I came into this program in September 2002 at 42 years old. I wasn’t expecting to see 43. I wasn’t sure how much I weighed, but when I went to the doctor, the nurse would always write 350 plus on my chart because their scale only went up to 350 pounds. I assumed I weighed 350, but later, when I found a sponsor and a scale that could measure me, I discovered I was well over 430 or 440 pounds.
At that time, I was on two different blood pressure medications. My body and joints ached. I couldn’t walk 20 yards without getting out of breath. I was physically beaten, deeply depressed, full of self-hatred and anxiety, fearful, and isolated. My life was in complete turmoil.
I was introduced to FA after many years of battling with my weight by a good friend who knew me from other 12-step programs. Looking back, I believe I was always a food addict. Some of my earliest memories revolve around food and how I used it to comfort, avoid, escape, and soothe.
I was raised in a loving middle-class family in the Detroit area. We had everything we needed, but my family was full of addiction. My father was an alcoholic. In his early years, he used alcohol to cope with life, just as I later used alcohol and food. Growing up in an alcoholic home meant living with chaos and constant worry. There was always a sense that something bad was about to happen, and I carried that fear with me. Food became my way to avoid those feelings.
One of my earliest memories was when I was about five years old. My youngest sister, about one at the time, woke up crying on a Saturday morning while my parents slept in. I went to the kitchen, grabbed a box of breakfast cereal, and dumped it into her crib because I associated food with comfort. Around that age, I weighed 125 pounds. When my doctor told me that number, I thought it was cool. I ran to my grandmother to share it, but the look of disgust on her face made me realize I was different. From that moment, I knew something about my relationship with food wasn’t normal.
Soon after, I learned to sneak food. I became skilled at opening cellophane wrappers quietly and watching for moments when my parents left the house so I could raid the kitchen. My mother often asked where food had gone, and I’d blame my sisters. As I got older, I found even sneakier ways to hide my eating—like scooping ice cream from the bottom of the carton so it looked untouched from the top.
As a child, I always felt a sense of fear and anxiety. When my family moved from the Detroit area to a rural farming community in Michigan, those feelings intensified. I was 12 years old, just starting sixth grade. Our new home was surrounded by farm fields, and our nearest neighbor was three-quarters of a mile away. I went from having friends and sports in the city to isolation in the country. My classmates talked about tractors and crops, while I wanted to talk about sports and city life. That difference made me feel even more alone, and I turned even more to food for comfort.
When both my parents worked, my sisters and I would come home to an empty house. That gave me freedom to eat. I’d sit by the kitchen window, watching for headlights on the gravel road so I’d know when to clean up before they came home.
By high school, I weighed around 260 pounds and had discovered alcohol. Even though I swore I’d never drink like my father, alcohol made me feel calm and confident. It helped me fit in, talk to people, and feel like I belonged. But I drank heavily—through high school and college and it became another addiction.
Alcohol also acted as an appetite suppressant. I could keep my weight somewhat under control while drinking, but I was still miserable inside. My pain and self-loathing never went away.
In high school, I played football. My coaches told me that if I lost 50 pounds, I could have college potential. So between my freshman and sophomore years, I wore a rubber sweat suit all summer, exercised for hours, and barely ate. I lost about 70 pounds but became sick, dehydrated, and covered in rashes. Still, I was rewarded, moved up to varsity and noticed for my appearance. The attention terrified me, so I went back to the food.
That became a lifelong pattern: restrict, lose weight, gain it all back, and eat to numb fear and shame.
I received a football scholarship to college, but my first year, I wasn’t in shape and had to lose weight again. I did, but alcohol took over. I experienced blackouts and even lost two full days once. Eventually, alcohol no longer curbed my appetite—it gave me permission to binge.
I did okay academically by cramming before exams, but I was starting to spiral. I met my first wife during my senior year in a haze of drinking, and we married soon after. I promised myself I’d change, but things got worse. My weight climbed to 360 or 370 pounds, and I drank daily. When my son was born, I swore I’d stop drinking. I made the same promise when my daughter was born. Each time, I failed.
Eventually, my wife left. I entered a treatment center, where I learned about alcoholism. By the grace of God, I haven’t had a drink since—but when the alcohol went away, the food came roaring back.
For years, I tried commercial diets and other twelve-step food programs. I lost over 100 pounds three different times, but always gained it back, plus more. When I finally came to FA, I was desperate. My life had become very small—I went to work, came home, sat in my old chair, and ate. That was it.
A friend invited me to an FA meeting. The first time I heard someone speak, I felt at home. They talked about flour and sugar as addictive substances that triggered uncontrollable cravings. I could relate completely.
The next day, someone from the meeting actually called me to check in. That call changed everything. I felt connected for the first time. A few weeks later, I found a sponsor. He lived in New Hampshire, and when we finally spoke, I planned to start the program the next day after one last binge. But before hanging up, he said, “By the way, you’re done eating for tonight.” That hit me hard. It showed me just how deeply I was attached to food.
That was the start of my abstinence. Since then, by the grace of God, I’ve maintained a weight loss of over 220 pounds for more than 16 years. I no longer have ten different pant sizes in my closet; I have one.
My life changed completely. I no longer take blood pressure medication. I can get down on the floor and play with my grandchildren—and get back up again. I can show up for my family in ways I never could before.
I’ve worked the steps, had strong sponsors, and stayed connected to the fellowship. I’ve faced the deaths of loved ones and stayed abstinent. I’ve learned to live one day at a time.
Today, I exercise because I want to take care of my body, not punish it. I go to meetings, take quiet time, make calls, and do service because people did those things for me. This fellowship has given me a life I never thought possible.
I came in expecting not to live past 43, but here I am—alive, healthy, and grateful beyond words.