect with fellow food addicts. Being honest with myself and others was a foreign concept. I’d been lying to myself for decades. Now I had to be honest about my food and how I ate, which enabled me to be honest with others.
I no longer hurt myself with food. My life is no longer in jeopardy. I weigh and measure my food honestly three times a day. I get on my knees every morning and ask God to grant me the gi! of another abstinent day. I connect with three FA members by phone every day. What a privilege it is to be invited into people’s lives this way. I attend three meetings a week, including an in-depth study of the Twelve Steps. I take 30 minutes of
quiet time every morning. In the evening before sleep, I read FA literature and, a!er getting on my knees to review my last 24 hours, I thank God for another abstinent day. is program saved my life 20 years ago and continues to do so today. I have been loved back to wholeness by FA. At times it has been challenging doing my program when big things like death, disease, and divorce came into my life. But I’m never alone. My sponsor and fellow FA members know me and understand what is going on in my life because I have gained credibility by being honest and willing to share my life with them. If you are new or struggling, hang in there. Hang on to the life ra! that’s been thrown your way. I am grateful I did. e miracle of being free from eating addictively came true for me. It can for you, too.
Anonymous
Tradition ree: !e only requirement for FA membership is a desire to stop eating addictively.
What principle does FA follow regarding wearing certain attire at meetings, sharing about political alignments or religious a liation, or discussing other individual convictions not directly related to food addiction?
As human beings, we naturally hold our own opinions, convictions, and strong feelings on a range of topics, which we may feel compelled to express through words, by wearing certain T-shirts, pins, or hats, or by displaying backgrounds in virtual meetings. We have to be careful not to alienate food addicts who need our help or incite division between members. It’s important to ensure that our expressions and words do not imply that other members are expected to adopt or share speci c beliefs. We aim to foster inclusivity, not division, online, on the phone, or in person. We refrain from discussing or displaying political, religious, societal, or personal beliefs, including through attire or symbols, to create a welcoming space for all members. Our focus is solely on food addiction and supporting each other in recovery.
What if FA members want a special composition meeting, like an LGBTQ or BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, and People of Color) meeting?
Members of FA have shown interest in holding meetings that include people from speci c groups such as people of color, LGBTQ members, and other marginalized populations. Although men aren't typically considered a marginalized group outside of FA, it's notable that male members are relatively scarce in FA. A special composition meeting does not con"ict with the Traditions as long as it remains open to all members and no one is excluded.
Questions you can ask yourself when considering the principles of Tradition ree: Are there FA members that I don’t want in my group? Do I judge whether a newcomer is sincere or not? Do I let language, religion, race, education, age, ability, gender, sexual orientation, or other such di erences interfere with my carrying the message to the food addict who still su ers? Am I overly impressed by celebrities (doctor, clergyperson, TV personalities, etc.)? Do I treat every newcomer as just another addict trying to get well? Do I judge returning members or those who chronically relapse? Do I judge members based on body size (underweight, average weight, overweight or obese)? Am I willing to help another food addict despite physical appearance or unconventional behavior? Am I committed to helping another su ering food addict even if that person disagrees with me on outside issues?
Pain Relief
Phone calls have not always been my strongest tool, but in FA I’ve learned how vital it is to make at least three daily calls.
A research study that my daughter volunteered for helped me realize the importance of phone calls. As part of the instructions while at the study’s clinic for monitoring, she could use her phone to send and answer texts, but she was not allowed to make or receive phone calls.
When I asked why, I was told that positive phone calls release an increase of endorphins (chemicals from the brain that make you feel good) and that increased endorphins help reduce pain, which could a ect the results of the study.
o my problems, nd out how others have managed similar situations, and helped me focus on something other than the pain.
Now, using every tool every day is so important for my abstinence.
Mentally, I struggle with anxiety and depression, so I pick up the phone and get honest about my feelings. I get ideas about things that can help, and I try to take the next right action to care for myself and my abstinence. ere have been times when a fellow listened to me cry when I talked about my fears, doubts, and insecurities. In recovery, I don’t use my drug to cope, and my life is so much better. I am not using depression as an excuse to eat whatever would make me “feel better.” e tool of the telephone shows me that I am not isolated and no longer feel alone.
I thought about how o!en phone calls have reduced my pain: physical, mental, and spiritual.
I’ve had multiple health problems that resulted in hospitalization and terrible physical pain. At times, I felt miserable and sorry for myself, but when I reached out to an FA member or someone called me, I received strength and hope, and I could think about someone else. Calls helped me take my mind
I grew up religious, but not necessarily spiritual. In this program, I have connected with my Higher Power in ways I never could when food was in the way. When I nd a problem overwhelming, perplexing, or uncomfortable, I reach out to other FA members who gently remind me to turn to my Higher Power for help, to pause and listen for answers, and to let my Higher Power take the driver’s seat. I hear stories of other people’s
spiritual experiences, strength, and hope, and ways to better do my Higher Power’s will. Above all, I know I must keep this spiritual connection with my Higher Power. I call others if I am hungry outside of mealtimes or when I am tempted to take a bite of something.
e most important phone calls I make are to my sponsor. She brings me relief from physical, mental, and spiritual pain by helping me nd the sources of mental struggles. My sponsor reminds me to slow down, so I can listen to my Higher Power. She is the voice of reason for my addict brain, and I am so grate-
ful for her guidance.
I’m not perfect and I struggled during my rst two years in Program. Consequently, every break I had was related to letting tools go, one by one. Now, using every tool every day is so important for my abstinence. I want that contented abstinence I get from doing all my tools. I love all of them, but the tool of telephone is one of my favorites as it helps me get out of isolation, self-pity, and destructive behaviors. I am a grateful recovering food addict, free from physical, mental, and spiritual pain.
Amy
G., Utah, US
LISA N., CAN
Firmer Ground
About one year ago, I began to feel like something was missing from my recovery. I was active in service at many levels, sponsored several people, and doing my tools. I’d been abstinent for 29 years and was free from the constant nibbling that had plagued me all my life. I used to be 50 pounds overweight, hated myself, and was living an unmanageable life until I found the FA program. Since then, many wonderful things have happened, but something was
o
I have always been a busy person; a real Energizer Bunny. I could get a lot done in a day. Several people in FA told me I needed to slow down. I sheepishly admitted to one sponsor that I didn’t know how to do that. She suggested that I walk slower and talk slower. So, I tried. But I never really slowed down. I made lists. I counted activities. I even gave items on my list points and added up the points. I tried all kinds of things to appear to
PAULA K., NY
slow down, but the treadmill of my life became a spinning hamster wheel. I wondered who was in charge, me or my Higher Power. When the leaders asked me what I hoped to get out of my AWOL, I said I’d like to be more God-driven and less me-driven. My brain was so full of things to do that I wasn’t sure there was room for God. I was in trouble.
I eventually got sloppy weighing my food and used a fork with extra salad dressing on it to eat my meal. At rst, I didn’t realize what I was doing, but a!er I did the same thing a few more times, my husband asked me if I needed a clean fork. I looked at the fork, told him no, and proceeded to use that fork to eat my meal. at was the moment I broke my abstinence.
My husband and I went on a hike the next day. As we walked across a pedestrian suspension bridge, he commented that when we stepped down, our feet weren’t landing rmly on the ground. It was at that moment I realized what I had been doing with my dirty fork. I wanted a little more dressing. My disease had been telling me that it didn’t matter. It was just the amount that would be le! on the bottom of the salad bowl. ank you, God, I knew this was wrong thinking. I knew then that if I didn’t go back to day one, my feet wouldn’t be landing on solid ground. With my sponsor’s guidance, I humbly put myself back to day one.
I felt ashamed but I knew it was time to reset and get solid in my recovery. I was
scared that I might not be able to stay abstinent. But with my sponsor's help and the FA fellowship, I have walked back to six months of clean, sane abstinence. My fellowship loved and accepted me and was there for me. At rst, I started counting my days, but someone suggested that I just make each day count. With no service, no sponsees, and no voice in meetings, I began to slow down. My sponsor helped me plan my weighed and measured days. I journaled almost every day and began to recognize my life as unmanageable. I saw that I over-achieved to show that I was enough. I did it so people would need me and like me. I realized I would have to change, if I were to grow spiritually. I needed not only more space in my day, but also more space in my head. I needed times when I wasn’t putting anything in my brain or taking anything out. Just quiet.
Now, I limit my activities. I take breaks between tasks to just be. I o!en spend time in nature and make space for my Higher Power. I am falling in love with my husband all over again. As a result of my slowing down and doing less, I am more content. I have more time to spend with him and realize he is the perfect partner for me. I am thankful to have him in my life.
Six months ago, God did for me what I could not do for myself. I look at my restart as a gi!, a gi! of continued spiritual growth, one day at a time.
Paula K., New York, US
From Red to Green
When I came to FA 16 months ago, my daughter was almost 4 years old, and my son was 18 months. At that time, I appeared to be a great parent. I’d send pictures to family members of my kids while doing exciting activities, practically calling out, “Look at me! I’m a good mom. We even get out of the house!” My in-laws would praise my parenting whenever we visited. But behind closed doors, it was another story. I hated my children.
I take that back. It was me I hated. I hated myself because I was an active addict with no idea I had a deadly disease and needed help. I couldn’t show up for myself, let alone for my kids. Each morning, I would “come to” between 9:00 and 10:00. My kids would be hollering from their locked room, “Mom, we’re hungry! Can we eat breakfast now?” Eventually their yelling would turn into crying and more screaming. “Mommy, are you there? Are you there?”
All I could feel was self-pity, which came out as anger and resentment. ese kids were driving me bonkers. Couldn’t they just shut up so I could get ready for the day? I aimed my anger at them instead of looking inward. I was unable, or unwilling, to ask myself the real question, Why can’t I get out
of bed? As I saw it, staying up until two or three in the morning wasn’t the problem. It was them. Don’t they know Mommy needs nine, not seven, hours of sleep.
A!er feeding my kids breakfast—more like brunch—I couldn’t wait for them to get away from me. My son would go down for his four-to- ve-hour nap right a!er lunch, and my daughter would go to her room for quiet time. When my son woke up, it was time for dinner.
is daily schedule gave me time to be in my addiction. I would eat, read, and watch TV. en I'd nap for several hours. More times than I can count, I’d wake up on the couch with several empty plates around me. en I’d drag myself back to the refrigerator to reload. I didn’t really want more. In fact, I remember begging myself not to go back to the kitchen. But the pleading never worked. I hated myself for what I had already eaten, but I couldn’t stop. As I re"ect on those times, I realize I never actually napped during those sessions; it was more like being numb, in a food coma. e last hour would always end with my daughter crying from her locked room, “Mommy? Mommy! MOMMY!!” Believe it or not, all I could feel was resentment. Can I not even get a moment to myself? I let my daughter cry for
another hour. I still had more eating to do. My heart breaks remembering the sel sh mother I was. But I pray that God never lets me forget that I am just one bite away from being that woman again. We no longer have a “safety” lock on our daughter’s bedroom. I don’t let my son nap past 3:00 pm. My daughter isn’t trapped in her room, making friends with the neighbors through her window. During her quiet time, she is free to roam the house, o!en choosing to color in the dining room while I prepare meals. Or she looks at books from the hammock while I’m on the couch. She likes checking in on me, and I like seeing her. at’s all thanks to having joined FA and opening myself to the gi!s of recovery and a power greater than myself.
Now I wake up at 5:00 am, get on my knees to pray, take my quiet time to meditate, call my sponsor, and receive a call from my sponsee. en I shower and get ready for the day. I no longer start my days with my “hair on re.” At 7:00 am, my children’s night light changes from red to green, and they come running out of their rooms. I swoop each of them up into eight-second hugs. It has become a new family tradition, and I love it. Sometimes, I stretch the hugs to ten seconds!
Coming into FA has given me more than a thin body; it has given me joy in my children. It is everything.
Jillian J., Utah, US
Our common welfare should come rst; personal recovery depends on FA unity.
For our group purpose there is but one ultimate authority – a loving God as He may express Himself in our group conscience. Our leaders are but trusted servants; they do not govern.
The only requirement for FA membership is a desire to stop eating addictively.
Each group should be autonomous except in matters a ecting other groups or FA as a whole.
Each group has but one primary purpose –to carry its message to the food addict who still su ers.
An FA group ought never endorse, nance or lend the FA name to any related facility or outside enterprise, lest problems of money, property and prestige divert us from our primary purpose. Every FA group ought to be fully self-supporting, declining outside contributions.
Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous should remain forever nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ special workers.
FA, as such, ought never be organized; but we may create service boards or committees directly responsible to those they serve.
Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous has no opinion on outside issues, hence the FA name ought never be drawn into public controversy. Our public relations policy is based on attraction rather than promotion; we need always maintain personal anonymity at the level of press, radio and lms.
Anonymity is the spiritual foundation of all our Traditions, ever reminding us to place principles before personalities.
Li !ing the Veil of Denial
Six years ago, I admitted myself to a mental hospital for a three-month in-patient program to treat my eating disorder. It was yet another attempt to find a path to recovery. I thought that I had these uncontrollable junk food binges because I was restricting these foods and viewed them as “bad.” I was told moderation was the key.
Therapy sessions helped me unearth what I thought were the underlying reasons behind my destructive coping mechanisms, and one clear culprit emerged: My identical twin sister. I believed that she also had an eating disorder, though I believed she kept it hidden by meticulously weighing and measuring all her food through the FA program and avoiding flour and sugar. She was convinced that she was “allergic” to these items. How ludicrous , I thought. We share the same genomes, and my blood tests showed no food allergies or intolerances. I saw myself as proof that she was living a lie.
My therapist told me that I should no longer see my twin sister, as being around someone else with an eating disorder could increase my risk of relapse, and this was going to be the case for the rest of my life. This news weighed heavily on me,
and the thought of sharing it with my sister filled me with dread.
The following week, I mustered the courage to call her. As soon as she picked up, I hesitated but then blurted out, “My therapist said I can't see you anymore. It's too triggering for me.” I paused, expecting tears, anger, something dramatic. But she simply asked, “Even at Christmas?” “Yes, even at Christmas,” I responded, bracing myself for an outburst. Her reply was calm, almost serene. “Okay,” she said with a peaceful acceptance that confused and offended me. “Really?” I pressed, “Aren't you even a little bit upset?” Her reply was as baffling as it was profound. “I have full confidence that our Higher Powers will bring us together, and we will get along beautifully when the time is right.”
I was amazed. At that moment, my sister showed wisdom and peace that I could not comprehend. Little did I know, it was her recovery in FA that shaped her serene attitude. I only realized this when I entered the rooms myself.
All this time, I thought she was lying to herself, but eventually, I realized that the one living a lie was me. I was the one in denial. I didn't want to put the food down. I kept judging the members of FA, con-
vincing myself that my way of recovering, trying to eat everything in moderation, was more “pure.” It hadn't worked yet, but I believed it would, and then I'd show everyone that I was better than my twin sister. This misguided belief had consumed me for a decade.
One night, I had what I now recognize as a spiritual experience. The veil of denial was lifted after I had another horrific binge filled with agonizing pain. I am a food addict! These crazy FA people had been right all along. Once I realized I was one of them, I felt joy and hope. There was a solution.
one of my best friends and a fellow in recovery. Our relationship has blossomed into something beautiful and supportive, a stark contrast to the barriers I once erected between us.
Now, just the thought of her warms my heart. Moreover, the principles of FA have extended my capacity for love.
The next day, I got a sponsor in Dublin and even met her face to face, which was another Higher Power miracle, given how small the fellowship is in Ireland. She told me the FA guidelines and gave me a food plan I would start the following day. I have been abstinent since then and am unbelievably grateful for this journey.
Today, my sister is not just my twin but
Twenty-Four Hours A Day reminds us that all fellows are our brothers and sisters. The unconditional love I feel for my sister extends to many others in FA, enriching my life with a profound sense of community and connection.
I am deeply grateful for FA and for the fellowship that has become my tribe. Every day I remind myself that my abstinence is a miracle, and I cherish the memory of that spiritual intervention eight months ago when I realized that I am a food addict. May I never forget that day that changed my life.
Lara S., Dublin, Ireland
XANDRA G., CA
Labor of Love
Iwas pretty much unemployable when I came to FA. I made a great first impression at new jobs. I was enthusiastic and outgoing and had some God-given intelligence, but I always petered out. The year after I graduated from college, I had a long-term temp job at a big, multinational firm in a major metropolitan city. In the first few weeks, they invited me to apply for a full-time permanent position, which did not interest me at the time. After about four months, when springtime came and I wanted to escape the city for the summer as if I were still in college, it was evident that they were not sorry to see me go.
Although I made a great first impression, my work ethic left my supervisors underwhelmed. It was humiliating to leave boxes of unfiled papers under my desk. To this day, I remember my boss saying to me, “You’re not getting your work done, and I think it’s because you’re on the phone all day.” I worked in an open cubicle in a high-traffic area, and I thought it was acceptable to be on the phone with members of my previous Twelve-Step food recovery program. I was really “out to
lunch.”
And speaking of out to lunch, that was another problem for me at that job. The firm's cafeteria offered every imaginable option, and it was almost painful to go there and be incapable of doing anything other than piling my tray high, spending too much money on food that would put me in a semi-coma for the afternoon. I remember a fellow temp saying, “Wow, I can’t believe you’re willing to spend so much money on lunch.” I had a sinking feeling when I heard that. Of course, I had no choice. I could not resist the food. I would be half asleep at my desk for the rest of the afternoon, struggling to stay alert. As the end of the day neared, I would kick into high gear and try to power through some of the things I had left undone. Secretly, my motivation was to stay late so the firm would pay for a cab ride home after a certain hour. More importantly, the firm paid for the employees’ dinner. You can imagine how I took advantage of that perk! I remember a managing director coming out of his office late one evening and expressing surprise at my presence in the office. My job was
not very demanding and I could have easily completed my duties during normal business hours, but I convinced myself and tried to convince him that I had extra work that warranted my presence that evening and many other evenings. When I came to FA, so much changed, including my work behavior. In my new job, I earned an hourly rate that was half of what I’d been making at the big firm, working a simple job at a hardware store in my small hometown. It was manageable and supported my recovery. I had a short lunch break and I left on time to go to my FA meetings at the end of my shift. It was humbling working there, which was so beneficial. I saw people from my youth in the store buying supplies for homes they were building or a business they were running. These were the people I had looked down on because of my fancy college degree. I welcomed the humility of acknowledging to myself and others that my disease had robbed me of my capacity to fully function in the world. My recovery from food addiction was top priority at that time. I welcomed the reminder of “first things first” and that my ego had to go.
Of course, my life improved. After about eight months of abstinence and considerable weight loss, I got a new fulltime salaried job. Although my income was modest, I loved the work and enjoyed it for many years, moving to positions of increasing responsibility.
I have come to see that the urge to work is as powerful as my compulsion to eat.
Sadly, in ways I can identify now but couldn’t see at the time, I began to let my work life encroach on my recovery. It started slowly, like working late and eating dinner late because I wanted to finish a task, or coming in early in the morning to get a jumpstart on the day. Sometimes I skipped an FA fellowship dinner to finish one more thing, using the excuse of a faster commute after the peak traffic rush ended as justification. I was late for FA meetings because I was scrambling to prepare for a business trip early the next morning. But the biggest change happened after my daughter was born, and I took a managerial position I thought would create more work-life balance. It meant no more travel, which was important as the mother of an infant. However, it demanded more responsibility and stress than I’d imagined and my response was, sadly, to work harder and longer.
A few months into my tenure at that job, the pandemic hit, and I lost some of the important anchors in my life, including inperson FA meetings. In retrospect, I see that’s when I went off the rails. Over the next couple of years, it was not uncommon for me to wake at midnight or two a.m., after only four or five hours of sleep, and go to my computer and work for two or three hours before taking quiet time and sponsee calls. I have some regretful memories from that time, of being out of the house for 12 to 14 hours on weekdays, seeing my baby daughter only briefly before she fell asleep at night. I always wanted to be a mom, and I was so grateful to give birth at age 42. And yet, I was giving up so much time with my daughter because of my absolute terror about not measuring up in my job.
Meanwhile, we were having success after success on my work team, but it all turned to ashes. Thank God, I did not get back into the food, but my sanity and recovery were hanging by a thread. When outside circumstances necessitated me to find a new sponsor, I took a hard look at my situation and chose someone I knew would take seriously the danger I was in. Slowly, over the next three years, I retrained myself and recommitted daily to living with my recovery first, my family second, and my job third. It is not perfect; that’s why I
continue to talk about it at meetings and on phone calls. But I have seen tremendous growth, and it has been so rewarding.
I rarely work on weekends now, though my job occasionally requires evenings out. I counter that by taking advantage of days I can leave early or at least right on time to take my young daughter home for an early dinner.
Part of the reason I’m writing about this is because work continues to be a potential compulsion for me. My fear of failure and inadequacy are certainly at the heart of it. I have come to see that the urge to work is as powerful as my compulsion to eat. I get so focused I seem to “blackout” when I’m working. Time goes by without me realizing it. Even if people are in the same room, I disconnect from them. I'm not yet out of the woods, but I’m filled with hope that I now recognize this behavior and can ask God for help to put boundaries around my work life.
I am the primary income earner in our home. I am amazed and grateful that I have the capacity to contribute in this way to my family. But I know it can all go away in the blink of an eye if I eat, and I know that overworking will bring me back to the food. So, I pray today, as I do many days, to trust that I am enough, I have enough, and I do enough.
Anonymous
Believe It!
“Are those my pants?” asked my small eightyear-old grandson as he helped me fold the laundry. “No” I said, “they’re mine.”
Can you believe it? This little fella had mistaken my tiny size 0 pants for his own! That never would have happened 20 years ago when I was wearing size 2X.
Thank you, FA, for allowing me to live in a healthy, right-size body!
Melody E., California, US
Ar t, News, & Clues
We present to you, a full color April art view!
ATTENTION! ATTENTION! Join us at Convention! Your day’s feeling like a hurdle? Take a break with a Wordle!
ANNA B., NM
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, courage to change the things I can, and wisdom to know the di erence.
