Plot Twists

 Hey there family.  Wanted to give you an update.  I spent from 5/12-5/16 inpatient in a mental health hospital, severely manic coping with my bipolar disorder.  The good news is that I find ally have medication to help me manage the ups and downs.  It’s a gift.  

But being labeled a bipolar is hard.  Lots of judgment.  I’ve lost GOOD friends who should have been there to support me.  And can’t or wouldn’t do that.  The way I have done for them.  I don’t care how long I’ve known you.  Even if it’s 30 or 42 years you’ve gotta go.  They’re out of my life and won’t ever be back in.  Because if I forgive them, it tells them that it’s ok to treat me the way they have.  And it’s not.  Not ever.  I won’t cast my pearls before swine.  

And the guy who rescued me from Tahoe has left the picture cuz he’s gotta focus on his kids and the divorce comes to a conclusion.  I told him his dedication to his children was the most attractive thing about him.  I am disappointed but grateful.  

I started volunteering for a healthcare advocacy organization that is so liberal it makes Che Guevara look like a Maga.  And they need my help. So I get to be of service with my talents.  I love being there.  

Thru that group I met a kid, he’s 24.  I joked I was old enough to be his mom.  He said he wished he’d had a mom like me.  I discovered his mom had died of a drug overdose 2 years ago.  I offered to be an older woman to support, encourage and kick his butt if necessary.  He happily accepted.  We talk every day.  At the end of the conversation he says, “love you mom”.  MY HEART IS FULL!  

Because I’ve missed my chance to have biological kids.  That ship has sailed.  And I’ve been involved in the raising of my godsons.  They’re good men.  I’d like to think I had a tiny bit to do with that.

But here’s a kid who needs love and support and I have it to give.  Why wouldn’t I take the leap.  Every time I’ve taken a leap of faith since December 23,2022; I’ve been so richly rewarded.  This has been no different.  He’s my kid, and I’m his mom.  For life.  

But it gets better.  He’s new in recovery.  I’m so excited for him.  Cuz the life that I love is all because of recovery.  I can be there for him because of recovery.  And I will be.  Every step of the way, one day at a time.  Thanks you God! 

When you go to an all girls high school there is a phase of endless bridal and baby showers.  It was no different for me.  I’m gonna hold a shower cuz surprise! “ITS A BOY!”  I’m just kidding.  

But if you say prayers in the moment, drop one for Ryan, my son.  He’s absolutely hands down, the best kid I know. I’m so lucky to be his mom.  

The ALL PURPOSE, total free, and easy to execute, 45 day trauma diet!

 I think it’s safe to say, that by ANY OBJECTIVE STANDARD… the period from 3/16/23-5/4/23 sucked for me… and it sucked hard…. Like Dyson vacuum sucking up a bowling ball informercial hard.  Because my OA sponsor told me to NEVER GET COCKY IN MY RECOVERY… Cuz while Mike and I are basking in his ethereal glow… Guido is right behind me… doing push-ups, wearing brass knuckles.. in the rain.  And boy oh boy was she right.  

I ask Mike for help with my “tiny” food addiction, and his only response was, “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for help!  Cuz I’m a gentleman and never barge into a lady’s life unless invited.”

And the moment I invited him in to be part of the solution, He has delivered 100%, a life COMPLETELY BEYOND MY WILDEST DREAMS!  Hands down!  Not for any other reason than I asked for help when I genuinely knew my slowly shrinking ass was kicked.  And I’m not ashamed today to admit my foe was Taco Bell.  This crafty Mo Fo.. knew just how to sweet talk me into giving up EVERY SHRED OF DIGNITY I POSSESSED.  I naively thought at the time, that it was the “easier softer way”. That’s another lie Guido told me.  That staying safe is better than taking the big LEAP OF FAITH.  

But because Mike helped me out with “The TacoBell problem” as I sweetly now call it,  I knew he was up to any challenge I threw at him.  And he has absolutely performed beyond my wildest dreams.  I have a life I truly LOVE.  I can match calamity with serenity.  And have I had to since 3/16/23 when Guido started his campaign to get me off my game. 

It all started when I temporarily lost my best friend of 34 years because I believed a lie someone told me about something she’d allegedly said about me.  I closed myself off to her because the lie said that she didn’t believe recovery was good for me.  And Mike and I were so tight, I’d walk away from ANYONE, including my BFF, sticker-sister, ride or die if I believed they were a threat to the miracle I’d been given.  I’m embarrassed I believed her.  But it was an honest mistake born out of my burgeoning self-respect courtesy of Mike.  I can’t go back.. only forward.  We’re back to our old hilarity and everything is gonna be aight.  

The 4/2/23 I got the car of my literal dreams dropped in my lap.  It cost me $0 to get it off the lot day I got it.  A miracle by any definition, any way you slice it.  And rather than celebrate the miracle with me as I hoped, my brother, 18mos older than me, and desperately unhappy, chose to try and pop my balloon of joy.  He could not stand to see me shine, so he tried to knock me down.  But just like the Ali Frazier fight…”DOWN GOES FRAZIER!” But with Mike in my corner, I quickly rose, battered but unbroken, to live to kick ass another day.

Then we get to 4/20/23.  When she who shall not be named, made the most selfish choice possible.  She attempted to take her own life.  She suffered a massive heart attack due to an intentional overdose of medication.  And I found the body.  In all of my life, I will get past that, but I will never get over that.  Am experience like that changes you forever.  And I have been so changed.  

So I gave her notice while she was in the hospital… that while I wasn’t angry, she could not stay here.  She and her tightly wound, mistreated, sweet Australian shepherd, had to leave my house.  She had 30 days, from 4/20 to get her stuff and leave.  That is what the law requires.  That is what I gave her.  I will work thru my resentment that she, as a temporary interloper in my house had more rights than I did.  I know with Mike’s help I’ll get there. 

But don’t think I didn’t want justice.  I wanted her out asap with the fire of a 1000 burning suns.  I seriously considered attempting to get a TRO.  But that would require $435 of my money, and effort I didn’t feel she deserved.  I decided to get the hell out of Dodge.  As a Hilton fan, I chose the Hilton Grand Resort South Lake Tahoe.  A mistake that literally almost cost me my life.  

Because on 5/2/23, as I prepared to welcome the man I TRULY HOPE TO MARRY ONE DAY… up to the resort for our first in person date, I was treated with such cruelty, it literally broke my soul… but only temporarily. Cuz Mike loves me so much, I don’t have to worry about the journey, cuz he’s already shown me the destination.  And the view from here is “chefs 💋” perfect.

I won’t bore you with the details.  But suffice to say, Itruly believe that Hilton is criminally culpable for the negligence of hiring a woman who was so cruel to me, it lead to a panic attack in Tahoe, and then two hospitalizations, one of which was a 5150 hold due to being severely homicidal.  THAT IS NOT ME!  I scared everyone in my tribe with the words I was using.  Words like, “I wanna die!”  I didn’t want to die, I just wanted all the fucking pain to stop.  But the hits just kept coming.  

Because on 4/30 I drove my perfect car to Sparks, I crossed off my bucket list driving a car over 100mph.  I arrived safely at my brothers wonderfully welcoming church.  And in a simple sanctuary, I formally gave my heart to Mike.  And just like my sponsor foretold, Guido was waiting in the wings to strike.  And let me tell you friends, HE CAME FOR ME HARD!

5/1/23 my tenant told me she did infact blame me for her attempt on her life because get this, I didn’t clean the bathroom? I’m sorry?!??!? WTF?!?!?!?! Who says that to someone.  Apparently a malignant narcissistic sociopath.  And there she was.  And my heart was already so traumatized by what she already had put me thru, there was the tiniest crack in it, and those words got in… and the saga had started. 

5/2/23 happened, when I was made to drag my wheelchair and suitcase for 90 minutes by myself, including 30 minutes outside in 31 degree weather while it snowed! I could t even get to a hospital that on google said it was .4 miles away.  It was that bad.  I called 911 with no shame.  And got the help I needed.  So at 440am, in the middle of at that point, the biggest panic attack if ever had, I reached out to the guy who was coming up that day.. and I say, “Adam I’m in crisis and I need you”.  And he’s such a quality gentleman he left his important job without one seconds thought and drove to Tahoe to literally rescue me.  He put me in his car, got me a banana and a latte and we fled Tahoe.  He knew he had to get me to safety and that was anywhere but South Lake Tahoe. So off we drove.  

And this gentleman held me hand.. the entire drive.  And encouraged me to hang on.  And when I got home and got into my bathroom, he left to go run and errand he could t not reschedule.  And once alone I broke.  Completely.  I’m not ashamed of it.  I wasn’t the cause of my breakdown. A bunch of peoples careless indifference to my feelings started this whole mishigoss.  And by the time the paramedics showed up, I was screaming at the woman on the phone that that had to get there… I wanted to die! And in that moment it was 💯 true.  I took my third ambulance ride since 4/21 to get to Sutter Roseville Medical Center to literally save the life i’d to recently love.  Deeply.  And I was able to tell the social worker that interviewed me, that I didn’t want to die, I just wanted the pain to stop.  And I’d to ANYTHING that was asked of me to insure that the thoughts I was having were never an option in my mind ever again.  And the HERO of my dark night of the soul, showed up at that ER, and held my hand for 4 hours, so I felt safe.  He told the social worker he’d stay with me, to insure I’d be safe for the night.  So I got to go home.  But I was going back to a home that I didn’t feel was safe, because of the supremely selfish act of my former tenant.  He encouraged me to take back my home.  I love this house.  I’m making it my own.  And it’s gonna be warm, welcoming, inviting and fun.  So he put me in his white chariot (A white Genesis Electric SUV- you say Batmobile?) And he bought me sushi, the only thing that sounded remotely appealing.  And we got home.  He forced me to eat at least something and held me until we both passed out from exhaustion.  We were both DONE!.  We slept like stones for 12 soldi hours.  Without moving.  Our bodies both hurt.  For sleeping so hard, so long, in one position.  But like a Phoenix rising from the ashes of Chernobyl, we awoke the next morning.  So grateful to be alive and together, and starting the journey we’re now both on. 

And this PRINCE, no dare I say STUD, quietly cleaned my bedroom, started my laundry and cleaned my kitchen.  I MEAN COME ON!!!! Who does that for a chick he’s known for less than 2 weeks that he swiped right on, on Tinder?!?!?!?! No sane man I know.  And he’ll play it down saying he’d do it for any of his friends, and I 💯 believe that about him.  He’s that good of a man.  And the fact that he likes my face, and fancies my body, and likes my brain, wit and sense of humor, JUST BLOWS ME AWAY! I’ve said to him as many times as I can, “I know you said you’d do that for any of your friends, but you did it FOR ME.  and for the rest of the time Mike gives me, I’ll be thanking you for that however I can.  As much as I can for as long as I can.  

5/4 I woke up HOMICIDALLY ANGRY at what had been done to me.  But now I was saying things like should I see my former tenant, I’d choke her to death and not give it one second thought. NOT A GOOD PLACE TO BE.  So I reached out for help, and the ambulance was back.  But now I’m in SRMC, on a  5150 hold for my protection and the protection of others. 

So once at the hospital I got to be so grateful for what it COULD BE, and where I was my self. I met a 14 year old girl whose soulwas BROKEN with schizophrenia, because her SOB step father sexually trafficked her.  Trust me when I say I believe in Gods justice and know he’ll answer for his actions.  But he went right to the top of “I’d kill him if I could” list. The miracle was she wanted the help she was gonna get.  She’s a smart, strong, resilient young woman.  And in a line from one of my favorite movies, The Guardian, as Kevin Costner character says, “I have high hopes for you!”  Good luck Camille!  Gods got you! You’re his child and will triumph over all that was done to you!  Lean into his love and his power.  If I can do it so can you!!! WE R NO DIFFERENT!

Then there were the addicts of all types who weren’t ready to put down their drug of choice.  I so relate, because for the 20 years of my relapse, I WAS THEM!  I knew the solution was available, but couldn’t humble myself to honestly as God for help.  Once I was able to do that, the ABSOLUTE MIRACLE of my life unfolded with a speed that still overwhelms me.  In December I was a bottom level addict who FINALLY conceded defeat.  By April I had a home I was creating, a job that would let me be of service and financially prosperous, and the perfect car to take me there.  When God asked, “How good can you stand it?”  I had NO IDEA what he meant.  I’m so glad I surrendered to find out. 

But another huge miracle happened while I was on the 5150 hold.  The beds have scales on them.  And just for shits and giggles, I pressed the button.  And I swear to Mike the number was so crazy I was speechless.  And y’all know me.  It’s a big deal if I shit up!  LOL!!!!

It says 327lbs.  I needed to get to 235 to be able to start replacing my joints.  Suddenly, thanks to “THE TRAUMA DIET” I’m under 100lbs away from starting that process.  And because of ALL the miracles Mike has delivered, I have ABSOLUTE FAITH, that I will get there.  As the BB tells us, “We relax and don’t struggle”. So I started to relax.  Because in 2000, when I started coming to OA, I know I had to weigh 450+lbs.  so to be within 100lbs of being able to begin the journey to orthopedic wholeness… IS A GD MIRACLE ANY WAY YOU FRIGGIN SLICE IT! 

So, my battle cry became, “ALL GLORY B2 HIM, WHO GOT KE THRU THE 🔥, SO I CAN SEE THE  PARADISE HE THINKS I DESERVE, ON THE OTHER SIDE!”

That God thinks I’m deserving of the “PERFECT” life I have today still moves me to tears.  Cuz I’m case you haven’t gotten the memo, I’m a tiny bit of a live wire right now.  I have been tested by Guido and his assassins.  I’m on the other side, while and complete.  And I swear I will not waste one second of this gift I’ve got.  Not one. 

Cuz there’s a lot of laughing, smooching, consensual naked aerobics, and life to be lived.  I LOVE MY LIFE.  I will love it in joy and gratitude ODAAT.  Cuz I almost lost it all.  I was ready to apply a permanent solution to a temporary problem.  That can’t be an option ever again.  And it won’t. You have my word. 

I started listening to Beyoncé’s Homecoming Live Album thru this whole crazy journey.  She is a QUEEN.  And her message to women projects her strength.  One of her favorite lyrics for me is, “IMMA KEEP RUNNING.  Cuz a winner don’t quit on herself.”

And because I’m Mike’s kid.  I KNOW I’m a winner.  Not better or worse than anyone. As my recovery bro Alex says, “We’re all just Bozos on the bus, and God is the driver.” AMEN! 

So I’m gonna relax and enjoy the view on this ride.  It was perfect but now includes a shotgun companion who frankly has NOT RIGHT to look as good as he does in his work uniform.  He applies his exquisite mind to his job every day with humor and verve.  And the fact that he makes me laugh so much, is PROOF of Mike’s goodness to me.  As I said in a previous post, all I had to do was give up some tacos.  

And now, life is TRULY PERFECT. 

I won’t waste ONE SECOND giving power to people who don’t come from a position of ❤️. 

Don’t waste the gift you’ve been given either.  It can all so easily vanish.  

I’ll leave you now in gratitude.  I’ve gotta a beautiful life to live today. 

I’m gonna get to it! Be well my tribe.  I’ll see you on the path.  Love

Kathy 

The Life Beyond Your Wildest Dreams Starts RIGHT NOW!

 All I had to do was give up tacos.  That's it.  And it was impossible for SO LONG.  But because I'm an addict, and therefore have an allergy of the body that says I am addicted to certain types of foods, and an obsessive mind that will ALWAYS tell me, "This time there won't be a bullet in the chamber, so go ahead."  I also know that being an addict is like dancing with a gorilla, you may start the dancing leading, but eventually the gorilla will take the lead.  And when that happens, you're going on a trip, whether you want to or not.  

So I surrendered to Mike and gave over the Tacos on 12/23/22.  And because I did that, he has facilitated the following: 

1) ENTIRE ABSTINENCE ODAAT by HIS grace, since 12/23/22

2) A path to financial solvency in the NEAR future

3) Being able to take the absolute CAR OF MY DREAMS off the lot for. not one cent out of pocket on 4/2/23

4) A pathway to a career that will allow me to be financially prosperous AND be of service at the same time that can begin ANY TIME.  

5) Being able to create the warm, gracious and welcoming home OF MY DREAMS from the chaotic home of my childhood that reflects MY STYLE

6) A life truly beyond my wildest dreams, and I'm just on Step 4. 

If this is how good Mike thinks I deserve it, I guess I just have no other choice but to stay on this wild right that is my crazy amazing grateful life.  

I'm so glad I gave up the tacos. 

Finishing What You Start

 Active addiction doesn't exactly bring out the best in people.  A common refrain I've heard amongst 12 Steppers, "As an addict I can violate my own standards faster than I can lower them."  I've also heard that dabbling in your drug of choice is like dancing with a gorilla.  Eventually the gorilla will take over and you'll have no say in the matter.  That can be a scary prospect.  

One of the chief ways my addict behavior would show is that I became a blue ribbon quitter.  I took apathy and stretched it until it fit into the textbook definition of sloth.  Just like commercial weight loss programs, I would frequently just bail when things got too difficult or required what I determined to be an unrealistic amount of effort. And trust me when I say, what constituted an unrealistic amount of effort was a low bar.  It wasn't pretty.  

I've often heard the saying, "Don't quit before the miracle happens".  Depending on my spiritual fitness when hearing that encouraging affirmation, I'd either hope or want to wring their neck.  However, as I slide into 90 days of abstinence 3/23/23, I believe that slogan with every cell of my body.  Because I was absolutely 250% HOPELESS 12/19/22.  I was on the tail end of a relapse that made my world incredibly small and petty.  I was bingeing on an average of $74/day of Taco Bell that I couldn't even get into the car to go pick up.  I had to have it delivered to my home so that I could eat it in my bedroom, in the dark, alone. The breadth of my life could have fit on the head of a pin. 

But by the grace of a Higher Power I occasionally feel like I don't deserve, the moment came when  I was finally ready to concede defeat.  The literal moment I did that, the obsession was lifted from me body and soul.  The neutrality I felt around former binge foods was surreal to say the least.  That experience convinced me beyond a shadow of a doubt to dive head first into building a relationship with an entity that I could neither see, nor feel.  Because I was in hell.  The only reason I didn't take my life was because I was a coward.  And that's not attention seeking bravado.  That's the Mike's honest truth.  And in that moment of surrender, I was free.  

And what does a free woman do you might ask.  Well, one of the first things she does is begin to become acutely aware of old patterns and behaviors that no longer serve her. And so I became very aware that I had an overwhelming tendency to not finish the things I started.  It was just another arrow in Guido's quiver that he could use to render me useless with self-loathing.  And the longer I was stuck in the quicksand of relapse, the more useless I became.  Because if you don't value yourself, integrity is an easy thing to sacrifice.  And so I could just hate myself more because I was a quitter.  It just made Guido's access to my heart and soul more immediate.  And he did a lot of damage, let me tell you. 

As I now have my 87th consecutive day of entire abstinence, I am even more amazed at Mike's power than I was on day 5.  I am exceedingly grateful for days that are very emotionally tumultuous but do  not have the added shame of a binge heaped on top of them. Because GURL! Let me tell you I have had some days where I feel like my fair Irish skin is being loofahed by a very angry porcupine.  And I can smile because I realize even that's a Miracle!  Because in order from to feel like I've been exfoliated by a rodent with an anger management issue, I have to NOT be killing myself with food.  Cuz if Guido and his mariachi band of Taco wielding murderers could have their way, I would have been dead long ago.  So feeling physical/emotional/spiritual even feels like an accomplishment.  Because it is.  But let me be clear, it's Mike's accomplishment way more than it is mine.  I can barely keep a houseplant alive, let alone a suffering addict.  I had been playing Russian Roulette with a loaded gun for way too long.  As this disease is progressive in nature, always getting worse never better, I knew I was playing on borrowed time.  I'd eventually shoot myself. 

But I was finally able to admit to Mike that w/out Him I am completely, utterly, irrevocably screwed.  And Mike believed me 100% because it was the truth.  And once he saw defeat in my eyes, that was all he needed to sweep in and pick up the heaviest burden I have ever carried in my life.  He makes it look effortless.  And I will do whatever it takes to keep the freedom that Mike so graciously gives me one day at a time.  Part of what I do to stay in the middle of the herd is to do service at the meeting level.  I am a zoom host for a meeting that can be personally challenging to me at times.  And there are times when I'd rather be doing anything other than having to show up and do the service position I had committed to. Yeah, I'm mature like that.  

But I have finally learned my lesson.  I can't think my way into right acting.  And truthfully, no one should believe anything that comes out of my mouth if I am in relapse.  To say that I have minimal to non-existent street credibility is 100% the truth.  My integrity is solely based on my ability to keep a commitment I make to another human being. 

Because the self-talk I employ when I am about to break my word should be registered as a Crime against Humanity by the UNHCR.  It is Guido at his lethal best.  The accuracy with which he succeeds is incredible. If I continue to behave in a way that whittles away at my self respect, Guido and his henchman have already won.  And the only price he claims is the satisfaction of knowing that his intended targets were as likely to cave as to fight.  Those are the odd and they're always in his favor.  

So that's why I am so intent on being a woman who walks her talk.  Because self-respect is Guido's kryptonite.  It's the one thing that lets him know that his presence is no longer welcome and if he could just kindly fuck off that would be lovely.  And because I know the pitiful, incomprehensible demoralization that is Guido's esprit de corps, I will do whatever it takes to shut that chump down.  The down side is that his favorite pastime is ding pushups with brass knuckles in a torrential downpour.  He's honing and crafting his skills so that when I give him that split second moment of dropping my guard, he will be able to capitalize on it. He has an excellent track record. 

But I have the one thing he doesn't, Mike.  Mike loves me, cares about me and for me  He laughs with me and occasionally at me.  He is compassionate, understanding, forgiving and patient.  Hell, he waited 20 years for me to finally give up the fight.  He's the ultimate corner man in this fight for my life.  He's always there to hold up my flagging spirits, to make sure I'm taking care of His precious daughter and showing me that His love is already received.  It's not dependent on any effort on my part.  It is just because I am.  And knowing that there is someone out there who believes in me like that makes anything possible.  for 87 days I have had no sugar, no flour and no delivered food.  A miracle anyway you slice it.  And so to keep this precious gift I will finish every job I start.  From teeth brushing, to promises to friends, to meeting service positions, I will do what I have told others I would do. Quietly.  Humbly.  And with a heart of service.  

Because that's how I can take down Guido.  By finishing what I start. 

Emotional White Water Rafting

 So, you see, there's this boy.  Now before you roll your collective eyes at the computer screen, let me explain to you why that's such a miracle in my life.  I am 48 years old.  And I've never been in love before.   There are a couple of reasons for this.  1) My parents didn't exactly have a "perfect" marriage.  They had a significant amount of conflict during their marriage.  It showed up most frequently in verbal confrontations.  Loud, mean, cruel verbal conflicts.  Unfortunately for my father, when my mom was drinking which was VERY frequently, she would be particularly cruel in her attempts to chop my dad off at the spiritual kneecaps.  She'd go in the direction of his upbringing (not nearly as $ as hers), or his family (imperfect but very genuine). Therefore, to say I had a good model of a positive and uplifting primary romantic relationship would be untrue.  The other reason is that for whatever reason, the simple and most convenient one being my mom projecting her dissatisfaction about her own body image onto an impressionable young girl, I did not believe a boy/man would love me at a higher weight. It was just a gospel truth I held in my brain as a God's honest foundational truth about my life from adolescence until not too long ago.  It was a lot of weight to carry around if I am being completely honest. 

Now as I approached my 40th birthday, I was panicking.  I had not at that point even kissed a boy let alone done other more "physical" things.  And I felt time was running out.  I did not want to qualify for a sequel to the Steve Carrell classic movie, "The 40 Year Old Virgin".  So like any good ego maniac with basement level self-esteem, I decided that I "must" lose my virginity before I turned 40.  In retrospect, feeling so differently about myself today, I'm a bit sad about my insistence to get experience first.  If there are any of my SFHS alumni reading this, my personal choice to have some frosting before the cake, left a lot to desired.  For the very simple reason that I didn't value myself as a precious child of Mike and acted accordingly.  I made what seemed at the time to be an intelligent choice; to get experience with physical intimacy out side of a committed romantic relationship.  Because at the time, it was progress for me to even be entertaining the idea that a man could find me physically/sexually attractive.  That I was willing to be seen sans apparel with lights being on was a huge miracle in and of itself.  I had sort of a defiant "take it or leave it" persona oozing out of my pores that dared a man to speak critically of my body.  Or at least more critically than I talked about my body.  Which was setting a VERY high bar.  

Well that extremely late in life attempt at a "slutty" phase of my life fizzled out and I just got back to the regularly scheduled program of killing myself with food.  And during that time I met a guy.  And he liked my body exactly as it was, and wasn't particularly shy about sharing his opinion with me.  It was disarming.   It was a matter of fact thing about our friendship that he simply didn't question, even if I did.  And he would contact me to check in with me intermittently.  And I found his enthusiasm     l found it almost annoying, more than once.  Because didn't he know he was interrupting my bingeing?  He had the audacity to drive up to my home town from a considerable distance to see me.  When he got here, I hadn't showered in multiple days, my hair was a wreck, and he was interrupting my sleep because of a lengthy binge the night before.  To say I was more unwelcoming that Kevin McCarthy at the Democratic National Convention would not be too dramatic.  We did see each other and he left.  I was secretly horrified he'd seen me at what I now know was my absolute worst.  My ego retaliated by making him responsible for something he clearly was NOT responsible for and told him in no uncertain terms, to kick rocks. Being a gentleman, he respectfully abided by my request. 

And then, a funny thing happened.  I got abstinent.  Like not just "Oh I don't eat 'X'" abstinent.  I'm talking spiritual experience of the lightening bolt variety.  Psychic change, freedom from the obsession type of abstinence.  Recoil as if from a hot flame, there is nothing more important than keeping what Mike has given me, "My abstinence is the #1 thing in my life without exception" sort of abstinence.  And just like that, the huge rucksack of shame and guilt that I had been carrying around about myself was just removed from my shoulders.  Mike said, "that looks a bit heavy Kathy. Can I carry that for you?"  And in a sign of progress, I said, "sure". 

So with about 15 days of this new entire abstinence I was driving out to the airport to pick up my best friend.  I had just hosted my oldest brother and family for lunch and got to meet my adorable 3 month old twin nephews.  I was in an excellent mood when my car phone rang with a number I didn't recognize.  I had blocked the guys number and hadn't give it any thought really so I picked up the number.  It was the guy.  And I had learned about "having contempt prior to investigation " and didn't automatically hang up.  And another magical thing happened.  My eyes were different.  Because where I once saw a guy who was annoying in his harassment of me, I now saw a good friend who'd maintained contact with me over a multi-year period because he cared. I saw a man who'd seen me at my absolute gutter level worst and still contacted me.  I saw a man who was good, smart, funny, caring and kind.  When I expressed my reservations that he might only be attracted to me because of a morbid fetishized attraction to fat women, his response was, "Can't I be attracted to you without objectifying you?"  (I admit there was a antebellum worthy level of swooning that occurred when he said that.  I mean how good is that?).  We started chatting with some regularity.  

I was terrified of sharing this with my sponsor because of the perceived hard and fast rule that most 12 Steppers have, "No dating/sexual relationships w/in the first year of program". And I was worried she was going to take my new toy out of my proverbial toy box and not let me play with it.   Perhaps it was more than a little bit of projection on my part.  Because I had forgotten that Mike had delivered to me that most perfect sponsor that I could possibly ask for.  I don't mean a perfect sponsor, but the right one for me. We had a terribly vulnerable and real meeting where she expressed her concern that many more recovered people have gone out of the rooms based on a romantic relationship.  But that there are also no mistake, just lessons or blessings in the program.  That if I am surrendering my will to HP to the best of my abilities  ODAAT, it was perfect and already ordained.  I exhaled through my tears entirely grateful for the God's with skin Mike had put in my path, yet again. 

The other thing I was supremely grateful for was that I knew, in my gut/core/heart, that I was not willing to give up the abstinence I had for anyone/anything.  And that in and of itself is a precious miracle because I had envied those people who could sit in the meetings and say with a quiet confidence that, "their abstinence is the #1 thing in their life, without exception". And now I was one of those people.  If even talking to this guy was going to risk one millimeter of the precious recovery that I had, I would walk away.  Because Mike has only 3 answers when we want something, "Yes." "No," or "I have something better planned.  Stay patient".  Although I was already 48 years old never having felt feelings for a guy, I'd wait longer if I had to.  

Because the third miracle that was occurring was that I was developing feelings for this guy.  And they weren't the atypical "Ooohhh...He's HOT!" sort of feelings.  They were quiet, and timid and real.  The type of real that sort of makes you feel like your heart is being scrubbed with a surly porcupine.  It felt raw and slightly painful.  I had held centurion guard over my heart for my entire life.  And now, with just 15 days of entire abstinence, my heart was deciding that perhaps Mike was a better judge of what I needed in my life.  Whatever was ahead, I was willing to go along for the ride. 

And I've decided that I am basically on one of those lazy floats down the American River so many got to experience in their youths.  I'm in a rubber raft, with this guy and we're floating down this river.  Mike is our rafting guide.  With much more experience in rafting, he knows how to protect us from the danger zones while also ensuring we have a thrilling trip.  As long as we look to him for guidance this is going to be a worthwhile trip that I will remember.  And it's a trip I've been waiting my whole life to take.  I only get to take it if I stay focused on the next "steps" ahead of me.  The fruits of recovery are only for the diligent and prepared.  They are not, I have learned, something you earn through any virtue or special state.  They are truly available to everyone at any time. The price of a ticket is your control and using food as a crutch.  Being willing to start doing His will, one day at a time also helps. I don't necessarily care where we end up, or how long it takes to get there.  I am just enjoying the ride. It is a ride that I'm showing up for with a flutter in my heart, a smile on my face and a twinkle in my eye. 

It is incredibly good to be me. 

Thanks for reading.

Every Goyim Needs a Mohar

 I am Catholic. Like really Catholic.  We're talking 150% Hotel California, "You can check out anytime you like but you can never leave" Catholic.  It's in my blood.  It's in my cells.  When we had the funeral for my mom, my brother who'd probably last been in that church either when he graduated 8th grade from St. Mel's, or when mom had asked him to go for her, was only sightly jesting that he would be struck by lightening upon crossing the threshold. And my mom would probably watch down from heaven laughing. But she never got to see my brother excitedly tell me about how he'd told his now partner of 10 years that he loved him. My brother learned from my dad, that the larger the gesture, the more appropriately large the scene should be made to acknowledge this act. So my brother found the chicest custom stationary he could, wrote a love note to Tom and had to sent to the travel agent of his upcoming trip to Norway.  So that when Tom was on a cruise going through the fjords of Norway, he would be given a letter from my brother telling him that he was loved in a big and real way.  How could mom even think of not celebrating her son's courage and spirit?  Because she was raised in the pre Vatican Council II Catholic church.  That tells its congregants that while they should love the sinner, they should hate their sins.  And because the person that he was choosing to "sin" with happens to be another man, my brother lived in constant fear of losing the approval and good favor of the most cherished woman he had in his life.  That is just W.R.O.N.G.  Any way you friggin' slice it.  As we walked out of the hospital the night we took her off the ventilator after a valiant 7 1/2 week fight with pneumonia, my brother with profound tears in his eyes, asks my best friend Krista, herself a mom of three boys, if mom's "knew".  That he'd even have to ask that question breaks my heart in a way that I'll never have to worry about.  He had gone through life, on a path of accepting then embracing who he really is as a person, and it was a process so potentially shameful that he couldn't share it with the most important person in his life.  It that's what religion did, he'd have no part of it thank you very much.  I don't blame him. 

I, on the other hand, just sort of drifted away from the Catholic church in a haze of apathy and sloth.  But when I was back in the church where I spent so much of my childhood for the funeral of my best friend's father the memories came flooding back.  It was about the old school mates that also came to show respect for a very honorable, funny and caring man. It was also about being in a sanctuary where I learned, accepted and then eventually turned away from the tenants of organized religion.  As a spiritual but not religious person, that building just held memories.  Though I was paying attention to the Mass of Catholic burial for a man who chose to convert to Catholicism so late in life, I drifted between the psalms and my childhood.  From the Gospel to my Confirmation.  It was a rich trip down memory lane.  

Now Sacramento is a pretty segregated county.  It certainly was in 2000 when I originally went to my first OA meeting.  One of the very largest OA meetings in Sacramento was held Saturday evenings at Temple B'nai Israel down over in the south part of the city.  Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather.  "We have Jewish people here in Sacramento?" I asked in what is now a painfully naive memory.  Sure we do.  We have communities of Jewish congregants who gather to pay to a God that doesn't necessarily worship in the same way as us Catholics, but still inspires devotion and piety equally to any devout Catholic I've ever met.  I'm lucky to be dear friends with a woman named Hope.  Such a GREAT name for someone who represented the fellowship of Overeaters Anonymous AND Judaism for me.  

I will honestly admit that I have always been fascinated by yiddish.  It's a great language.  I think it started back when Mike Myers was doing this Linda Richmond skit on SNL.  He'd dress up as the archetype of every Jewish mom out there, complete with the bouffant hair, press on nails, and hairy upper lip.   He'd famish about an interaction so traumatic he'd get 'schpilkas in his ganeckta gazoink'.  The audience and watchers at home thought it was hysterically funny stuff.  It was a send-up that wasn't mean spirited but lovingly honest. He's said in interviews that it's an impersonation of the women who were friends with his mother-in-law when he'd married his now wife.  That it's based in real-life to any degree shows how brave and loving Mike Myers was.  It also showed a time when SNL was actually funny and not just painfully funny but lame impressions of our 45th President.  But like the two houses of the US Congress working in a bipartisan fashion, I'm afraid those days are long gone.  

So the longer I'm in OA, I become better friends with Hope and she'd always smile and laugh a bit when I'd try to "flex" my yiddish on her.  I was young for being in OA, like 25 when I entered, so that a relatively young kid would know so much about yiddish was surprising to her I think.  It was a source of giggles for us to be sure.  

As I finally got abstinent in OA this December, Hope was still at zoom meetings being her fabulous self.   Like any good born on the East Coast Californian, she knew the good meetings in NYC and Florida to hit to boost her recovery.  I'd told her that I was helping to pull off a surprise for my BFF's mom with tickets for the whole family to go see the Globe Trotters when they came to Sacramento in January.  She said I was a mensch doing a mitzvah. To non-yiddish speakers that means that I was a solid guy doing a good deed for another.  I smiled and agreed.  The surprise didn't go quite as planned, but my part in helping to make it a reality was still a noble effort. 

So Hope texts me the other day saying that she was my honorary mohar (teacher).  And I realized that this Catholic has a lot of mohar's in the 21 years she's been coming into and out of these rooms of recovery.  Some of them were showing me what I wanted to have, for which I was not willing to do the work required to achieve it. Being in the rooms when I returned 20 years later I was touched by the love and genuine happiness I was welcomed back with.  Watching some well intentioned shiksa (white girl) struggle in this fellowship for 20 years must have been painful and difficult to watch. And yet they still loved me.  Still help out their arms for post-meeting hugs.  Still kept coming back.  

Part of being in recovery is realizing that you're always just a putz who needs a mohar to survive.  While it requires a leveling of one's pride to even say those words, the payoff can be life-saving.  Just like the Promises tell us, "We will know a new freedom and a new happiness". And I can say that on day 72nd day of "entire abstinence", that I truly do know a new freedom and happiness.  I spent this evening  laughing until my sides ached and I could barely breathe.  It was because I was living a joyful, honest, authentic life. 

If you are getting to also live such a joyfully crazy life, please be sure to thank you mohars.  They're out there everywhere, finding one shouldn't be difficult.

Thanks for reading. 

Shalom,

KathyK

Because Game ALWAYS Respects Game

 One of my roommates is a guy named Scott. (Not his real name btw).  He's lived with me for 5+ years and he's absolutely great.  He loves my doggie possibly more than I do and he always helps out with the frequently mundane tasks that women tend to not want to do.  He's a super chill, rent always on time, his only fault is being a LA Dodgers fan, guy.  I like him a lot even if I've not been the best landlord/friend until getting abstinent.  I'm lucky to have him as a friend.  

Scott has a best friend named Wayne.  Wayne and he went to high school in Elk Grove together and have remained friends this whole time.  I've never met Wayne before.  And that's ok.  It's not like Scott's the sort of guy to invite a friend over to see his cool "pad".  That's not Scott's vibe, or Wayne's either probably.  So they spend a fair amount of time playing video games online and being friends.  I like him based on his choice in people already.  

So Wayne has a habit of sending Scott gifts randomly from time to time.  He's done it for years and they're always 100% original and 250% bizarre.  This most current gift is certainly the weirdest.  So Scott comes downstairs wearing a more formal robe than I've seen him in before.  Now if you thought Wayne was the only one with a sense of humor in this friendship think again, because Scott also enjoys taking a leisurely smoke out on the patio wearing a 3/4 length robe that makes him look suspiciously like a flour tortilla.  So he's got a healthy respect for the seemingly absurd as well.  Perhaps a friendship made in heaven? 

So Scott opens up his robe to show me what is possibly the tackiest attempt at a dashiki I've ever had the privilege to gaze at with my own eyes.  We're talking Nigerian Prince, "I swear I can prove to you I am rich if you'll just help me gain access to my account" rich. You get the vibe.  I give a hearty laugh and we go on with our night.  We briefly discussed the idea of attempting to get Wayne back in a good natured grudge match, but nothing was set in motion.  He tried to lure Ellie outside to get cuddles from her while she gave RBF looks to him.  I thought that was it. 

But then, just like all the great sidekicks of super hero origin stories, my best friend Krista enters the scene.  She has had a rather tough life of late.  And to say that she could use a laugh would have been frighteningly accurate.  So I regale her with the tale of Dashiki Scott and she's now laughing so hard she can't breathe and her stomach is cramping.  So, "VICTORY ACHIEVED" was definitely the vibe of the day. She then provided what will hopefully become "Phase 2" of this adventure.  That will be for her to get a fantastic mu mu and get some braids put into her hair.  Then a recording of them both walking around a local Walmart not understanding why they're being stared at will be created.  Once this has been achieved we will gather to give this culturally significant gift to Wayne, who is African American btw, a fact which just makes this story that much more awesome. 

One thing I know for sure.  The amount of fun I've had today is ONLY possible because of my diligence in working the 12 Step program of recovery from the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous.  No way would I be having any of this fun left to my own devices.  

More shall be revealed.  I can't wait. 

Keep coming back.  Thanks, KathyK  

On Mom's and Romantic Skinned Knees

 Like many addicts I had a complicated relationship with my mother.  It wasn't until I came into the rooms that I heard of powerlessness where alcohol was concerned.  The verbal chaos I was raised in was certainly evidence of an unmanageable life.  The ice tea glasses of clear liquid that smelled like jet fuel my mom had to take with her to bed every night certainly seemed like evidence also.  And perhaps most painful to me, the criticism my mom thought she was entitled to dole out along with judgement she was unafraid to express.  For all my mom's, "Can't we just be happy? happy? happy?”,  her preoccupation with image made faking it an olympic sport.  As long as people thought we were ok, we were ok. Ok? I have so many instances of , "You're going to wear THAT???" imprinted on my heart I was convinced I was going to carry them around like a Nepalese Sherpa carrying oxygen up to the summit forever.  

My mom also grew up in an era where being thin was a religion.  My mom was 5'9 3/4" and a size 6 the day she got married.  The self-hatred that drove her to drink found its origins in her physical appearance.  Her inability to accept that love wasn't a function of body size.  She grew up in an era where women smoked cigarettes as a way to suppress their appetite.  My mom stayed thin on a diet of Virginia Slim Lights, Popov Vodka, Diet Pepsi and resentment.  But when her health required that she stop smoking, she was left without her crutch.  She turned to food to fill her Mike (God) shaped hole.  She gained 100lbs in 2 years and developed type 2 diabetes.  With control of blood sugar being imperative, she was unable to give up the use of sugar-laden alcohol as a coping skill.  The surgery that ultimately caused her passing was being done to reopen the femoral artery in her left leg.  She had a seizure in recovery and spent 7 1/2 weeks on a ventilator before succumbing to pneumonia.  She died unable/unwilling to accept that she was  powerless over alcohol.  It wasn't until I came into the rooms that I read about the solution offered in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous that I understood there was another way of life available.  I came into OA at the age of 25 and concealed my participation in OA because I was afraid she was going to do something that would be just the excuse my disease was looking for to get me out of recovery.  For 7 weeks I went to 5-7 meetings a week together with the woman I was privileged enough to enter the rooms with.  When I finally told her what was going on and where I had been going she was understandably hurt that I felt I couldn't confide in her.  Her bruised ego was present in our interactions for awhile.  As I had mentioned before, she broke my anonymity to her sister and friend without checking to see if it was okay with me before she did it. The self-centeredness of her feeling she had a right to share things about me was huge.  As I became aware of, and focused on,  working the solution to my disease I began to change in a way that was threatening to my mom. See I had been her eating buddy before finding the rooms.  And now I was trying to stand in my truth and make different choices around food.  Her own disease would make well intended but flawed attempts to sabotage my recovery frequently because it would get her eating buddy back.  It became unmanageable to live with my mom. Coming into program in February 2000, I moved into my own apartment by July.  I now had a safe space to devote to my recovery.  I just had to deal with the flood of feelings around my move.  Thank goodness people in program freely shared their  E, S, & H of dealing with similar pain,

So I came into program carrying a substantial resentment towards my mom, on pop what I later realized was the consequences of her untreated alcoholism and its effect on my life.  And like a lot of unrecovered addicts I struggled with letting that go.  Much to my egos embarrassment, I became what I so ruthlessly judged.  Which was someone who shared about the mess of their relationship with their mother without applying the Steps to heal it. And because I then spent the next 20 years in relapse, I was talking about the dysfunction surrounding my relationship with my mother for a really friggin’ long time.  

BUT NOW, receiving entire abstinent from my HP (Mike's) grace, I am seeing that relationship with Mike's eyes. Where once I saw a mom who couldn't watch my relationship with my father without pain and jealousy; I now see a woman who couldn't handle watching me get the relationship she never got to have because her dad died of a heart attack when she was 7.  She had to watch her daughter get the quality of relationship she'd been robbed of by fate. And because my dad thought I hung the moon and was not afraid to show it, it became a huge source of contention in their marriage.  She had no coping skills other than alcohol to handle her resentment.  And while that certainly effected me significantly, I can now see her as the still suffering alcoholic who knew no other way.  I have such immense compassion for her and her predicament.  Truly life changing healing is occurring because Mike has removed this resentment.  And as someone who thought I'd be carrying that resentment around like a scourge for the rest of my life, to say I am amazed before I am half way through is a RIDICULOUS understatement.  I'm only on Step 3 and a resentment I thought would curse me for the rest of my life has been removed.  Does or does not my HP Mike ROCK?!?!?!?!?!

And now that I have taken my mom off the cross of Catholic persecution, I am wishing she were still here.  Because she passed in 2011, she never got to see me enter the dating world and try, however misguided, to find love.  We never, ever, spoke about relationships or sex in adolescence or young adulthood.  And because she was pretty apparent in her opinion that being fat made you less than in some way, I internalized that to mean that if I were overweight no man would love me.  And I had it absolutely imprinted on my heart.  I remember my amazing therapist asking me about my dating/love life in private session for several years.  And I'd look at him as if he'd just descended from Mars and was asking where the local Martian Bar was.  And Mike bless him for replying, "Bullshit" every time I'd try to explain to him for the umpteenth time that the sun rose in the East, set in the West, and no man could love me because I was overweight.  Because it was GOSPEL TRUTH in my mind.  You know, the mind of an addict where of course all things are true (wink, wink). 

I made a decision I now recognize was born out of the self-loathing of an addict, to gain experience with physical sexual relationships outside of a committed monogamous romantic relationship.  Just looking at that, it seems like a wild justification to just have a mild"slutty phase".  Growing up Catholic with a woman who went to school in the 1950's, my mom had some pretty conservative opinions about sexual relations that she felt more than free to share.  Good girls didn't eat the frosting off the relationship cake.  (Am I right SFHS Troubies?) .  But she never had to be confronted with me having a brief period of enjoying more than my fair share of unhealthy yet available frosting.  She was gone before I acquired the confidence to even try.  I was 39 before I had even kissed a boy and it saddens me that my mom was unavailable  talk about that with me.  Because like all alcoholic families the was A LOT that never got discussed.  The winter after my mom passed my dad traveled to Palm Springs where he spent time with my aunt, my moms sister.  After he returned he asked me in the car which was where we seemed to get a lot of deep conversations handled, a question that broke my heart.  "Kathy, why did we never discuss mom's alcoholism?" 

The day we decided to take my mom off the respirator, my aunt and I had a very important conversation.  She had heard from one of her children that I had attended an Al Anon meeting.  That in and of itself was a big problem. Because my mom prized her image above almost everything and requires secrecy to maintain it.  Protecting her mage was sacrosanct.  And the judgement she felt on herself she projected onto her sister and family.  So the fact that she perceived any honest discussion about shortcomings as"gossip" made disclosure ill advised if not outright impossible. 

But I had just been told that my mom's time on earth was limited and for the sake of my sanity I couldn't not tell her. So I screwed up my courage and tried to broach the subject as if I were releasing mustard gas onto an open field. I gingerly approached and then threw the truth as if it was a grenade that could explode.  Such was my fear of my mom knowing that I was breaking the shroud of secrecy that se had so painstakingly constructed.

So I said to my aunt, "Well....um...I think my mom might have had a problem with alcohol" You would think I had just told her I thought my mom was a Libyan terrorist.  And in the voice of someone who'd smoked for 20+ years she replied, "YA THINK!"  I was quite taken aback at her emphatic confirmation of a problem I never even existed until I came into the rooms of 12 Step myself.  And it was then that I learned that my mom's drinking was one of the worst kept secrets in her small, insulated, home town in southern Minnesota.  In retrospect the story I learned about my mom getting arrested with some of the girls she'd gone to school with for disorderly conduct for spraying a cop car with whipped cream makes sense.  She was probably intoxicated when she joined in on some harmless fun, and managed to be the one girl in the car that tagged a cop-car.  When I learned the background on that story I originally was proud of her badge of mischievous honor.  But now I can see it as just a consequence of her sliding into alcohol addiction. Of being bodily different from her fellows. And not just when she'd graduated from. from a small, private Catholic all girls college in St. Paul MN and graduated in 1958.  So her alcoholism which had previously been guarded like a military state secret, was now out in the open.  And I still had to go to the hospital to say my goodbye's.  We drove downtown to the hospital in sort of stunned silence.  

But for the family of an alcoholic, that's just the cost of doing business.  It was the norm.  But with the damn of secrecy broken, the former secret could now be exposed to the sunlight of the spirit.  And that has just now occurred with the clarity I've received from 63 days of entire abstinence and freedom from the obsession to engage in my addiction of choice.  

I now see my mom as a perfectly imperfect child of God who did the best she could handling a very painful up after having to try to accept a loss that I can't imagine.  I can have compassion for the woman who didn't know any better how to treat her children or a husband who loved her immensely but showed it in some really maladaptive and codependent ways.  Where once there was anger, hurt and resentment, there is now IMMENSE love, compassion and understanding.  I absolutely consider this yet another miracle of healing made possible by Mike, my HP.  I thought I'd be carrying around this burden forever. Shows you what I get for being in self-will. Once again God has done for me what I never dared imagine being able to do myself.  The feeling of easy and healing when my mom comes to mind is miraculous.  And I think, had I not fully surrendered in Step 1 and began to see my own self without shame and through eyes of compassion, that I never would have been able to see my mom that way.  And that's yet another  miracle.  That our HP's can not only remove the obsession to eat/use, but it can truly solve all my problems.  Talk about a power greater than me.  

I am more than amazed before I am just about 1/4 through.  And if this is how good my HP thinks I deserve it, I'm going to continue to work to achieve full recovery and be qualified to carry this message to other addicts.  Because I have to share the miracle of recovery that has changed my life so much in just a little over 60 days.  

Thanks for being along for the ride. 

  

"Recovery is Like a Paint-by-Numbers. You Never Know What You're Gonna Get."

 Hello there friends!  I hope this finds you chilly and dry but well.  I am so incredibly grateful to have celebrated through the grace of Mike, 60 days of entire abstinence on February 23rd.  If you had told me 62 days ago that I wouldn't be bingeing on $74 a day of Taco Bell in two months, I would have called you a flat out liar.  Such is the nature of self-will.  By finally accepting that I am a raisin never ever to be returned to being a grape, I have received the miracle of recovery that I only once dreamed about.  I have true freedom from the disease of compulsive overeating, one day at a time, as long as I let Mike steer the direction of my life.  

From the hell of a prolonged, 20 year, self-will fueled relapse, I am now planing the eventual remodel of my childhood home.  I have a dear friend from grade school who is a divinely gifted artist.  Leah Bishop Newton is part of the Visual and Performing Arts team for Elk Grove Unified School District.  Her paintings hang in galleries and win awards.  To say, "Girl has got it going on" would be a mild understatement to be sure.  And I had a fleeting thought that I might commission an original to go over the fireplace in what will be the great room. I reached out, me being a woman of action as opposed to talk now ODAAT, and asked her.  She very sweetly indicated that she was swamped but we could see.  Like a true diplomat and dear friend, she left the door open for future discussions.  I contently went on my way. 

 My roommate Nicole has become quite fond of adult paint by numbers.  Very reasonably priced on Amazon (along with most things), she's now starting her second painting.  Much to my dismay she is reluctant to allow me to put her first attempt on the side of the fridge.  All good artwork goes on the side of the fridge if you remember, regardless of the opinion of the artist.  I want to cheer her on and will ask Mike how far do I lovingly push this.  He'll let me know. 

Inspired by her new hobby I looked on Amazon and threw yet more money into the Jeff Bezos' retirement fund.  I found a lovely floral portrait I really liked and ordered it.  

The journey had begun. 

As I begin this considerable project, I am acutely aware of how similar recovery is to paint-by-numbers.  They both are long term projects.  They requires dedication and attention to detail.  They require perseverance.  They start with abstract forms, only to end in a beautiful picture lovingly put together by our Higher Power.  As long as we faithfully and genuinely apply our efforts, we are assured a picture that is more accomplished than we could have achieved on our own.  What was a small blob of effort or a surrender of perfectionism becomes an experience that captures a journey.  We are different and better than we were when we began.  We have something beautiful we want to share with others.  We have something that we have earned that is priceless and unique.  

The color of the paint by numbers just so happens to coincide with the couch color I want to put into the newly remodeled great room. I have decided that regardless of the perfection of the finished project, it will hang over the fireplace when I am finished. I have no idea when that will be.  But I know this, the colors are bold, rich and beautiful.  They are bight and vibrant and welcoming.  They are part of the home that I am creating one day at a time thru the miracle of the 12 Steps.  

I think Mike would like them a lot. 

Thanks for reading, 

Kathy K

Knowing When to Cut Your Pineapple

 So I bought a pineapple when I was @ Costco the other day to pick up my eye glasses.  Spoiler alert:  Costco glasses are just a crap ton cheaper than anything else on the market.  They do good work for a VERY reasonable price and I'm now a loyal and true Costco eyeglass customer.  

It's surreal to be walking through the warehouse and having all the samples available and having zip interest in trying any of them.  Like Invasion of the Body Snatchers bizarre.  But I smiled to myself and Mike (you met him a few posts ago) that what was once a cart of snacks, processed foods and frozen unhealthy things was now full of chicken apple sausages, plain yogurt, frozen berries and enough fresh produce to make The Rock impressed.  What a change has occurred.  It was not lost on me.  

As a challenge to my serenity I got talked into attempting to change my cellphone carrier from T-Mobile (sprint) to AT&T.  The sales girl who was 19 years old (bless her heart!) was very friendly and efficient and good at what she does.  She was almost successful in her goal.  Where she lost me was when there was some technical barrier to getting my account and phone number changed over.  The tech support person was very hard to understand and the connection was very bad.  After giving the process over an hour (Seriously Kathy??? Did Catholic school teach you nothing about prolonged suffering?) I cut my losses and walked away.  I was able to talk to her boss and let him know that she was great.  Its the back end that lost the sale for her and I felt bad because she has no control over that.  My friend Rosemarie was supremely impressed by my calm, cool and collected handling of what was a long frustrating and ultimately unfruitful endeavor.  I felt like a spiritual Padawan being tested by the Jedi Masters.  I may have passed this first test but I had to walk by the food court to get out and that could be challenging.  Luckily I made it out of there unscathed. 

As part of my produce haul I bought a whole pineapple.  What strikes me about the pineapple that I bought was that I bought it as though it was no big deal.  We Americans don't even blink about having pineapple available in February in North America.  We are a supremely privileged people and I hope we never forget that.  The pineapple cost me $2.49 which is an insanely good price.  I picked a green one and took it home where it was given pride of place in the fruit basket.  And there it sat. 

Fast forward and I got an itch to cut open my pineapple today.  Cutting open fruit is always a risk.  Will it be ripe? Will it taste good?  To me there are few things more disappointing than a piece of fruit that looks gorgeous but has absolutely no taste.  It is my opinion that our fruit farmers are meeting demand for softball sized apples at the expense of them tasting anything remotely like real apples.  Thank Mike for Apple Hill.  

So there I was at the moment of truth.  Was I going to be transported to the shores of Waikiki, or was I going to be disappointed by bland tasting fruit.  Not unlike 12 Step recovery, a moment of faith is upon me.  I am at the point where I get to finish Step 2 and take Step 3.  And Step 3 is making a decision to turn my will (thoughts) and life (actions) over to the care of Mike as I understand him. So I've been consciously trying to spend more time with the entity that is giving me willingness to do simple but not easy things ODAAT.  I've learned that Mike is kind, loving, compassionate, humorous but never meanly, humble, honest, brave and always available.  That's a lot better than Guido who seeks to undermine my very existence with mayhem and chaos.  It seems like a simple choice to make.  

But because Guido is the gift that keeps on giving, there's always that part of my mind that thinks, "Well are you SURE????????"  As if my life were so star-spangled awesome when he was my spiritual Julie Steubing (Anyone too young for the Love Boat reference can leave now,  Just kidding).  But we addicts will always choose the detrimental familiar over the unknown.  That's the insanity of addiction.  We literally think, "It may be a piece of shit but it's mine and it's warm".  And that's so sad.  I feel grateful that I have so much proof of Mike's awesomeness in my life right now that I don't actually feel like it's a difficult decision.  I endeavor to answer the questions in the laborious final assignment that my sponsor gave me with care and attention.  Guido likes me speed through things at breakneck speed, with well intentioned carelessness.  Mike is all about the slow and considered pace approaching assignments.  He has high expectations because he knows I can do it.  He has faith in me. 

So, we're told that we only need a mustard seed of faith to begin the journey.  I know without a shadow of a doubt that I have that mustard seed and it's more like a bushel of seeds of faith.  I know that I can be open and honest and vulnerable with people because they're getting to see the genuine me.  That's such a gift.  I can be in situations with food where I don't have to struggle or stress.  Because I know I am a COE and completely screwed if I even so much as glance towards Guido to get his opinion.  I don't need to prove what a fuckup I am by eating something that could trigger another 20 year relapse.  Because this I know for sure.  I always have another relapse in me.  Guido is in the corner doing Cross-Fit like a Gym Bro waiting to attack and murder my spirit.  He's come close many times before.  He almost got me this last time.  I can learn how to have difficult conversations with people I care about as long as I realize that they have their own Higher Power and I'm not it.  I have faith that I can cultivate the spiritual muscle memory to seek Mike and not Guido with every decision that I am faced with.  My sponsor so wisely told me that every choice is a blessing or a lesson. I feel like if I stick with Mike I will get a lot more blessings than lessons. 

So I bet you're wondering what happened with my pineapple. Well it turned out to be the perfect time to cut it open.  A few days sooner and it wouldn't have been ripe enough.  A few days later and it would have been rotten.  Like Goldie Locks, I got it just right.  

Maybe Mike had something to do with that.  

Fat Girls and Bracelet Watches

 So one of the things that I have realized is that I will only have success with the physical weight loss that I need to be able to get my joints replaced if I focus on the SPIRITUAL aspect of 12 Step recovery.  Because between you, me and the internet, I can feel the weight dropping off my body.  It's happening quickly right now and the less I focus on it the better.  What is working for me and giving me freedom from the compulsion to overeat one day at a time is focusing on the spiritual nature of the disease.  My sponsor participates in a group of 12 Steppers called the Spiritual Gangsters.  They are people from across multiple "qualifiers"  (alcohol, food, narcotics, denting, sex love and relationship addiction, and just about any other maladaptive coping skill you can imagine) who come together to work the 12 Steps because what we are seeking recovery from is a spiritual problem that happens to effect me in a very visible way.  If I am abstinent and in a recovery state, my weight should be trending down.  It should be fairly noticeable from meeting to meeting.  If I am in relapse it will unfortunately be very obvious.  I will most likely not be taking care of myself in a myriad of ways.  I will not want to make eye contact with you.  I will make commitments I don't honor.  I will disappoint you.  I will frustrate you.  This is the maddening world of active addiction and it does not matter one rip[ what you choose to try and fill that God shaped whole with.  What matters is that you are trying to fix a spiritual problem with a physical solution that is actually the recipe on how to slowly kill you.  

ALL THIS IS TO SAY- I had occasion to go through my jewelry box this weekend and I found several bracelet watches that need new batteries.  The fact that I even possess bracelet watches is a testament to my optimism that is one of my overriding characteristics.  Because if you've ever been one of the "big girls who have wanted a bracelet watch, I'm here to tell you:YOU ARE NOT ALONE.  Big girls are relagated to the "stretchy band" section of the watch department that make one feel like a model for fashion accessories for seniors.  You just feel, for lack of a better word, frumpy.  And so when I came across these three watches, there was no way to be sure if they even worked, let alone fit.  I was worried that should I  try them on but not be able to get them closed and it would be a sign that my progress is not good enough.  Because that's what addicts do.  We assign inordinate importance to tribal experiences.  

But I'm doing things differently these days.  I can do anything as long as I ask Mike to join me on the adventure.  And that's the bonus of being in recovery.  Things can go from beyond your wildest dreams to stagnate and hopeless in one bad choice.  I can only compare it to the feeling of being on roller blades with the elbow and knee pads, helmet securely on top of my head.  I'm being asked to go down a steeply sloping BMX track with jumps and ramps and danger.  Oh, and by the way, could you do it while holding a Faberge egg and not damage that precious item in your hands on the way down?  Because that's what it feels like I'm doing right now.  And some days it feels easy to pull off, most days in fact right now (thank you Mike!). But some days are just a flat out trudge.  Like carrying a bag of rocks up a steep muddy hill sort of trudging.  But the good news is that you're not alone anymore.  There are fellow trudgers along the path with you.  You easily meet and greet different people, having short but meaningful chats and then wishing them well as they continue on their own journey.  The trudging sometimes is very tiring but luckily Mike encourages self-care while on the journey.  It doesn't feel familiar yet, but it's good to practice.  You know that you can ask for directions along the way? There is always someone who knows what you're going through available to provide support.  That makes the trudge better.  We can gently laugh at one another in a knowing way, because we're on the same journey.  12 Steps.  Freedom and a life of rich and meaningful connections.  Its worth the effort.  It's worth the anxiety and fear of change.  Mike wouldn't being you this far and leave you!  Take the leap.  Its SO worth it. Because aside from freedom and a chance to live a life beyond your wildest dreams; you also get to be a former "big girl" who can wear any bracelet watch she wants now.  Just another one of the miracles I get to experience amidst the trudging.  It most certainly makes the journey worth it. 

You've met Guido, now meet Mike

If you're like me, and you're grew up a child of the late 70's early 80's you probably have a somewhat fractured relationship with religion.  I grew up Catholic, and grew up in the time after Vatican Council II but before the explosion of the priest sex abuse scandal that sent so many of us away from the churches we grew up in.  It's a tough time to believe in God, only because his servants have been off doing some shady shit.  And that's no lie.  

Recovery in a 12 Step program is CONTINGENT upon our ability to create and develop a relationship with a power greater than ourselves.  But for someone like me, who grew up with Charleton Heston standing on top of the mountain with the two tablets of the Ten Commandments, finding a relationship with a Higher Power that will enable me to not eat $74/TacoBell every night is a tall order.  I am someone who is described in the Big Book as believing in a Higher Power, but being unable to believe that power will work for ME.  I've since learned that is a huge sign of arrogance.  And I get that.  Who am I to believe in a wonderful entity, capable of miracles, but believe that entity would single me out for exclusion? I've since realized I'm not that special.  And I'm good with that.  

So what does a girl do now?  If Step Two is crucial for the recovery process, how does a woman who has been  Super Glued to her self-will develop a connection with a Higher Power? She starts with a picture in her mind.  

Seeing as my romantic history was slightly stunted by my food addiction, I didn't grow up with the experience of having lots of boyfriends growing up.  So I spent a fair amount of time in fantasy.  It is an ongoing process to let go of that maladaptive coping skill.  Currently my favorite celebrity fantasy is Michael Fassbender.  He is just #gorgeous.  Those eyes, that smile.  He is the whole package while also being a great actor.  So THAT's the visual I'm starting with. 

Now that I've got his physical archetype set, let's get to his qualities.  Because he's a Higher Power, it's not all about how he looks (although he looks REALLY good). Mike as we shall call him going forward is gracious.  He's loving. He's got a healthy sense of humor for my often bizarre responses to things.  He is patient.  He's secure in his power.  He's firm in his belief that I deserve good things in my life and unwilling to allow me to compromise.  He's stalwart.  He's dependable.  He's quiet.  He's calm.  He's unhurried. He's moral. He has integrity.  He's chivalrous. He's honest. He's willing to sacrifice me liking Him, because He loves me.  He is omnipotent enough to control the goings on in the world, but small enough to care what's in my refrigerator.  He's strong.  He's a friend.  He's always available.  He's a listener, until it's time for me to shut up which inevitably happens when we talk. He's accepting of who I am ENTIRELY, believing that I am perfect just as I am in this moment.  He accepts me, he believes in me.  He hopes for me.  He hurts for me when I stumble.  

So this process is all about making Mike the center of my life and my recovery journey.  Because he's made this journey  possible.  And one day at a time I'm very grateful.  

Thanks for reading.    

Introducing "Guido"

I have a disease in my mind.  You see, although it's the manifestation of the disease, its not about the food.  I think that people think when they learn about the "allergy of the body" that's described in The Doctor's Opinion, they think that it means they can justify having a fixation on finding the right "foods" when not addressing the spiritual malady that we learn we have.  By focusing on my spiritual program of recovery and not what I'm eating, I get to experience freedom from the obsession.  It's a gift I don't take for granted. 

I'm also a visual person.  I do better when I can a picture of something to give it animation and life.  And somewhere in the past 40-ish days I decided to give my disease a persona.  This persona feels familiar because I've been under the influence of it's whims for a very long time.  My disease has a name:

His name is Guido.  

You see Guido lives in Bayonne New Jersey in the refurbished basement of his 89 year old tiny Italian mother who still presses his shirts and folds his underwear.  He's 47 years old and his life is going nowhere.  He sells used cars at the lot over by the fairgrounds.  He remembers with fond nostalgia the times of Starsky and Hutch and wears the fashion to prove it.  Velvet suit cut in an homage to the 70's, white spread collar dress shit underneath unbuttoned unfortunately too far to reveal a smattering of chest hair with a gold necklace laying on top of it.  His hair plugs are going to take any day.  He thinks his pinky ring is savage.  You can get a whiff of the High Karati cologne.  

Guido's sole mission in life is to render me dead.  He truly believes I deserve nothing but pain and suffering and torture and turmoil.  He is mean spirited, likes humor at the expense of others, and is just generally, pardon my French, trying to fuck up my shit. Here is a short list of his goals for my mind/body/spirit:

To be alone. To FEEL alone.  To be emotionally cut off from virtually everyone who cares about you, unavailable to enjoy the fellowship you crave.  Broke financially, because let's be honest, you don't really think I could pay cash for that much bingeing.  No self-respect, no dignity, no hope.  Unable to take care of your own personal hygiene.  Unwilling to be honest with anyone.  Fearful, irritable.  Physical body broken, emotionally vacant, spiritually void.  

The fun part of all of this is the Guido, being nothing if not resourceful, can change his form at a moment's notice to accommodate the needs of his victim.  If it seems that her food issues are being reigned in, let's start fucking with her money, money settling down?  Let's start messing with her relationships, creating friction between people I love.  Whatever he can get at his fingertips, he will use to crush my hopes and dreams into oblivion.  He wants me annihilated .  He almost won.  

But luckily, with a tiny mustard seed of faith, I recognized that I had received the gift of freedom from the obsession.  I truly believed that a Higher Power had intervened on my behalf and taken me by the hand to beautiful new place called abstinence.  Abstaining feels effortless right now.  The compulsion is removed by abstaining from foods that I know trigger the allergy of the body and the obsession of the mind.  I refrain from sugar/flour/DoorDash.  The boundaries are lazer sharp and crystal clear.  I know the lines I do not cross.  And in turn for what feels like a small amount of surrender; we receive a disproportionally larger gift.  Entire Abstinence.  As someone who tried to "think" my way to freedom; I was dismayed to find out that knowledge was worth less that nothing.  In fact it was a direct hinderance to my being able to let go of my self-will just long enough for Mike to take my hand.  

One of the leaders of one of my favorite meetings says, "God sends out search and rescue missions for us addicts". Because I have been rescued.  For as long as I had tried to think my way into right action, I was governed by a self-will that was determined to work as Guido's underling and keep me sabotaging any chance I might have at a real life.  That I have finally surrendered to my disease and admitted that I am absolutely a compulsive eater to my core.  I will never NOT be a compulsive overeater.  I can never think my way into right action.  I can't solve a problem with the mind that created it.  I'm so grateful that I finally dropped the friggin rock, I can really only collapse in exhausted gratitude.  That I am finally know that my THINKING is the problem, not just the food I put into my mouth.  You can't turn a Volvo into a Porsche.  I had sat in a lot of meetings wishing I could be struck ignorant.  That I could let go of the incessant nagging drive to figure it out.  Find the loophole. I can just stop.  I can let go.  

I finally recognize that I don't need Guido's influence in my life.  Seeking Guido's approval almost killed me spiritually if not physically.  I can't do it anymore.  I'm done. 

But who's going replace the void that Guido's place in my life?  He was my common law spouse and he'd been with me for the past 20 years.  Whoever was going to replace him better get his act together and help me or I'm going to throw a tantrum.  He needs to be loving, possessing a borderline sardonic sense of humor that delights in the absurd but never revels in another person's pain. He wears his Power confidently, without the need to brag or boast.  He needs to be patient, and understanding.  He KNOWS that he can take care of me better than that sniveling weasel Guido.  He's here, waiting to take you to a beautiful place you've never been.  He wants to care for you.  He want's you to trust him.  Unlike Guido, he keeps his promises. He knows you're precious and deserve to be cherished.  He's ready to do the heavy lifting.  He's begging you to turn your back on Guido. " Please just leave him"  He will never give you what you deserve.  He will leave you hanging every time. "Please just trust me.  I won't let you down."  His name is Mike.  He holds out his hand.  I think to myself that the only thing left for Guido to do is kill me.  I don't want to die.  I've got shit to do.....

The Gift

So, there are absolutely people who can be in program and be struck sober.  There are some people for whom it is a struck by lightening experience.  That is not my story.  My story is a lot murkier and darker.  But what happened for me is that while I can't say I was struck abstinent, I WAS in fact, struck willing.  I went from someone who was just NOT a part of the larger world in any significant way to being willing to change my entire life to get freedom from the self-loathing that comes with being a gutter compulsive overeater.  If you don't believe in a power greater than yourself, I dare you to try and explain how someone like me, who was legitimately slothful towards the end of my relapse; goes from an average DoorDash bill of $74/DAY to someone who can sit at a birthday party and feel total and complete neutrality amidst 2 different decadent cakes.  They truly could have been sawdust for all I cared.  As a gutter, low bottom compulsive overeater I can only tell you that it was nothing short of miraculous.  The freedom was intoxicating.  I jumped off on the "pink cloud" and headed towards the sunset.  Old Timers looking at me with timid hope, "I hope it is different this time.  She's been like this before and has relapsed."  It would be tough to watch someone you care self-destruct again.  It's heartbreaking.  

But what do you do when you have absolutely NO STREET CRED left. People just don't believe you're going to walk your talk.  I joked that I have a PhD in B.S.  I talk a good game.  I get why I was always told I had a personality for sales.  I'm optimistic and outgoing in public situations.  I wanted so badly to say, "No but you don't understand!!!!!  It's "different" this time!" I can completely understand why people would be skeptical.  It's tough to risk hope on someone you care about who seems to inevitably self-destruct into the closest comfort available.  Which for me was always food.  

My sponsor is gloriously direct in her communication style.  Being so direct makes it extremely effective.  She also has a sense of humor that is truly a gift from Mike to me.  There's a line in the AA Big Book, "we are not a glum lot". When you've been DELIVERED to a new way of acting, you want to run around the town square screaming it to the rooftops.  My enthusiasm was borderline obnoxious. In my zeal of abstinence, I wanted to do everything all at once.  I asked questions that to me seemed to be an attempt to gain more information.  To my sponsor, it was an attempt to control and be in self-will. And while I was defensive in the beginning, I quickly began to see that my being so "enthusiastic" in conversations, often became interrupting and dominating conversations.  Everyone's endearing is another persons irritating.  

As my sponsor coached me on things like; keeping commitments to have homework ready to share with sponsor.  Being clear about start times for our daily Zoom meetings.  Things that seem benignly troublesome are an example of my being in the grips of the disease.  Because I was used to running the show see, and if I was going to give control over to an entity I was only just beginning to define, it was going to have to be convincingly worth it.  I took my lumps and bumps and coaching from my sponsor.  And she ALWAYS framed it as an opportunity to learn something about ourselves that we can possibly use in service of others.  Because that's really the whole point of all this.  To be spiritually fit enough to be of service to others in every interaction you have.  It's a tall order for sure.  But giving it away is the only way to guarantee protection from the first compulsive bite.  It's one of the promises of the program.  

A (funny) Thing Happened on the Way to the Bottom.

 Hola!  I feel like I need to do some catch-up posts to sort of catch y'all up on things.  So we left off in the Fall of 2022.  I had managed to survive the pandemic with "most" of my sanity in tact.  I had spent the last 9 months bingeing, sleeping and hiding.  Life felt pretty small.  I was having different problems physically that I had not had to deal with before, which made me believe I had gotten even heavier than I was before.  A "point of no return" land where I was destined to die alone.  Thankfully that wasn't possible because I had roommates, but they never saw me during daylight hours; when the effects of yet another night of bingeing would present and I'd have no other choice but to sleep the day away, so I could be up and ready to repeat the cycle again in 8-10 hours.  It wasn't much of a life.  And one night something in me shifted.  I FINALLY got sick and tired of being sick and tired.  You'd think that having a hip joint bone on bone since 1994, two knees bone-on-bone since 2001would make anyone want to change their life.  But as a Irish Catholic who endured 12 years of plaid skirts, let me assure you my tolerance for pain is SUBSTANTIAL.  Nope, I'd gone from using a cain, to using a walker, to using a wheelchair, to not moving very much all by mid-December of 2022.  And luckily because of the pandemic, 95% of OA meetings were on Zoom.  I went to the December 21, 2022 meeting.  There I heard what I can only now confirm were words from Mike, my Higher Power (more on Mike later).  I heard, "You have to be willing to go through the discomfort of detoxing from your alcoholic foods." Being "uncomfortable"  is NOT one of my preferred states of being, if you haven't guessed.  But that kernel of truth got stuck in my mind and would just not leave.  And there was a person there who absolutely had what I wanted by way of recovery and she was available to sponsor.  After the meeting  I called her and asked her if she would be my sponsor.  "Why do you think I'm reluctant to be your sponsor?"  I knew why but didn't want to give voice to one of my most embarrassing character defects:  I'm a quitter.  I don't stick.  I don't stay.  As soon as things get uncomfortable, I'm OUT of there.  I take the easier, softer way.  I couldn't argue with the truth.  I copped to the truth.  She said she'd give me a 30 day trial.  I would take whatever I could get.  Little did  I know what I was getting into.  In the best way possible.  

We got started at the beginning.  Did I believe that I was truly powerless over food, and that my life had become unmanageable?  I was ready to cry, "UNCLE!".  I was beat.  I could no longer try to pretend that my life was any kind of manageable, let alone desirable.  I conceded to my truly inner most self, for the first time ever, that I was completely unable to control and enjoy my food.  I was ashamed, exhausted and humbled.  I was finally done.  I was now able to relax, my body sagging against the ropes of the boxing ring.  Food had knocked me out.  

When I finally came to, there was my sponsor in my corner.  

My sponsor said that how she got the recovery I wanted was by saying  "how high?" every time her sponsor said jump.  I was afraid that what would start out as a good faith effort would fizzle away like every other good intention I had ever started with.  I finally decided to divorce myself from the word "forever" and get to know my good friend "tomorrow".  My sponsor told me I would be meeting with her an hour a day M-F, have nightly homework and needed to go to as many meetings as physically possible.  Luckily zoom meetings were in an abundance at the time.  It was literally an embarrassment of riches in that respect.  I would find myself going to multiple fantastic meetings in a single day.  With a willingness that I can only describe as Miraculous, I made a beginning.  I think it's a miracle that I did.  

Like Sands Through the Hourglass.......

Well hello there friends, it's been quite a long while since you've heard from me. I've decided to resurrect this blog because I've got stuff that I want to share about.  There has been A LOT going on in my crazy life.  So here goes nothing.  

So most of you know I "outed" myself as a compulsive overeater who is in 12 Step recovery around my food addiction.  I attend Overeaters Anonymous, and have been aware of the fellowship since February 2000.  I have come to understand that anonymity is  a very personal choice for people in recovery.  I have an above average comfort level with people knowing I attend OA.  It's not like I don't wear the ramifications of my disease on my body literally.  When you meet me in person, you KNOW that I have profound issues with food.  So to me it's no problem that people know I'm in OA.  I personally think that OA isn't well enough known in the community abroad, especially among the bariatric surgery community where many people go looking for help regarding having too much weight on their bodies.  When I went to my bariatric surgeon for a consultation, I was not surprised to discover he'd never heard of OA.  We are not well known in the medical community.  I brought him a newcomer packet and that was about it.  

Another part of the reasoning behind anonymity is because if you are someone like me, who's relapsed back into compulsive overeating and have substantial weight gain, you are subliminally showing people that the OA program of recovery does not work.  The truth of this for me is that it's not that the OA program didn't work.  It's that I wasn't working the OA program AS INTENDED and therefore I was a good example of a bad example as they say.  Truer words have never been spoken. 

So I came into OA in February of 2000 from the rooms of Weight Watchers.  I had lost 50lbs but was stuck circling the same 5 pounds for a few months, and getting increasingly frustrated by my inability to  shift my weight.  A girl at the WW meeting was young and energetic like myself and we went to coffee after a meeting one Saturday morning.  She asked me if I had ever heard of OA.  I hadn't.  Despite growing up with the disease of alcoholism in my home, the 12 steps might as well have been in Sanskrit when I heard them the 1st time.  But there was a 100lb emphasis meeting that happened on Saturday nights that was very popular so we went.  There I found a group of people who were the antidote to my mom's favorite mantra, "I'll be happy WHEN I'm thin".  Here were people of all ages and sizes who seemed genuinely happy NOW.  They embraced us newcomers with zeal and welcomed us to a fellowship of people who were united not necessarily by the common problem, but by the common SOLUTION of the 12 Steps.  I wanted what they had and enthusiastically committed myself to this new way of life.  

The ethos at the time in OA was that most people had success sticking to a "3-0-1"plan of eating. That was 3 meals a day, nothing in between One day at a time.  In OA we learn that we have a physical allergy that makes us crave some foods.  And a mental obsession that guarantees that we won't be able to refrain from starting to eat our alcoholic foods.  Everyone has their foods, that they cannot seem to eat moderately in any situation.  For me at the time, that food was Wheat Thins.  I have often joked that I think Wheat Thins are the chemical equivalent of heroin.  How else do I explain how I can open a family size box and finish it in one setting; my tongue raw from the coarse salt on top of the crackers.  They say, "If you want what we have, do what we do."  And so that's what I did.  I lost 10lbs a month for 14 months straight.  I got to a weight I hand't been to in my young adult life.  I received a lot of attention in the program for the weight loss.  While I NOW understand that attention, as being just a external representation of the miracles of the program working in my life, I was unable to keep perspective on all the attention I was getting.  For someone who felt invisible because of being morbidly obese, to get POSITIVE attention for my body size might as well have been a line of crushed up Wheat Thins, ready to be snorted in a line by yours truly.  And as slowly as a thief in the night, my disease returned to snatch victory out of my hands.  I relapsed around year 2, and spent the next TWENTY YEARS in a cycle of chronic relapsing and returning.  I am SO GRATEFUL that I never left the rooms of OA entirely.  Another popular slogan is, "Don't leave before the miracle happens!"  How true that sentiment is for me.  

OA bases itself on the 12 Steps of Alcoholics Anonymous, changing only the words, "alcohol and alcoholic" to "food and compulsive overeater".  As someone who truly bought into the conventional wisdom that controlling food is a matter of "will power" and "discipline", it was a new vision to learn that we were actually powerless over food.  We learn that we have a 2 fold illness; a physical allergy to certain foods.  And a mental obsession that guarantees at some point that I will turn back to those alcoholic foods for ease and comfort.  "If Suzie can eat X, why can't I?"  It took me a long time to understand that the reason that I cannot is that I am DIFFERENT.  That somewhere in my makeup are different cells when it comes to eating food.  Somewhere in my past, I taught myself that food was something I could stuff into my "God shaped hole" to try and fill it.  But like all GSH's, the bottom of the hole could never be reached. I could increasingly eat larger and larger quantities of food each time I would binge.  By the fall of 2022, I was spending the majority of time in my bedroom alone, in the dark, eating $74 of DoorDash A DAY, eating that in the dark only to the glow of my cell phone playing YouTube videos.  It was a very small life for me because I couldn't escape my disease.  

I was morbidly obese, compulsively overeating, and depressed.  What could happen next?  

Stay Tuned...............