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...............