Recovery Gold

For me, the disease of compulsive eating is like the best friend you love to death and stick with no matter what, until you notice she is crazy, hurts you, lets you down, and doesn’t give you the support you once got from her. Then it hurts so much that you want a “friend divorce,” but you also can’t believe you’re considering life without her. For me, it was the relentless, negative feelings that broke me. I hoped I could feel okay without her, but part of me didn’t want to even try. I thought nothing would ever feel like the good times with her.

I hoped for recovery but had sixteen years of not taking it seriously. I was only willing to do so much and would relapse on purpose if I felt too vulnerable. I was scared of disappearing down a black hole of negative feelings. I didn’t understand that while the food was bringing short hits of “good” feelings, it also caused negative feelings that sat like a depressing blanket over my life.

In the end, it was my desperation to escape this way of living that helped me give recovery a real go. Looking out over rooftops one night, I realized if my neighbors could feel emotions and survive, then maybe my emotions wouldn’t drown me. In that moment, I promised I would give everything to my recovery. I would stick with it long enough to allow it to work. If I needed help, I would get help and not food.

That was twelve years ago, and I have not had to return to compulsive eating. I have found freedom from the food:

• I have a food plan that I don’t have to deviate from, whatever emotions may come. I end each meal without feeling grief that it’s finished or wondering how long until the next meal.
• If my world falls apart, I feel safe that I won’t resort to food.
• When I bake for my son, my trigger foods don’t call to me. They’re just not my foods.
• I am free to eat something “unhealthy” without compensating by undereating or eating “super healthy” at my next meal.
• I’m not frightened that food will make me fat overnight.
• I don’t spend a lot of time in front of the mirror, and I haven’t weighed myself in six months.
• I don’t lie to myself about food.
• I can eat at restaurants and friends’ houses and use program skills to stay abstinent.
• I don’t believe the lie anymore that food can fix anything in my life, except hunger.

I’ve also found freedom from self hatred. Before recovery:

• If people treated me badly, I thought I deserved it.
• I used to scuttle away from people I respected because I was ashamed of myself.
• I used to act cheerful, but I could keep it up for only a short time. If someone wanted more time with me, I ran away terrified.
• I used to shy away from responsibility, but I also couldn’t say no and would hide my opinions.
• I had a constant, dreadful feeling that something terrible was going to happen.

I was lonely because all these ways of behaving were about hiding who I really was. But how could I be myself? If I was honest I would say “Help me. I’m miserable. I’m stuck. I’m tired. I don’t know what to do.” That’s not fun in a new friend!

That self-hatred held me back in every area of my life, including my choice of friends, boyfriends, and jobs, and the repeating problems I attracted with people and situations. And every time I felt it, food was there to mop up the mess.

But food isn’t evil; it is inanimate. It can’t be kind, or wipe my tears, or show unconditional love, or share tools for coping with life.

Now, I’m honest about who I am, how I feel, what I think, what I want to do. My insides match my outsides, and I feel okay. I feel hints of self-respect and pride for things I’ve done. I run a mile away from people who make me feel bad or play games. I look people in the eye. Sometimes, I feel “less than,” but it’s rarer.

The things I say to myself are usually kind. I can get triggered into being mean to myself, but this is uncomfortable, and I have the Tools and Steps to help me notice, address, and change this.

I listen to my HP’s guidance, that soft voice in my heart, and live by it. My HP’s voice has led me to build a beautiful marriage, to be present for our son, and to strike out for the career that I always wanted. My HP leads me towards my real path, which makes me happy. Sometimes, I feel a pure, honest sense of well-being. That’s gold.

Life without the food was scary at first. The OA program has been the solution to that fear. I’ve found it’s possible to walk away from my complex relationship with food and be happier without it—not at first, but after a while of using the program. And I have to choose it:

• I have to be willing to go to any lengths to protect my recovery.
• I have to put recovery first in my life.
• I have to be unconditional about recovery. I can’t say, “I’ll try, but if I feel bad I’ll go back to the food.” I will feel bad, and it’s those times I get to practice what I can do to feel better. That makes the world a little less scary, and the food more redundant. It’s proof I didn’t need food to resolve a situation. And if I can solve that once, I can solve it again and again.
• I have to be willing to do uncomfortable things, like telephoning people, going to meetings, listening to sponsors, building a relationship with a Higher Power, and letting people in.
• I have to surround myself with people who have what I want. OA is not a social club; I have to show others who I really am and get help for it.
• I have to take action to get better. I can’t think myself better.
• I have to be willing to take suggestions. Suggestions that were gold for me at the beginning were: get a sponsor; commit to a home group and attend meetings, especially when I don’t feel like it; look for what service I can give to that group; break my isolation and let the group members in; and work the Tools, Steps, Traditions, and slogans.

It sounds like a lot, but apart from time at meetings, it takes me about fifteen minutes a day. When I think of the time I spent bingeing, starving, thinking about it, or thinking about my body, there was nothing of me left.

I’m so grateful OA is giving me the ability to live a normal life, even with an incurable illness. I never knew life was so rich and enjoyable! When I look back on that old friendship, I see how the pleasure was empty, lonely, and over in a minute. I’m so grateful to be free, to live with real, lasting, and satisfying joy and peace. Most of all, I’m grateful that when things are hard, I have a wealth of tools to deliver me safely back to peace.

— Hilary S., New Zealand