I remember being a compulsive eater from a very young age and having a negative self-image just as early. Food was always my friend, and I often ate until I was painfully full. Even in kindergarten, I wished I could be one of the “pretty girls” instead of who I was.
The dieting cycle started in third grade when, on the advice of my pediatrician, my mom put me on a diet so that “my childhood fat cells wouldn’t last for life.” She meant well, but the message I absorbed was that I was fat and ugly—and that I needed to change. That belief began years of dieting, ordering fitness plans, restricting, binging, and obsessing over my body.
In junior high, I stopped eating at school so no one would see the “fat girl” eat. I starved during the day and binged after school. At fourteen, I would restrict before seeing my boyfriend and then binge when I got home. In high school, I tracked everything I ate, I even counted raisins, and made my poor mom listen as I recounted every bite, asking if it sounded like too much. Then there was the over-exercising and restricting to lose weight for prom, followed by the inevitable binging afterward. The cycle continued, over and over.
When I got to college and faced the dorm buffets, I remember eating so much that it hurt all the time. I preferred eating alone so I could eat as much as I wanted without anyone watching. I hid, snuck, and stole food from my roommate, coworkers, even grocery stores. I threw food away and then dug it back out of the trash to eat it again.
I had heard of eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia but didn’t think I fit into either category. I didn’t purge, and I couldn’t starve myself for long. Still, I knew something was very wrong. I tried group therapy for people with eating disorders and attended a 12-step group for overeaters, but when they talked about God, I thought, “This isn’t for me,” and left.
Years of compulsive eating followed, along with more desperate attempts to control my weight. I traveled alone for a year, and food became my companion. In India and Southeast Asia, I was often lonely, and eating compulsively was how I coped. I got sick several times in India from overeating and not being careful about what I ate.
Later, I trained for a marathon to lose weight but ended up gaining fifteen pounds. I binged so badly at night that running the next morning was painful—but I did it anyway.
I used men to try to control my eating; if I had a date, I wouldn’t binge that day. I planned trips where I’d be wearing a bathing suit in front of people I wanted to impress, starved myself beforehand, and then binged as soon as the trip was over.
There was a time when I was partying a lot and using drugs, the kind that suppress your appetite—and I did get very thin. But eventually, it wasn’t fun anymore. I was just using so I wouldn’t eat. Then even that stopped working because I’d get high and still binge. Eventually, I moved, got new friends, and stopped using. I could quit drugs on my own, but I couldn’t stop compulsive eating.
I won a “Biggest Loser” competition at work, but right afterward, I binged on so much chocolate cake that I made myself sick. So finally, I searched for that 12-step program again because I didn’t know what else to do.
I got a sponsor and worked through the steps over about two years. Things began to improve. I made friends, found connection, and the insane binging eased—though I still thought about food constantly.
Initially, I struggled with the program’s use of the word “God.” I was judgmental about anything religious, but I kept an open mind because I didn’t know what else to try. I started with a simple belief: I wasn’t the most powerful thing in the world. There had to be something greater than me. I couldn’t stop the waves from crashing or the trees from growing or the flowers from blooming. That, I realized, was the Power of the Universe—something much greater than myself.
In that first fellowship, I was told to create a food plan and decide what to abstain from. For six years, I didn’t eat sugar, believing it was the problem. But eventually, sugar crept back into my life, and I couldn’t stick to my plan anymore. I tried new sponsors, texted fellows before and after meals, wrote down my food each morning, and reported any changes. Still, I felt defeated and kept asking myself, “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I get this?” Everyone else seemed to be getting it — but me. I spent ten years trying to manage and control my weight within that fellowship.
Then I heard about a group for compulsive eaters that used the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous as its text. I joined a phone meeting, which was perfect because I had just had a baby and couldn’t attend in person. This program was different. No one talked about food. Instead, we studied the spiritual solution for compulsive eating as outlined in the Big Book.
I got a sponsor who took me through the steps quickly—in about a month. I learned that I was a chronic compulsive eater. Compulsive eating wasn’t my problem; it was my solution. It was what I turned to for ease and comfort. What I needed was a new solution—a spiritual one. I had always heard that recovery involved turning our lives over to a Higher Power, but no one had ever explained to me how to do that until I joined Chronic Compulsive Eaters Anonymous (CCEA) and was guided through the steps as they were written.
My sponsor told me we were going to take the focus off the food and focus entirely on working the steps. That was scary at first, but I followed her direction. I learned that selfishness and self-centeredness were my real problems. I didn’t have a food problem—I had a life problem.
I made an inventory of my resentments, fears, and the harms I had caused others, and shared them with my sponsor. She helped me see the truth: how often I had wanted things my way, how little I considered others, and how much I was consumed by what people thought of me. Then, I went out and made amends to those I had harmed by acting on my character defects in Steps 8 and 9.
Today, I live in Steps 10, 11, and 12. Throughout the day, I watch for where I’m being selfish or dishonest and ask God to remove those things right away. I spend time in Step 11 with meditation and prayer morning and night, and practice what I call “the power of the pause.” I take slow, small actions and allow my Higher Power to lead me to the next thing. I don’t have to know the outcome anymore. I can’t know. So, I practice faith that my Higher Power is leading and caring for me every moment of every day. “Thy will be done,” I say to myself again and again.
Every day, I also do 12th Step work—carrying the message to those who still suffer. It keeps my mind clear and my focus on how I can be useful in this world, rather than worrying about myself.
In the beginning, I often had thoughts about how fat I was, and I would pause and “10th-Step” that. Who was I thinking about in that moment? Just myself. How important was the size of my stomach compared to how many people out there still needed help?
I now sponsor others and carry the message in my community and within CCEA. I have a freedom from obsession—both with food and with my body—that I never had before. I don’t think about food unless I’m hungry. The removal of that obsession is one of the greatest miracles of my life.
But there are others: the courage to live fully, the grace I feel for myself and others, and the genuine love and care I have for the rest of God’s children.
It’s a beautiful life—thanks to CCEA and my Higher Power.