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An Act of Hope

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When I walked into the rooms of Overeaters Anonymous, hope felt like a possibility, a possibility of a better life. I’d been bottling up all my feelings again; my mom had recently passed away and my wife and I had just moved into the South Bay area. Fear, anger, and sadness were churning inside me, and I did what I always did—I ate. So, coming to OA was an act of hope. At one of my very first meetings, I saw a person cry about feeling helpless over food. Hugs were given and feelings were validated. I was awestruck at

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