I am a from California and China. I came into FA in the fall of 2007, almost 13 years ago. I’ve been abstinent for a little over five years, and before that I spent eight years in and out of the program, doing it my own way. I was upset at what I saw as problems in FA and wanted to focus on fixing them. I do not wish those first eight years on anyone. They were confusing and painful, and I wasn’t getting anywhere. My disease kept my thinking going in circles.
When I came into FA 13 years ago, I was probably around 190 pounds, though I had stopped weighing myself. I’m 5’8”, tall for a Chinese woman. Today I’m about 144 pounds, still carrying a little baby weight after giving birth seven months ago. I lost about 45–50 pounds. At the time, I didn’t think I was overweight. I thought my problems were my parents, my mother, Chinese history, the Cultural Revolution, World War II, political movements. I wondered why I wasn’t already a talk-show host, or the Bill Gates or Oprah Winfrey of China. I wanted to be rich and famous—starting with famous, which I believed would bring wealth. I had it all figured out, but no idea how to get there.
Growing up, no one called out food problems in me, but my mother said I had a “flower item head” because I could consume a whole pot of a certain food as a baby. I was praised for having good taste—able to tell branded candy from generic instantly. My food addiction didn’t become obvious until I was 29 or 30. Looking back at photos from different times—especially around my parents’ divorce when I was 18—I can see I had gained weight. I must have been eating unconsciously, especially when stressed or heartbroken, but I have no memory of it.
When I turned 30, I had my first child and fell into deep postpartum depression and anxiety. Old hurts and resentments resurfaced. My mom came to help with the baby, but we argued constantly. Years of accumulated resentment erupted. Even after she left, I kept eating. I would eat from morning until night. Every 15 or 20 minutes I would think of something I never processed—some old resentment—feel the surge of anger or anxiety, and go to the refrigerator for flour and sugar. Eating made the feelings drop temporarily, but they returned within minutes.
I ruminated all day. I couldn’t break the cycle. It made me angry, made me want to act out, made me want to change everything: where I lived, my family, my career. I regretted my MBA and the money I spent on it. I felt stuck, hopeless, broke, with a new baby and no future. I blamed America. I missed my old career in China. Everything seemed wrong, and because I didn’t know how to change the past, I thought I had no future—and that I should die. I had suicidal thoughts, like hitting a wall or oncoming car. I believed my life had ended at 30. I thought my parents failed to give me emotional skills, and it was too late to learn.
I tried everything: religious organizations, praying multiple times a week, reading religious texts for hours a day, kneeling, crying. Nothing eased the resentment. I tried techniques for anger release—pounding pillows, ripping phone books, hitting padded walls with inflatable bats. I wrote long lists of resentments and tried to “turn them around,” but I had over 120 of them, each taking an hour. It was overwhelming.
At church groups, I kept eating from snack bowls until the leader pulled me aside and told me the food was for everyone. She asked whether I thought I had a problem with eating. That question may have saved my life.
By then, I was about 185–190 pounds, wearing men’s sweatpants and T-shirts, my hair short, walking with a snapping-hip problem that made me waddle. From behind, my husband and I looked like two men walking together. I didn’t look like a woman. I couldn’t stay organized. I couldn’t consistently keep my laundry or underwear clean. I hid dirty underwear under mattresses. When anxious, I picked my nose and smeared it under tables. I was disgusted with myself, yet fantasized about being an elegant talk-show host. My life didn’t fit together—messy hygiene, chaotic mind, constant eating—paired with delusions of grandeur.
I justified my eating with magazine articles about sugar improving mood. I told myself I was lifting my mood, not addressing resentment. But the truth was addiction and dependence.
In religious settings, people said to “give the problem to God,” but I couldn’t feel relief. I would strike inflatable figures screaming that God didn’t love me because He hadn’t taken away my resentment. I tried therapy in the U.S. and China, though we were living on about $1,100 a month. Religious organizations sometimes donated money for therapy. But the therapy I received encouraged breaking commitments and “living for yourself,” which left me even more directionless.
I had an identity crisis. I had been a professional woman in China, but when I came to the U.S. at 24 on a dependent visa, I wasn’t allowed to work. I felt worthless. Other international wives went to community college, but I insisted I had to attend an Ivy League–level school so I could be on television or become a tech CEO. I ended up at a school five hours away from where my husband was doing his PhD. He flew twice a month to see me because I couldn’t handle the coursework alone. I struggled with math and was socially awkward. My time-management skills were nonexistent. I stayed up late constantly, fell behind my cohort, felt inadequate at social events, and compared myself negatively to everyone.
By the end of the MBA program, I had a nervous breakdown. I had convinced myself I was doing it for my mother, to buy her a big house and make her proud—but really it was me, projecting and blaming. After graduating, I couldn’t find a job. I was depressed, overwhelmed, and couldn’t even use the year-long work visa option. I fantasized about doing simple jobs like sweeping floors. I didn’t know how to live in the middle. Everything for me was either the easiest or the most prestigious.
I got pregnant because I didn’t know what else to do. Pregnancy gave me an excuse to eat anything I wanted. But after giving birth, the panic returned. I didn’t know how to care for a baby when I couldn’t even manage my laundry. When my mom left again, the depression deepened.
I wandered the streets thinking everyone I passed had a better life. I got lost driving because my head told me to do three things simultaneously—gym, grocery store, laundry—and I couldn’t decide. I often pulled over in confusion. I didn’t understand “start and finish.” FA eventually taught me that skill.
I sought healing everywhere—workshops, books, affirmations, mirror work. I read endlessly. I was desperate.
One day, buying vitamins, I complimented an employee on her figure. She showed me a photo of herself 100 pounds heavier just a year before. She told me she attended meetings where people shared their fears and got 15-minute sponsor calls each morning. What I heard was, “free help,” compared to the therapy I couldn’t afford. I went to a meeting and lost some weight quickly, but dismissed the program. I thought I was different—Chinese, educated, not “that overweight.” I believed I knew better. I was in denial for 10 years.
Eventually, I met a fellow who traveled to Beijing from Australia, and the way he spoke about the program stunned me. His clarity, gratitude, and groundedness were unlike anything I’d seen. I followed him, took down every number he gave me, and listened. After he left Beijing, he helped me find a sponsor who worked the program the way it was designed.
I had no idea what I was getting into. Early recovery was hard. I was exhausted, sensitive to light and noise, and overwhelmingly emotional. Thoughts flooded me: doubts about abstinence, fears, cultural excuses, urges to see therapists or quit. Every day I called people with long-term abstinence asking whether I really had to stay abstinent and how it could possibly help me get a house, a car, or a talk-show career—my old obsessions.
People simply told me: just stay abstinent today. You can pursue whatever you want after 90 days. Keep calling. Trust the process.
So I did. Every day felt like starting over. I asked people to send photos because I felt alone, the only one doing this in a country of 1.5 billion people. It felt like a cult at times, but people reassured me to just stay abstinent.
I eventually obtained the literature, learned to buy MP3 recordings, and began calling fellows across time zones—from the U.S. to South Africa to Europe to Australia. I resisted spending money on anything recovery-related, but with guidance, I invested in the tools that saved my life.
FA saved my marriage. We did not get divorced. It saved my ability to be a mother, and it allowed me to reconnect with my parents and relatives. I was there when my grandmother passed away, staying with her for three weeks without spiraling into chaos. I’m still capable of feeling overwhelmed, but this program brought me back to center. I am deeply grateful.
Through FA, I learned how to live with structure, start and finish tasks, and handle life’s challenges without compulsively eating. The program taught me honesty, discipline, and humility. I now understand that my previous obsession with being the best, wealth, and fame only fueled my addiction. Abstinence, daily inventory, and following the program step by step became the foundation for true recovery.
I realized that being a food addict is not about appearance, nationality, or intellect. It’s about behavior and thought patterns that no amount of willpower, education, or external achievement can fix. For years, I tried to fix myself through therapy, religious practices, education, or self-help books—but nothing worked until I admitted my addiction and followed the program consistently.
Recovery is not a short-term solution. It requires persistence, community, and a willingness to do the work every single day. Early abstinence was physically and emotionally difficult. I experienced withdrawal, exhaustion, and heightened sensitivity, but gradually, I began to regain clarity, strength, and self-respect. I learned to rely on the program and on those with long-term recovery, building a support system that guides me to make better decisions every day.
The program gave me freedom from obsessive thinking, relief from compulsive eating, and a path to emotional stability. I am now able to enjoy my life, focus on my family, and maintain sobriety without being ruled by cravings or resentment. My relationships improved, my health improved, and my outlook on life transformed.
This journey taught me that no external achievement can replace internal work. I am grateful for the guidance, patience, and structure that FA provides. Recovery is a lifelong process, but with honesty, willingness, and consistent action, it is possible to reclaim life, self-respect, and happiness.