Pride Goeth

After more than three years in FA, I was still gliding on a pink cloud of weight loss, tight jeans, and genuine freedom from cravings. I was sponsoring a handful of fellow food addicts. I thought I had integrated a life of honesty, gratitude, and service into my already busy existence. Having spent decades battling 20-plus pounds as a self-loathing exercise bulimic and secret binger, I now finally felt useful and sane.

One summer, I was appointed as chair of an Eastern Area Intergroup (EAI) committee. EAI met every month on a Sunday morning, first in committee meetings followed by an all-group meeting. As chair of a committee, I was automatically a member of the EAI Board, which met before committee meetings began. Fortunately, I was blessed with a team of committee members. An early assignment was to present to the Board a written record of our committee’s annual goals, listing those criteria against which we could measure our success throughout the year. Determined to prove myself earnest and up to the job, I spent hours drafting the report, deciding what our goals should be. Being the dutiful type, I arrived at the Board meeting that morning with copies of my committee’s goals, typed in the requisite format.

After the Board meeting, I was ready for my committee meeting. I felt good about my efforts. All I needed was to get the others on my committee to agree to what I’d already presented to the Board. I wasn’t seeking feedback, merely a rubber stamp of approval and a commitment to help with the work. As the person on the committee who sets the agenda, keeps the minutes, and shows up every month, I felt I was doing the others a favor by shouldering the bulk of the work.

But when first one, then another member of the committee (two fellows who weren’t always in attendance, no less!) began to question aspects of my document, I was secretly furious. Any changes would mean I’d have to rewrite the report, make more copies for the Board, and ultimately submit the report a month late. That would expose the fact that I hadn’t gotten a consensus before creating our committee’s goals, making me appear arrogant, disorganized, and incapable of leadership. Worse, I would expose myself as not being as far along in my recovery as others on the Board.

Rather than considering my two committee members’ comments, I, as tactfully as I could, argued with them. I found reasons why their questions were spurious, undermined their logic, and subtly hinted that their poor attendance made their suggestions under-informed. I almost threatened that if changes were required, they’d have to be made by someone else, as I’d done enough. I didn’t go that far, but I wasn’t willing to get out of the driver’s seat!   

I can’t remember how I prevailed, but I did. The document I’d produced was approved, and we went on to decide next steps to meet our goals. It was ugly and manipulative of me, but I assured myself that I’d saved everyone a lot of effort. 

Driving home from the meeting that Sunday morning, however, I felt a growing resentment at how much I was forced to do, felt real anger at my fellows for not doing as much as I did, and experienced a powerful desire to eat. I was hungry enough to eat a bear.

Thankfully, I didn’t eat. Not that day. But some weeks later, I had a break. Not a huge binge; it was a small infraction, but it was a break. With it, along with having to lose my sponsees, leave my AWOL, and stay silent at business meetings, I was reminded that non-abstinence, while it may not start with the food, always ends with it.

I’m still in FA, and continue to struggle with self-importance, still find myself trying to prove I am enough and do enough. I’m still prone to resentment. After more than 15 years of back-to-back abstinence, these defects are much less of a problem. What I’ve learned, through one day at a time weighing and measuring my life (and food!), is that I’m perfectly normal. I pray for humility. I check my motives. I try to be the person I believe God wants me to be, and I often ask for help. And life keeps getting better.