I’m grateful to be here today, and I’m grateful to be abstinent another day at a time. My story is one of a good childhood but also one of frustration, like many people have, and a life of contented sobriety today that I’m very grateful for. Coming into the program gave me an opportunity to look back over my life. My top weight was 210 pounds, and I’m 80 pounds lighter than that. I weigh about 130 pounds and have for close to eight years. I have about eight and a quarter years of abstinence, truly a day at a time.
I was born the sixth child in a warm and loving family in Northern California, the baby of the family. My oldest brother was 12 years older than me, so there were a lot of kids in a short period of time. My mom was 40 when I was born, so I had an older mother for that era, and looking back, she really did have food issues that I inherited and followed after her. I was born a large baby, over ten pounds, and was fed formula made from canned milk and sugar, and sometimes sugar water. Evidently, I enjoyed it, and that pattern stayed with me for a lifetime.
My childhood was full of happy chaos. We were given a moral and religious upbringing, and I have strong memories of food around family life—the dinner bell, sitting around the long table with a blue and white checkered tablecloth, my dad at the head, my mom next to him, and me in my high chair. My parents cut up my food and cared for me, while I watched the rest of the family interact. One sister would always tell a story about a little fly, and we would all laugh. I was more of a quiet observer than a troublemaker or tattletale.
As my older siblings grew up, went to college, or got married, I never quite got that limelight at the table, but I always remembered the warmth and love associated with family meals. That feeling is what I relate to food: contentment, security, and trust. Even though we were poor, Mom would stretch food as far as she could, often going down to local markets for specials. My brother and I would sometimes sneak Jell-O packets from storage, eat sugar behind the sofa, and feel guilty when caught—early experiences of sneaking and shame around food.
From a very young age, I associated food with comfort. I remember walking through neighborhoods collecting bottles to turn in for pennies to buy candy. I learned to be crafty and sneaky about getting what I wanted, and the enjoyment of food as a reward or escape was instilled early. At school, I often felt academically lost and socially awkward. I didn’t know how to ask for help and thought I was fundamentally dumb. Coming home from school, I turned to food for comfort, finding it was always there and dependable. The relief I felt from eating was like stepping into a hot tub after being in cold air—temporary comfort that masked deeper struggles.
Puberty was another difficult time. I was a late bloomer, still wearing pigtails while my peers began dating and developing socially. I was a tag-along and often felt like I didn’t belong, turning to food for consolation. Food became my constant companion through fear, sadness, and a sense of isolation.
In high school, I remained socially inept, had a few friends mostly for complaining, and saw others having fun while I felt awkward and unattractive. Sports gave me some confidence, but I continued to rely on food for comfort. In college, I experienced a fresh start. With a new look, some confidence, and more freedom, I became an overachiever, holding multiple leadership roles in organizations. Alongside this, I continued to struggle with food, gaining and losing weight repeatedly.
Marriage brought new challenges. By 22, I had three children very close in age, and the weight I gained with pregnancies was difficult to lose. Some mainstream diets became temporary fixes, but the yo-yo cycle continued. I tried every diet, exercise, and motivation seminar I could find, but nothing worked long-term. I spent money and energy on temporary solutions, always hoping for a permanent fix.
My first marriage was also a source of resentment and struggle. I blamed others and turned to food for comfort. Counseling helped me see that leaving the marriage was necessary. Later, I remarried, and though it took effort, we built a successful family life together, having three daughters. Throughout, food remained a focus, both in care and in excess, but recovery eventually changed that.
Joining FA was life-changing. Initially, I resisted the idea of meetings, but when I finally started attending, even with a tiny group, I saw hope. I got a sponsor, learned to commit my food honestly, and gradually understood my addiction. Today, after eight years, I maintain my weight, enjoy better health, and have freedom around food. Physical improvements are remarkable—joints no longer ache, rosacea is gone, and I have energy to play with my grandchildren.
Recovery has given me more than a healthy body—it has given me connection, spirituality, and relationships. I have learned to give and take in marriage, be the parent I want to be, and be the grandmother I always wished for. I am grateful for sobriety, for the program, for sponsors, and for the opportunity to share this story. Recovery is ongoing, but every day I experience joy, freedom, and gratitude for a life transformed.