FOOD ADDICTS ANONYMOUS PHONE MEETINGS HOW TO

I embraced parts of the program that initially caused resistance, the most challenging being the submission to a вЂњhigher power.вЂќ I wasnвЂ™t sure what I believed or how to define it, but it didnвЂ™t matter. At my second meeting, I met my sponsor - a gentle woman with a saint-like patience - who became my mentor and primary source of support and guidance throughout recovery.

Secrecy felt like my closest companion, but in OA, I was suddenly sharing my long-hidden experiences with other survivors and listening to stories like my own.ДЇor the first time in a long time, I felt the sense of connection that my illness had deprived me of for years.

As a bulimic, I existed in two worlds: a world of pretense where I was well put together and high achieving, and one that encompassed my disordered behaviors, where I felt like I was constantly drowning. I lived and breathed OA for almost two years. Relief and remorse became almost synonymous.ДЄfter that, I went from attending meetings sporadically to four or five times a week, sometimes traveling several hours a day to different corners of London. After each binge, I fought against the impulse to make myself sick, while the triumph I got from restricting was equally as addictive. Over time, however, the compulsion to overeat felt unstoppable. I binged, restricted, and purged for the same reasons I mightвЂ™ve turned to alcohol or drugs - they blunted my senses and served as immediate yet fleeting remedies for my pain. Sometimes, IвЂ™d plan them in advance as I edged into withdrawal, unable to tolerate the thought of getting through another day without a sugar high. Some days, all it took was a small deviation to justify a binge - an extra slice of toast, too many squares of chocolate. I purged inconspicuously in bathrooms, turning on the faucet to camouflage the sounds. I tiptoed to the kitchen at night and emptied out the contents of my cupboard and fridge in a possessed, trance-like state. I hid food in bags and pockets to sneak back to my room. My own eating disorder often felt akin to addiction. My desire was never to be skinny, but I desperately craved the feeling of being contained and in control. My weight fluctuated throughout my illness but generally hovered around a normative range, so my struggles werenвЂ™t necessarily visible, even when I was starving myself for weeks at a time. Like many bulimics, I didnвЂ™t embody the stereotype of an eating disorder survivor.

Food addicts anonymous phone meetings