As a member of FA, I'm encouraged to attend three meetings a week. There are plenty of meetings across the state of Maine. Last Wednesday evening I found myself in Topsham. It's not a regular meeting for me (I usually go to Augusta's meetings which are Sunday and Tuesday evenings, and one of the Westbrook meetings, either Monday or Thursday evening or Saturday morning). I'm so glad I found myself in Topsham last Wednesday; each person who spoke said something that either reaffirmed my staying in FA or gave me a new perspective on a particular scenario, issue, etc.
I encounter people daily who are amazed by my transformation, but regardless of how many pounds I've lost and despite my new enthusiasm for life, I also encounter naysayers. I'm never surprised when people become defensive once I've told them about my program of recovery. "You don't eat flour or sugar? That's just unrealistic." "There's no way you can do this forever!" "You can't deprive yourself. You're going to binge eventually." I completely agree! Or, at least I did in the beginning. On the 24th of June, I started this journey. I felt like I has been placed into a drug rehabilitation program, and I suppose I essentially I was. I've had my share of "slips" in this program, but I've learned that it's not about perfection. It's about progress.
Before FA, I would go to bed saying, "Tomorrow will be different," meaning, "Tomorrow, I'm not going to spend the day stuffing my face." Breakfast usually went well, meaning I skipped it entirely. I have a friend who used to say, "It's once I start eating that it gets difficult." I took on that mind set for a while. I struggled even more after I took the first bite of the day. I didn't have an off-switch. As soon as my first class ended, all bets were off. I usually found myself heading straight to the cupboards and pantry as soon as I unlocked my door. I ate while I was looking for something to eat! As soon as I finished my "snack," I was off the couch and back in the refrigerator looking for something else to shovel into my mouth.
This occurred every single day. Every night, once I was under the covers, I would let guilt consume me. How could I continue to do this to myself day after day? Why couldn't I just ignore the food? I thought about food all the time, literally. Where had all my self-control gone? Wait. Had I ever had self-control? Probably not.
Today, thanks to my Higher Power and FA, I no longer go to bed feeling guilty about my food. I take a few minutes before bed to write down my food for the following day. Food doesn't play a role in my life anymore. It's nourishment for my body. I no longer celebrate with it, grieve with it, find comfort in it. I'm learning to put food in its place. Now, this isn't to say that I don't struggle with food. I certainly do. Some days are much harder than others. I have cravings and urges, but they are not nearly as bad as they were in the beginning. There is currently a bag of leftover Halloween candy on a self in my pantry. Do I want it? Not currently, but I might later. Will I eat any? No, because I know I will be consumed with guilt almost immediately. There is nothing worth giving up my recovery for. Not even chocolate.
If there's anything you get from this post today, let it be this: "Don't give up. The beginning is always the hardest."
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