When I was in the food, a trip to the store was a nightly affair. It took an hour to troll the aisles for items that fit my cravings: sweet, crunchy, sour, soft, hearty, salty, fun, fresh, new, familiar, healthy, decadent, frothy, fruity, tasty, smooth, fizzy, cold, hot, easy, or any combination. This took serious thought. I wanted to nail down the most accurate collection, so when I was nestled at home, there would be no need to trek back to the store. Time: two hours, including driving and searching.
After unpacking my goods, my spirits lifting in eager anticipation because I couldn’t wait for the magic to begin, I’d flip on the TV, retrieve my afghan, and transport the bags, bowls, and plates of chow to the sacred coffee table to set up my altar’s offerings to me. Time: thirty minutes to unpack and prepare.
Ripping, scooping, smacking, chewing, slurping, burping, gasping, picking, gobbling, scarfing, wolfing, munching, swallowing, drinking, crunching, gorging, breathing. Time: fifteen minutes or less.
Feeling satiated (or an overeater’s definition of satiated: stuffed, fluffed, and puffed), I’d zone out in my special chair. Time: one hour.
Then I’d hit the sack, accompanied by sinking dread. I’d feel my ongoing failure as a human being and hear a faint whisper that tomorrow was a new day: I could live it differently, struggle no more, and change the belief that I was a complete waste of skin. Time: variable.
I’d feel my ongoing failure as a human being and hear a faint whisper that tomorrow was a new day: I could live it differently . . .
A choking gasp for breath would yank me out of the quiet pocket of night. Cursing and vowing, I’d roll to the medicine cabinet for antacids (loaded with sugar) and place two under my tongue for a slow dissolve. I’d waddle back to bed and prop my pillows to catch another twenty winks, sitting upright. Time: thirty minutes awake.
My total time investment: an average of at least four hours every day, or twenty-eight hours per week—it looked like a part-time job.
Now, I use my newfound abstinent hours for meetings, Step work, prayer, phone calls, working with my sponsor and sponsees, preparing abstinent meals, reading, and writing.
I realized I still had free hours left and discovered opportunities to give service beyond the group level. I can step out of my isolation, recommit my abstinence every day, expand my community of friends, and participate in Step Twelve. Rotation of service helps me practice balance and learn new skills. I still get anxious when trying something new, but the cool thing is I don’t have to do it alone. I get to meet new people and hear their experience, strength, and hope.
I feel light-hearted and excited about life. When my self-seeking slips away, I feel I have a right to be on the earth, that my Higher Power thinks I’m kind of groovy. I’m blessed with so much more; an enormous return on my new time investment.
—Meg, Minnesota USA
