“How strong are you?” and “Show me your muscles!” were phrases asked and heard in my family growing up. Strength in my family equated with physical size and I was happy to oblige the larger and larger girth that showed my strength. In my family strength not only meant physical size, but it also meant that there were no problems. You see, you can’t be strong and have a difficulty. We were an idyllic family, or so I was told. We were a happy family, or so I was told. A happy family with depression, workaholism, obesity run rampant, rage as a daily occurrence, and sexual indiscretions abounding. One BIG happy family.

I was reflecting on what the “problem” was that no one was talking about. It couldn’t be addiction, after all, no one was abusing alcohol or doing drugs, so I was told over and over again, “there is no addiction here.” Yet, sugar, flour, and fat poured out of the kitchen and into our mouths with the vigor of an alcoholic searching for a necessary drink, or the drug addict jonesing for the next hit. No addiction to be seen here. No acknowledgment of the rageaholics, workaholics, food addicts, porn addictions, or the denial that covered it all. In fact, 12-step groups were disdained and made fun of in my family. No one dare admit to being an addict. We were an idyllic family after all, better than the rest in our community.

Why the taboo around problems and most of all around addiction? It was because we were all too “strong” to admit defeat. No one wanted to upset the precariously teetering apple cart, full to the brim with problems and deformed wheels with chunks taken out from the wear and tear of life. Vulnerability was seen as a weakness to be avoided at all costs. We were taught that if we were vulnerable others would take advantage of us in horrible ways, never mind the terrible ways in which we treated each other. We were an idyllic family after all.

Addiction abounded because they were the most effective coping strategy we had. They did the job of keeping us all alive. Thank you, God, for addiction. It saved me many a time. My physical strength or at least wide girth made the pain hurt less. Until one day, addiction was no longer a saving grace but a huge disgrace.

It has taken me years to learn that my strength is not in my physical size or in my ability to deny problems. My weakness is my greatest strength. Strength is risking to surrender my addictive substances and behaviors to my loving and merciful Higher Power. Strength is admitting my powerlessness and defeat. Strength is being vulnerable with myself, my Higher Power, and others. Vulnerability is strength, great strength. It takes much courage to be vulnerable. That vulnerability allows me to trust that my addictions are no longer taboo to me. They are what have given me new life. They have set me on a path to freedom. Free to see myself more clearly. Free to love my life. Free to love others. I no longer live in an idyllic family. When I am asked “How strong am I?” My answer is clear, “As strong as I am vulnerable.”

Lisa K

Food has played a significant role in my life, it has served to be my greatest source of pleasure, purpose and pain. It has given me my highest highs and taken me to my lowest lows. It has provided me with a means of connection and it has lured me into total isolation. It’s been complicated to say the least.

My birthday is coming up and every year as it approaches, I look back, mentally flipping through the “book” of my life. With each day that I’m alive, another page is written. There are countless characters and countless plot lines but in almost every chapter, Food is a main character, secondary to me.

In this moment, I open the book to “1977”, the year that I went from a “normal” child to a chubby child. I’m at the part where the doctor suggests that I see a nutritionist….

The nutritionist was a kind lady, she taught me all about weighing and measuring my food and introduced me to the concept of “portion control”. She explained that adhering to this practice would result in me “returning to a normal weight”. Sometimes, it felt rather clinical when she came to greet me, dressed in her long white lab coat. In her office were lifelike, rubber replicas of every food imaginable and while I wondered why I never saw another kid there, I didn’t mind having those all to myself to play with. At some point, I can’t say exactly when, I was no longer an innocent 6 year old playing with rubber strips of bacon and sunny side up eggs. I was a 6 year old striving to manage my food and weight so that I could be “normal” like all the other kids at school, “normal” like my brother, “normal”.. like I used to be.

There began a 40 year cycle of binging, restricting, dieting and over exercising. There began a relentless obsession with food, body image and weight. There began a tormented love-hate relationship with food. There began my life in active food addiction.

It wasn’t just about what I ate, it was about my state of mind. What I weighed and what I ate determined my mood. If I was adhering to a diet or losing weight, I felt powerful and proud. If I ate “off plan”, missed a workout or gained weight, I felt guilty and weak. But no matter what I ate and no matter what I weighed, one thing never changed. I lacked peace of mind. Not a day went by that I didn’t feel at least one of the following emotions; defeated, disgusted, deprived..sad, self conscious, guilty… angry, punished, less than….rebellious, determined, depressed…shameful, helpless, hopeless. All because I couldn’t consistently control my food and weight.

Now I flip forward by thousands of pages and open the book near the end of “2017”. I’m at the part where I discover what “food addiction” is and my heart

aches at the painful scene that details what it feels like to discover that I am an addict. I turn the page and the story takes a hopeful turn, there’s great relief in finally knowing what is wrong, even greater relief when the promise of a solution is revealed.

With each page I turn, Food shows up less, making room for the development of three new characters, Recovery, Community and Higher Power. Gradually, these characters are woven into the story, until they are so prominent that the story begins to read like a whole new book.

“2022”

Now I’m at the part where I’ve made peace with food and my body. I’m at the part where cravings and feelings of deprivation no longer exist. I’m at the part where I no longer binge eat, restrict or exercise my body beyond a reasonable edge. I’m at the part where the story keeps getting better.

I encourage everyone to believe that a hopeful turn is possible, no matter what your story is. If you’re reading this, you’ve made your way to SHiFT and that means Recovery can be a part of your story too.

I don’t know what’s left to be written in my book of life but I do know there’s always hope in turning the page.

Andrea