My Rope

Eleven years ago when I first came into Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous (FA), I always had an excuse for why I could not make three phone calls, get to my meetings, or read my Big Book. When I moved to a new home, I skipped my meeting. When my dog was sick, I stayed home to nurse him even though my husband was home. When I had a vacation, I never thought about scheduling my flights to accommodate my sponsor calls.

I did keep an extra 55 pounds (about 25 kilos) off my 5-foot, 2-inch body, yet my thoughts were consumed with fear, doubt, and worry. My thinking was off, and I was erratic and emotional. I sat in meetings and wondered why the promises of the program that people talked about were not happening for me, and why I was thinking about food so much.

When the pain got great enough, I became willing to pray for the willingness to surrender my wayof working FA.

I thought about why God was not giving me the joy that others exhibited in their sharing at meetings. Wasn’t I sacrificing enough? These thoughts monopolized my thinking, and I was depressed, sad, and frustrated.

After many breaks and changing sponsors more than I care to admit, I finally was desperate enough to surrender some of my attachments to the way I was doing my program. When the pain got great enough, I became willing to pray for the willingness to surrender my way of working FA.

I borrowed the faith of others that the promises of this program would come if I did what they did. So I began faking it till I made it. I started working all the tools and asking for help to put this program first. I wish that I could say it was easy, but it was not. It took me many more years of struggle and fighting with my diseased thinking inside my head until I accepted that — no matter what — I must do my tools every day and put FA first. The FA format states, “Half measures avail us nothing.” I can affirm this is true.

I read in a book recently that in the rural mid-west of the United States during a snowstorm. farmers secure a rope between the barn and house. When the storm hits, they use the rope to guide them to the barn to care for the animals and to get themselves back to the warm, safe house. This is what FA is for me. It is my rope, my lifeline, to the extraordinary life that I now live.

I have stayed abstinent through this pandemic. I broke my leg, underwent a hysterectomy, moved cross country, and experienced deaths of pets and family, among many other storms of emotions and upheavals. I hold onto my FA rope because this life, the person I am becoming, depends on it.

I used to believe that if I lost my weight, life would transform into a Hollywood movie or fantasy story. I’ve matured in FA and accepted that life brings challenges, and if I always work my program, no matter what happens, life just keeps getting better beyond my wildest expectations.