Hello. Welcome to this qualification meeting. I am a food addict from Tennessee, and I am your leader for this hour. After a moment of silence, will you please join me in the Serenity Prayer?
God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Well, I am a food addict, and as far as I know, I was born a food addict. I’m not somebody who got heavy after I quit smoking, or got heavy after I got married, or after I had babies. I’ve had an issue with food for as long as I can remember. My parents will detail the things I did with food when I was two years old. I waited until the family went to sleep at night, and I snuck into the refrigerator to eat. And when I got through eating, I played. That means I smeared it all over everything, the floor, the cabinets. That was the beginning of my journey with food addiction. I did not come into this program realizing that I was a food addict, but the truth is, I believe I was born a food addict.
I don’t remember a time when food wasn’t an issue in my life. When I say issue, we had quite an episode at the dinner table every night. I had a real aversion to certain smells, textures, and colors in food. But if it was food I liked, I ate plenty of it. If it was food I didn’t like, I learned to gag and throw up so I could have my way at the dinner table.
I grew up in a family with four children, three boys and one girl. I always felt the other children got more food than I did. I know that’s not true because my mother tried to equally divide everything four ways, but I always compared what I got to what my brothers got and felt like I was being cheated.
I can remember when I sat down at the dinner table, I was always worried about whether I was going to get a certain thing or whether somebody else would finish it before I got it. I constantly mentally obsessed over food. My favorite foods were sugar and flour products. I was not above licking my fingers and sticking them in the sugar bowl. I also loved to sneak into the kitchen to get a slice of, only to sneak back and get two slices of, and then wad them up in my hand as I ran to the bathroom so nobody would see me. The next thing you know, half the loaf was gone. My mother would ask, “Who ate it?” and I learned at an early age how to lie. I figured there were four children. They couldn’t possibly suspect me. But I was the only child in the family who was sneaking and lying about food.
I didn’t know why I was like that. I thought I was a bad person. My mother used certain terminology: she said I was a sneak, a liar, a glutton. I didn’t know what a glutton was then. I know what it is today. But I didn’t know why I was like that. I had always been that way.
What I realize today is that I was filling a void in my life with food. Food was love to me. That’s the way I saw food. My parents grew up during the Depression and went through a war where food was either you didn’t have it or it was rationed. The rule in our family was that you sat down and ate everything in front of you. They always talked about starving children in the world, and that frightened me. I had a disease of fear, doubt, and insecurity. I was always afraid we wouldn’t have enough food someday. So, consequently, I ate more of it. I wanted to make sure I had plenty.
My dad was a military man. We did a lot of traveling. Today, I can see that traveling caused a lot of fear for me. I was also afraid my father might get killed in a war. We moved to Germany when I was young, and we lived under constant threat of evacuation because the Russians might invade. Every household had to be prepared to evacuate, and part of that preparation was storing food in the basement. Except there was one member of the family who ate that food. I’d sneak into the basement, open the cans and packages, and eat them. I know today it’s because I’m a food addict, and I was full of fear. That was my behavior.
My mother had to watch everything that came into the house because my dad got paid once a month, and the food had to last for a family of six. Every time I helped myself to something, I was selfishly not thinking about the rest of the family. It was quite an issue that I was forever sneaking food. My mother had to hide things like baby aspirin, Ex-Lax, cough syrup—if it tasted sweet, I had to have it. It was pleasing to me. She hid them, I found them, and I ingested them. I just didn’t know why I was like that. I thought I was a bad person.
My brothers weren’t like that. My brothers wouldn’t finish what was on their plates. When I got old enough to help around the house, my job was to set the table, clear the table, and wash the dishes. I was instructed to scrape the plates into the garbage. When nobody was looking, I would go into the garbage and eat what my brothers didn’t finish. I remember being caught with both cheeks full. My mother asked what I was doing, and I said, “Nothing.” I could be caught red‑handed and still tell a bold‑faced lie because I felt I would get in a lot of trouble.
My mother became concerned and decided I had a tendency to be heavy. I don’t know what that meant to her, but she began to proportion my plate. Well, the war began. That caused me to do more sneaking, stealing, and hiding food. I stole money from her purse, went to the store, bought whole boxes of confections, and ate them before I got home. I was given lunch money every day, and I spent it on sugary products. At lunchtime, I had no money, so I borrowed from other kids, promising to pay it back the next day. But I knew I couldn’t because then I’d have to tell my family where the money went. If I couldn’t steal money, I couldn’t pay it back. One girl reached into her purse every day to give me lunch money, not knowing my father had already given me money and I’d spent it. In the cafeteria, when people didn’t finish their food, I asked if I could have it. It was embarrassing, but food was so important to me. I had a need for it.
I’m not going to go into my childhood and the dysfunction in my family or any of that because, like I said, I believe I was born a food addict. I don’t think it was something, necessarily, that happened in my family. I think there was a lot of fear, doubt, and insecurity in my life, but that was centered around everything. I was afraid of everything. I used to lie awake at night when I should have been sleeping, worrying about starving children or things that hadn’t happened yet. I buried my father 500 times in my head. I cried every time, and it made me want to eat more.
I left home early in life. I eloped at 17. My parents were disappointed and tried to get an annulment, but they couldn’t. When I left home, I weighed 120 pounds. I was in my senior year of high school. I hadn’t finished. My husband was in college. We went against my parents’ wishes, and I moved away. The first year I moved away was the first time I had a weight problem. Within six months, I weighed 150 pounds. I didn’t know anything about dieting. I never dieted. My mother had portioned my plates, and she became the enemy. My relationship with her was strained. My father was the opposite—he would wake me at three in the morning and say, “Come into the kitchen, but don’t tell your mother.” We would be in the kitchen, concocting things.
So here I was, a married lady at 17, far from home, doing a lot of crying, and I did a lot of eating. Now I’m faced with a weight problem. My clothes didn’t fit. I didn’t know what to do. A kind lady at my job asked why I was crying so much. I told her I was getting fatter and didn’t know what to do. She gave me a booklet that taught me how to count calories. She said if I kept it at 1,000 calories, I’d lose weight, and when I lost weight, then maintain at 1,500 calories a day. I thought that was simple. She said to write down what I was going to eat and count the calories. So I went up and down the aisles at the grocery store, looking for all the things that I could eat, if it was low in calories, and I kept it at 1,000. I quickly lost my weight and thought I had it made for life. I remember thinking, “This is so easy.” I memorized the calorie counts and all the things I liked, so I didn’t have to write it down anymore. Well, the next thing I knew, I was eating more than 1,500 calories a day, but what I decided to do then was just not to eat the next day. That was simple. So, I ate over today, and tomorrow I won’t eat. So, I started trying to regulate my weight that way.
Then I got a brilliant idea. My brother was very thin, and my mother used to say that if he quit smoking, he’d gain weight. Well, the light bulb went off in my head, and I thought if I started smoking, I’d lose weight. Even though it made me deathly ill and I passed out twice, I learned to smoke. And guess what? I didn’t lose weight. I gained a three‑pack‑a‑day addiction. I don’t call it a habit; I call it an addiction.
So here I was, smoking like a chimney, bingeing my brains out, and I was miserable. At about that same time, someone introduced me to diet pills. I had never heard of diet pills. I remember my mother used to have these little products hidden – she had to hide everything from me – she hid under the bed, wrapped like confections, and I would eat them by the dozen. She used them as a form of dieting and that was the only thing I knew about real dieting. But I had never heard of a diet pill. So, I got diet pills, and I thought I was in heaven. Again, I had the solution. All I had to do was take a diet pill, and you know what, I had all the energy in the world. I’d stay up all night cleaning, obsessing, and going like crazy.
A friend of mine got on diet pills with me, and we decided we would diet together. Then we decided it would be brilliant if we only ate one thing a day, so that’s what we did. We wanted to get our weight off quickly. I ate one thing a day, but what I didn’t tell her was that I went into the bathroom and I purged it because I wanted to beat her. My weight came off rapidly. I was almost in a manic state on the diet pills. Sometimes I didn’t wait the full length of time for them to wear off before taking another. I smoked a lot and purged the one thing I ate. I got down to 97 pounds. I remember standing in front of the mirror looking at my stomach and thinking, “If I could lose five more pounds. If I could just lose five more pounds.” I had never heard of anorexia or bulimia. I didn’t realize how sick I was, but I never got the five pounds off.
It got to the point when I couldn’t get diet pills anymore. They put a real restraint on diet pills. We’d find someone who knew someone who knew a trucker who had what I thought were diet pills, I think they call them black beauties. I was a respectable woman, a wife and mother, and here I was on diet pills.
What happened was that my weight gradually got higher. I started a whole series of dieting. I went from one place to another – liquid diets; I can’t even begin to tell you all the diets that I’ve heard. I’ve probably done most of them. I could lose weight, but I couldn’t keep it off. Once I started eating, I couldn’t stop. All bets were off. One program I had it so manipulated that I realized if I starved for three days before I go to weigh‑in I could lose a quarter pound and then could all go celebrate and eat. And that is what I did for many, many years. I never made it to goal there, and it got to the point that I was almost afraid to go back because I was afraid some kind of a buzzer would go off saying, “This woman doesn’t do this right.”
By the time I came into this program, many things had happened in my life. My husband had been killed in Vietnam. I was 23 years old when he was killed. I was full of fear, doubt, and insecurity. I had gone from my father’s house to my husband’s house. I didn’t have an education, other than I did finish my high school education. And I ate. I did a lot of eating. I remarried within two years to the man I’m still married to 41 years later. He was also in the military, and we went to England. I had two little children, and I ate.
Because my child was British, I could get national health, and with that I could get diet pills. So there I was again, back on diet pills. I had two children. I was full of fear because I didn’t really know how to take care of them I had too much pride to ask anybody for a suggestion or any help. I couldn’t let anybody know how frightened I was because I was afraid they’d take my children away from me. So, I would eat, and I took diet pills, and eventually got a doctor to give me Librium. I was doing a little of all of that.
My disease continued to progress. You might see me at one point at 120 pounds or at another point at 179. My all‑time high was 120, then it was 137, then it was 149, then it was 158, until finally I was up to 250 pounds. I don’t know how I got there. I got there from dieting. Because I was constantly on a diet. I never sat down to the dinner table without saying “I’m on a diet.” But what I didn’t tell my family was how many boxes and bags of things I’d eaten before I got to that dinner table. After the family went to bed, I was back in the cupboards, gorging on salty, sweet, greasy, sugary products, but not eating healthy food. I used to buy healthy foods, but I put them in the refrigerator and they grew penicillin because I wasn’t eating them. It was going bad. I threw good food away because I couldn’t make myself do what I do today.
I came into this program when my children were small. We had come back from England. I was close to 250 pounds. I went into a 12‑step program and heard for the first time that there was something called “12 steps.” The problem was, I went to that meeting and I heard a lot of people talking about God, and I thought, “I can’t wait to get out of here.” I had my own religion. This is a bunch of people that were not talking about diets. So, I left that program, only to walk back in 27 years later, weighing close to 250 pounds. I had been up and down and all around.
I came with a friend and heard someone in a petite little body say, “Sugar and flour are addictive.” I didn’t remember ever hearing that word before. I remember I felt like someone had hit me right between the eyes. Addictive? I didn’t even like the word addict. I’m not an addict. I’m a mother, a wife, a respectable citizen, but I’m not an addict. But it fascinated me because these people were in what I call normal bodies and they were saying that their life was second to none.
I went away from that meeting and just wanted to find out if I could go through a whole day without eating any sugar or flour. No diet I had ever been on was there no sugar or flour. I always made sure I could work that into my diet. I went away for a week. I came back the next week. I went right to the grocery store looking for everything I could eat that didn’t have sugar and flour. It’s not the food I eat today, but I came back the next week and I listened some more. Then I went back out for another week trying to eat no sugar and flour.
By the third week, a lady walked up to me and asked if I needed a sponsor. I don’t remember hearing anything about a sponsor. I was in a food fog. I was sitting back there trying to figure out what they ate. I didn’t hear any of the things I hear today. I said, “I guess so.” She asked if I was willing to do what she did. Well, I’m a great liar—I had lied to my mother—so I said “sure” because I thought if I said that she’d give me the diet. She asked if I was willing to go to any length. I didn’t know what length she was talking about. I know today what lengths she’s talking about, but I didn’t know then. But I said “sure.”
She asked me to call her at a quarter to six in the morning. That started what I consider the greatest gift that has ever been given to me. I got abstinent. I lost weight rapidly; I lost 110 pounds quickly. Then I had to deal with the rest of it, and I’m still in recovery. I’m still grateful for where this program has taken me.
I had what you’d call a resentment toward my mother, but truthfully, it was full-blown hatred. She was the controller of my food. I hated her. Today, I look at her and I love her and see how much she tried to help me, but I couldn’t see that. I was very selfish, very self‑centered. I only thought about what I wanted and not about anybody else or how it might have been hurtful to her the way I treated her. Today, because of my recovery, my relationships are different. I thought I had a relationship with the God of my understanding, but I really had a relationship with food. This program taught me that I can have better relationships with my family, my husband, my children. I’ve developed a wonderful relationship with two little children in Tennessee, my grandchildren. But my relationship with my higher power is unbelievable. My relationship with my higher power is so important because that’s where I get love. Food is not love. I thought food was love. I remember thinking, “You people just don’t get it. I just love food.” I did love food, but I was using food very much like I used the other drugs in my life. I don’t do that today.
I came from a military family, so when I came in I heard something called “the drill.” And I’ve heard people say that they thought the drill was just a little too militaristic. Well let me tell you, I needed that. The drill gave me a formula for living. My life was out of control. I did the drill. I stood up and talked about the drill and I did the drill. I got on my knees, just as it was suggested to me, every morning and I asked my higher power that it be His will that I have an abstinent day.
I also took quiet time. I had a party going on in my head—I couldn’t do quiet time. I couldn’t do five minutes of quiet time. What did she mean, quiet time? Today, if I’m going to overdose on anything, I think it’s going to be quiet time. I love being still and I love being quiet. I love the feeling I get knowing what peace really is. I didn’t know what peace was. I’d had peace in my life. Serenity is not a foreign word to me today.
I read the Twenty-Four Hours a Day book. I called people. We wrote postcards to people. Three meetings were suggested. I remember I was told that three meetings was suggested. I thought, “Well, I work. I’m going to do Saturdays only.” Well, that doesn’t work according to certain people in this program. For whatever reason, I did three meetings. My sponsor suggested that when I got on my knees every morning, that I ask God for help to be open‑minded to the suggestions of this program. I still ask God for open‑mindedness. I ask God for willingness. And honesty, I’ve got to tell you, when I’m in the kitchen, nobody else is in that kitchen with me except my higher power. I cannot fool my higher power. Let me tell you, I’ve tried. I was busy for years fooling my higher power, trying to tell my higher power my version of the story. It doesn’t work that way for me today. Today, thank you God, when I get in that kitchen, I ask God to help me—help me to be honest, help me to be open‑minded, and help me to be willing to do what I need to do.
I believe I’ve been given the greatest gift that anybody ever gave me. I thought my children were, but I’ve got to tell you, nothing is more important to me than this program because this program is saving my life. My disease is alive and well today. I’m in a normal body, but I know, for a fact, that my disease would love to kill me.
I was recently in an area where there were tornadoes. My house was not hit, but I went down to help people gather their belongings to move to another location because their homes were wiped out. And I was thinking how wonderful it was to feel serene and and to be able to help somebody else instead of thinking of myself. Someone walked by with a tray of confections and said, “Here, do you want one?” My hand went in my pocket, my tongue said, “No thank you,” but my brain said, “Ooh.” And I said thank you God. Thank you God, that I automatically knew that was not something I needed to do.
But I realized that this was a very emotional situation for me, and my disease tells me I’m okay when I’m not okay. It probably wasn’t a good place for me to be for very long. I limited it to three hours. And in those three hours, I realized when I got home, I have a lot to be grateful for. The tornado went right over my house—less than an eighth of a mile to my neighbors. And I kind of thought nothing of it. But what I realized is that I have the ability to swallow feelings; to swallow my emotions. This program taught me how to deal with them. I don’t have to react, but I can address them. Nobody taught me that growing up. I don’t blame anybody for that because my family had their own issues with addiction.
This program taught me I can live a life second to none, like the people I heard when I came in. I heard long ago that FA means “free at last.” I feel free at last. Food is not my god. Food does not control me today. It could if I got sloppy about what I do. I cannot afford to get complacent. I am in an isolated area with no FA meetings, so I depend on the program and the tools of recovery that we talk about. I depend on the telephone. I depend on meetings. I depend on all of you to help me stay abstinent. I came from an area where we had meetings and people. I moved to an area where people aren’t willing to do what I do. But I’m grateful, every day, that this program was given to me and that I had a rock‑solid foundation before I moved.
I hope that I live to be 100, and if I live to be 100, I hope that I will still be doing this program. It’s a delight when my grandchildren ask me, “Grammy, why do you eat like that?” and I tell them, “Because it’s healthy for me. And because I eat like this, I can get down on the floor and play with you.” This week, my grandchildren and I went to the YMCA with about 80 other children, and I played shark. I had the time of my life chasing children in the pool playing shark. My husband said, “Aren’t you a little old for that?” Well, you know what? When I was 36, I couldn’t have done that. At 66, it’s amazing what I can do.
Sometimes I still have fears. I just don’t hang out there long. I consider it a bad neighborhood. I roll up the windows, I lock the doors, and I get the heck out of there. I call on my higher power to give me whatever I need. I think of the first three steps as being: I’m powerless, He’s powerful, I think I’ll ask Him. When I ask God for the strength to do things, I can do anything. There’s nothing I can’t do.
When I was a child, my biggest fear was Africa. I went to Africa in January and had the time of my life. I went on a safari, and I wouldn’t have wanted to miss that for anything in the world. In my disease, I would never have gone to Africa because it was too scary. I absolutely had the time of my life because I got to meet a person who’s doing FA in Kenya, and we got together for an abstinent meal. I don’t think life gets any better than that. If it does, I don’t know if I could take it. I don’t know if I could stand it.
So yes, my life is second to none. My doctors are amazed that at 66 I’m on no medication. They’re amazed that physically I’m pretty fit. There are a few little issues in my life right now that have nothing to do with my food or my weight. It’s life. It’s life on life’s terms. But I’ve turned that over to God, and I live my life one day at a time.
I remember asking the woman who asked me to sponsor her, “Do I have to do this the rest of my life?” And she said, “What is the rest of your life? You’ve only been given today.” And that’s the very thing that has helped me stay abstinent one day at a time. If I think about the rest of my life, I get overwhelmed. My stomach gets in my throat and I can’t function. Today I can do anything. I can do this program one day at a time, and I’ve been doing it one day at a time.
What I heard when I came into this program was hope. If anybody can get hope from what I’m saying today, please give God the glory. Thank you.
Will you please join me in the Serenity Prayer? God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.