The person you date should never sit in judgment of your body!

I remember in high school, a boyfriend made a comment once about my hands being “crazy big.” He didn’t call me fatso, or tell me I was ugly, but in my tender 16-year-old state (and with a quickly developing binge eating disorder) that’s what I heard. Fat. Big. Ugly. Gross.

Another guy, this one when I was 19, told me he wished I didn’t “dress so old.” What he didn’t know was that the reason I wore button up blouses and avoided the trends is because I didn’t like my overweight body and couldn’t stand the idea of showing too much of it. What did I hear when he said that? Fat. Big. Ugly. Gross.

We are so sensitive to what the people we love romantically think about our bodies, so imagine what it might feel like if someone actually said the words: “You’re too fat”? That’s pretty much what happened to HealthyGirl contributor Trish. Here, she explains…

For 6 years, I was in a relationship with a guy who wasn’t interested in me for the way I was, but rather for what I could be. He continually put me on diets and forced me to exercise with him, and I had myself convinced that it was just because he cared. I discovered after the relationship ended that he did this not because he cared about me and my health, but because he cared about how he looked with me. After our breakup—he cheated, obviously—he told me I was “too fat to love”, that no man would ever love me if I stayed this weight, and that when we went out together people looked at us because they wondered what a guy like him was doing with a girl like me (I just thought people saw us as a cute young couple).

After this, I spent two years in a downward spiral of bingeing and self-hatred to the point where I stopped going out with friends or to see family. It was the hardest and longest two years of my life.

One day I woke up and I realized that I was missing out on finding someone who appreciated me for who and what I was at that moment. I knew the only way to put myself back out there was to start walking around with some confidence. However, I had to be realistic. I knew I wasn’t going to climb out of the huge hole I dug for myself in one day, and I knew before I could bring anyone else into my life I had to fix myself first. I had to have patience.

I started by paying attention to the way I self-spoke—I vowed to say at least 3 good things to myself every day. I also started listing all the great things I had going for me: an amazing family, friends who pushed and pushed until I started believing in myself and who stuck by me even when I would blow plans with them because I was too depressed to go out, a college degree and a scholarship to law school. At the end of every day I threw out my list, and I made another one the next day until I finally started to understand that there was more to life than some guy who thought I was fat. I had to understand that I was more than my weight, regardless of what an ex-boyfriend or anyone else thought.

By having the patience to sit down and look at myself in the mirror and figure out what I needed and what I wanted, I opened myself up to the world again. I stayed single for 3 years after that breakup to just be me and do whatever it was I wanted to do. And guess what? I wanted to eat healthier, I wanted a better relationship with myself and with food, and I wanted to exercise. I wanted to stop bingeing. I wanted to do all of these things for myself, and not to please anyone else. So little by little I made my way out of that hole and got myself back on my feet and put myself back out into the eyes of the world without any apologies for my weight. While I was floating around New York City and Long Island being myself and actually enjoying my life, I was blindsided by someone really fantastic. He came out of nowhere, introduced himself to me with a goofy smile on his face, and we never looked back.

Seven months later I’m in the relationship I never thought I could have—the one with a man who actually loves me the way I am right now, right here in this moment and not the me that could be 15lbs lighter. I’m in the relationship where we can go out to eat and I don’t have to order a salad with no dressing because he’s not keeping a calorie count on me. I’m in the relationship where I feel desirable and sexy and I’m not having anxiety attacks when I take my clothes off.

By having the patience to take care of myself, I was able to finally let someone else back in. I gave myself the time not only to heal from the heartbreak but to get down to the nitty gritty of myself and learn what I was all about. It made me appreciate the things I have already and to work hard to keep my life happy and full. I got out of the mindset that I need someone else to be the source of my happiness—I should be the source of my own happiness, right?! Getting through those years and putting myself proudly on my own two feet gave me the opportunity to have a relationship that is actually healthy and normal—and the ability to appreciate that relationship and enjoy it. —Trish

Wow, right? (We love Trish here at HealthyGirl—she’s awesome!) Now, have you ever dated someone who made you feel you weren’t good enough, because of your body, weight, or anything else? How did you deal? How did it effect your relationship with food or your body image? xo…Sunny

Q: I’ve suffered from different types of eating disorder for some years. When I started bingeing and purging in college, I contacted my doctor, and she recommended therapy. I thought my therapist was stupid, but slowly, I started opening to people, and talking a bit to my best friends about my problems. I didn’t tell them about the bingeing and purging, because I was so ashamed. But just showing some feelings was a great improvement.

I kept fighting, and I found a lot of useful stuff on the internet. Especially things about improving my self esteem helped me a lot. Now, I’m feeling so much better. I’m still a bit overweight, but it doesn’t bother me so much anymore. I don’t obsess over what people might think of me. And it’s so liberating. But I still overeat and throw up. Not so often, but it’s still a problem. It’s like an addiction. I’m telling myself that it’s not a problem, and that I can quit any time I like, but of course I can’t. I’m not sure on what to do. And I’m leaving for Canada soon, where I’m going to be a exchange student for a year. I’m scared that leaving my friends and family and having to get new friends will affect my eating problems, and maybe make them worse. I think I need some ideas on how to cope on my own. Do you have any suggestions? —Ingrid, 23

A: Yes, I do have suggestions! They might not be exactly what you want to hear, though. You asked for ideas on how to cope on your own. My advice: Stop trying to. Listen, I relate to the desire to do it on your own—I used to feel that way, too. I used to feel like I should be smart and strong enough to kick this binge eating thing all by myself. I mean, c’mon, it’s just food! Some people (I believe those with more minor issues) may be able to self-help and read their way back to good health. But that’s not the way eating disorders work for those of us with longstanding or more serious problems. And believe me: Bingeing and purging—even occasionally—is a serious problem. Purging is even more dangerous and disrupting to your body and mind than bingeing alone—it dehyrates you, breaks blood vessels, drags corrosive stomach acid over the sensitive tissues of your throat and your tooth enamel, and some experts have suggested that it also causes a release of chemicals in the brain that cause a sense of euphoria. Like a drug, perhaps?

Anyhow, you said it best: You feel like you’re in control, but you’re not. You feel like you can stop anytime, but then you find that you can’t. You said it feels like an addiction.

Well, here’s the good news, there are totally free groups based on addiction treatment principals that you can go to for food problems. And they’re all over the world, including Canada, where you will be headed soon! There are several types of these groups, many of which are based on the 12 steps of Alcoholics Anonymous: Eating Disorders Anonymous; Food Addicts in Recovery Anonymous; Overeaters Anonymous; Anorexics and Bulimics Anonymous. I went to a similar type of group once or twice a week for three years and it helped me move so much further along in my recovery. The structure and support was key in helping me get better and become a normal eater, and I encourage anyone who’s suffering to walk into a meeting and just see what might happen. (And if you don’t like the idea of any of those groups above, check out the National Eating Disorder Information Centre of Canada for referrals to other groups.)

And, don’t write off therapy forever, Ingrid. I know you had a bad experience with your therapist—there are some rotten (or stupid) eggs out there—but that doesn’t mean you might not find someone else who is a better fit for you, or someone who has more experience with eating disorders. I’ve used therapy as part of my recovery, too, and as you said, learning to open up and deal with emotions is so important. Therapy didn’t cure my eating issues, but it helped me build strong self-esteem and learn coping tools for life so that I could slowly but surely let go of the food.

In the meantime, there are some really good books that helped me—and tons of other people I know—move forward in recovery. Just don’t feel like you should or have to go it alone. You’ll get better faster if you keep reaching out for help. Please let me know how you’re doing when you get to your exchange program!

Now, to the whole HealthyGirl.org audience: The research on whether food (especially sugar and fat) may be addictive is mixed, but I know that thinking of my bingeing issues as an addiction did help me for a few years while I was in the thick of things. Have you ever considered an addiction-style model of support or therapy for your eating issues? Do you believe food is addictive for you? xo…Sunny

Are you obsessed with your "numbers"?

HealthyGirl.org reader Carly, 20, is having some trouble with her scale—as in, the number she sees on it in the morning is dictating her moods. Sound familiar? Yep, I thought so. Please feel free to weigh in with your own experience and advice in the comments. xo…Sunny

Q: I have had a problem with overeating and binge eating for several years, but recently I have been exercising and improving my diet to lose weight. I recently bought a scale to track my weight loss. I thought it would be motivating for me to see the numbers on the scale go down, but I think I’ve taken it too far. I weigh myself every morning, and if I don’t like the number on the scale, it literally ruins my entire day. All day I base my food choices around what I think will help me weigh less the next morning. My doctor told me that weighing myself daily would be a good idea because it will help me monitor my progress and prevent my weight from creeping up without me knowing. I think about it all the time, and I feel like I’ve become obsessed.  I know my focus should be on getting healthy, but I’m so desperate to lose weight that it seems impossible to not be obsessed with the numbers on the scale. Is there a way to weigh yourself everyday without becoming obsessed and to use the scale as something helpful instead of something evil?

A: Not when you’re desperate to lose weight, there’s not. At least not in my experience. When I was in my late teens, and even very early 20s, my body size and weight completely dictated my mood, too. It was awful, getting on the scale and stepping off feeling crestfallen, and ugly.

No offense to your doctor, but for anyone who’s even slightly weird about food or their body, weighing themselves daily is a prescription for Crazy! I know why he or she advised you to do it—the National Weight Loss Registry, this big survey of people who have lost significant amounts of weight and kept it off—showed that many of them weight themselves often, even daily. But as people with disordered eating issues, we can’t just directly apply info like that to ourselves.

At some point I was able to healthily use a scale, and even focus on losing weight. But it wasn’t until I was well on my way to recovery. Only after I dealt with the inner reasons for why I used food could I even begin to think about my body size. I had been a yo-yo dieter from the age of 15 through my early college years, but, because of the binge eating disorder, I always end up the same way: Heavier, more deep into the bingeing and more hopeless than I was when I started whatever diet it was.

So in my mid-20s, I completely quit dieting. I was in therapy, was reading books about emotional eating, and I had finally started to believe that what was on my inside was much more important than the outside. Being happy and healthy and sane finally meant more to me than being slim. While I didn’t always feel pretty or happy about my shape, I stopped obsessing about it. I started going to binge-eating support groups every week and even got a mentor from the group that I would call nearly every day.

I truly no longer cared much about my weight. I felt so much stronger and happier because I was no longer punishing myself and my body with piles of extra food. I literally worked to get to the point where I felt that if I never lost another pound again, I could live life and be happy. While I wasn’t focusing on weight loss, I had instituted some very healthy behaviors that I’d learned through therapy and from my support group, which just so happened to have the effect of at least stabilizing my weight.

After enough time like that passed, I actually was able to focus a little more directly on getting to a healthier weight. And I made friends with the scale. I weighed myself once a week for a few months, and then pushed it back to once a month. The numbers no longer defined my self-worth,they became information. If the number started going up, I could objectively look at what had been going on that month and see why. But I’m afraid that’s not where you are right now.

I’d suggest you check out support groups in your area and, if you haven’t already, pick up a book or two to help you move forward in your recovery. You might also look into therapy—it’s been a lifesaver for me, and really helped me focus on recovery. (You can contact the folks at the National Eating Disorders Association for a referral.) What I had to do was fully, completely focus on my inner health and sanity first. A healthy, more comfortable body weight came later. Maybe that’s what it’ll be like for you, too?

That was my experience, but now, to the rest of the HealthyGirl.org community: What has your experience with weight been as you’ve healed (or started to heal) your relationship with food?

For a new food-sanity or body-sanity tip every single day, follow @hlthygrl on Twitter!

The "snack table" at work a couple of weeks ago.

First let me say, I am in no way looking a recovery horse in the mouth. I am so grateful to be recovered from binge eating disorder and am still amazed by what it is to live a life that’s not dictated by food. That said, I was thinking a couple of days ago that being normal about food isn’t always smiles and rainbows.

For one thing, you have to deal with choice. On a daily basis—actually multiple times a day. Because everything’s allowed, and nothing is “bad,” you actually have to make decisions about what you’re going to put in your mouth. When I was actively bingeing, I was out of control and never felt like I had a choice. I was being driven by the desperation and emotional need inside me and simply had to give it what it wanted, and as much as it wanted.

Then, farther along in my recovery when I started going to a support group that recommended having a “food plan” I had another force governing me. Rules that—although they were much more mentally healthy for me than the way I had lived before—were still not quite normal. (Did anyone see Huge last week? The camp director had this line where she said, “I don’t eat in motor vehicles,” and it reminded me of myself in those days.) Like, I had a rule that I didn’t eat free food at work. It made things easier, because I didn’t have to wonder, “Is this emotional eating if I have a cupcake at So-and-So’s birthday party? Is it real hunger that’s making me grab a handful of these chips?” I just didn’t ever eat any of it. I also avoided most trigger foods, so there were a lot of things I didn’t eat: Crackers, cookies, chocolate candy, donuts, fried stuff. The rules I had were very helpful to me at the time, but they were pretty black and white.

It was like the pendulum swung from one end which was absolute anarchy and primal need to the other, which was too much control.

Now, I really feel like I am a normal eater. I am not afraid of any food, nothing is off limits, I tune in to see what my body needs, then try to give it to myself. But other than that, I pretty much don’t have any rules. The freedom is sort of miraculous. But at the same time, I now have to deal with things—like normal body changes, weight fluctuations, and making decisions about nutrition—that I’ve never had to before.

I was talking with some coworkers the other day about how crazy our snacks table is in the office. How it’s really, truly, insane how many edibles are just lying around here, and how easy it is to just mindlessly grab a taste of this or handful of that. We were all kind of laughing about how everyone gains weight when they first start working here and I realized how…normal and mundane it all was. It struck me how candy dishes and mindless eating are something that 100 percent normal eaters deal with, and that I was truly one of them.

I will gladly take these kinds of “difficulties” over the ones I had before. But, just like you learn in recovery that being thin doesn’t make everything perfect, I’m realizing that being a normal eater doesn’t make everything—or me—perfect either. Oh, life lessons.

Have you learned any life lessons lately? About food, yourself, black and white thinking, perfectionism? Please share! xo…Sunny

I have been more body-conscious than usual lately. Not hateful, not loathing, not obsessive, but…conscious. You regular readers know why. As much as it hasn’t become pathological, part of me is a little frustrated—I’m recovered, God*(#*)t! I’ve DEALT with all of this. As in past tense. Done, over, g’bye.

But the other part of me, the grown up, more reasoned, and yes, more recovered part, knows that you’re never really done with this stuff. Just like our lives, our bodies change all of the time, and the way we feel about them does too. My God, when you’re pregnant, your body changes absolutely daily! In ways you really have no control over. (What a ride that’s gonna be!)

So, I wanted to have a little discussion about body talk today to sort of clear the air in my own mind—and perhaps help some of you do the same. My days of true body hate are over, but there are two mean words that have come into my head lately that I need to cleanse from my brain: squishy and lumpy. (Sounds like a couple of dwarves, huh? I’m Squishy, who are you? Lumpy!) The words bubbled up, I recognized them as unhelpful at the time and I let them go without obsessing, but this morning I woke up thinking it was time to address them directly for an even deeper exorcism.

The truth is, I’m not squishy and lumpy—but I am soft and my edges are most defintely rounded. Do I have more dimples on my hips and butt than I used to? Yes. Is that normal as you get older? Yes. And, the most important question: Is the way my butt looks truly that important to me? No, actually, it’s not.

See, my values have changed a lot along with recovery. My weight and my appearance are no longer the definition of what makes me valuable—sometimes I just have to remind myself of that! Old habits die hard.

Now it’s your turn—has some residual mean girl in your mind said something negative about your body lately that you’d like to get rid of? Share it, and let it go! xo…Sunny

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But it’s actually not about weight loss at all. That’s just the framework for what I think is a larger discussion about obesity, prejuidice, and body love/hate. I’ve been incredibly impressed both as an eating disorders/body image advocate AND as a regular-old TV-watcher. Not only is the show fun (and funny), it’s also got messages about fatism, self-love and health. (There’s also just enough sexual tension and cute boys to make it sort of addictively fun.)

I have noticed a couple of times, though, after finishing an episode, that I’ve been a bit melancholy. Quiet. Maybe a little tender or contemplative. Despite the fact that I’m at a healthy weight now, the show brings up all kinds of issues that are close to my heart, and memories, I think from when I was bigger. The show hasn’t tackled a lot of emotional eating stuff yet, although in one scene in a recent episode, the (slim) camp director is writing a difficult email to her mother and when she looks down at a plate that was holding a muffin she had decided not to eat, all that was left were crumbs. I’ve never seen emotional eating portrayed in a more real way on TV.

Anyhow, the latest episode is available on Hulu, and the next one episode airs on Monday. Have you see the show? Did it bring up any issues for you? Do you love it? Hate it? Think it is exploitive? Please share—I feel like I’ve never seen a show like this before and would really love to know what you think! xo…Sunny

What does your (cute little) inner child need today?

You guys know that I’ve been struggling a bit to get back into my usual balanced lifestyle, and that I haven’t felt like I’ve had enough time of late to really take the best care of myself that I can. (Both possibly dangerous things for someone with a history of binge eating!)

This weekend John was out of town and after I got back from having an amazing lunch with friends, I found myself sort of staring at the wall. I didn’t have any further plans, and blank time stretching out before me is always kind of anxiety-inducing. So I decided to do a quick guided meditation and see if I could clear my head and relax a bit.

I did a meditation that sort of encourages you to visualize your inner child, try to sense what she’s feeling—and then actually “ask” her what she needs. The whole inner child thing feels slightly  woo-woo for my usual taste, but I’ve done this particular meditation before and was amazed at the insights I gained. That time, the child screamed at me that she needed “SLEEP!” and “PILATES!”

This time? She felt abandoned. It wasn’t just that John was out of town—it was as if I’d abandoned her. All week long as I kept my head down and my nose to the grindstone, I’d ignored that part of myself that requires tenderness and care to feel secure and balanced. It was sort of a revelation. I’d abandoned myself!

So, after the meditation, I decided to make a list of things that would make me feel taken care of that day. Turns out it was organizational stuff like folding the laundry, doing the dishes, planning and cooking a healthy dinner for myself. Tying up loose ends. I wasn’t necessarily excited to do these things, but as I started doing them, it felt great. And I truly did feel taken care of. Thanks, me! I did the same thing the next morning and what I needed that day was to go to the gym (I’d been feeling weirdly scared of the gym—more on that tomorrow or the next day),  spend some time working in the sun in the park, and see a movie. (I saw Eclipse! Perfect time to do it, since there’s NO way I could ever drag John to see it.)

But here’s the thing: Weekends cannot be the only time I take care of myself—or that sometimes-needy little inner child. To stay sane—in general, but also about food and our bodies—every one of us needs to do something to take care of ourselves every single day.

What can you do TODAY to make yourself feel taken care of? xo…Sunny

Sometimes you really can just listen to your heart and it'll tell you exactly what to eat!

Today the anonymous blogger from Confessions of a Compulsive Overeater is back to share about her foray into intuitive eating. We’ve talked about this philosophy at HealthyGirl.org before, and it’s one I ascribe to myself. Day before yesterday, she gave us a little taste of what her life was like before recovery. I’ll let her tell her own story, but I found it inspiring how she went from counting calories and being fairly rigid in recovery to eating with more freedom. Although my details are different, I very much relate to her journey of having to start out a little stiff…then slowly loosen into an easier way of being with food.

I can’t remember exactly how I heard about Intuitive Eating. More than likely it was through the blogosphere. I read Evelyn Tribole’s book, Intuitive Eating, A Revolutionary Program The Works, and I also really got a lot out of Goodbye Ed, Hello Me by Jenni Schaeffer. It’s amazing to me how reading certain books at certain times can be so impactful on our lives. I don’t think the books would have affected me as much if I had read them before I realized I had an eating disorder. I think everything happens, or people/things come into our lives, for a reason, and those books came to me at a time when my mind was open to accept what they were saying.

I had been toying with the idea of making the transition from daily calorie counting, and weighing/measuring food portions to intuitive eating for about a week or two in mid March. Due to a combination of therapy, blogging and reading books, I felt ready to trust myself and my body to try this totally new way of eating and thinking about food. I was trying to decide when the best day it would be to start based on some other events that were going on in my life. Do I wait until those events passed, what day would make the most sense to get started with this, how exactly do I begin?

In the middle of wavering about when and how to start, before going to bed one Friday night, I read in Jenni Schaeffer’s book about taking the leap off the mountain without a parachute. I had my answer. The next day, with little fanfare, I didn’t count my calories or weigh/measure my food portions. I took the huge leap of faith. I finally had the trust in myself that I could listen to my body and that my body would not do me wrong. I realized that food is just that, food; it is not something that has magical powers over me. I control it, it does not control me.

That was three months ago and though there are days here and there, especially in the beginning, when I still sometimes tally the calories in my head (long-time habits are hard to break!), I still did/do not write it down as I had done for decades. I still feel like a work in progress. I am now pretty good at reading my hunger cues, but am still working on my satiety cues. (My cues have been thrown off after 30+ years of compulsive overeating and bingeing, so I understand it’s normal that it will take some time for my body to send me the right messages and for me to interpret them properly.) I have however, maintained my weight, so I guess I’ve been making good

Right now things are a bit tricky because though I’ve always worked out 3-4 days a week, I’m training for my first triathlon, which is more intense than my normal workouts, and it has thrown off my hunger cues. My appetite, oddly enough, has been reduced greatly. I know eating less would not be good for my training or for maintaining my weight, so I have had to eat even when I’m not hungry in order to keep my body properly fueled for my training. I feel like I’m walking a fine line between eating more because I know my body needs the fuel, and eating “just because” I can, bordering on compulsive eating. I have decided to weigh myself twice a month instead of once a month to help keep a tab on my food intake in relation to my triathlon training. As I’m dedicated to doing this first triathlon, I am equally dedicated to not blow my 2+ years of binge-free hard work and more recently, IE, but it’s difficult at times to keep my old ways from overtaking me again.

Still, letting go of the calorie counting, weighing and measuring food portions and making no foods forbidden has been freeing and empowering. When you stop framing foods as “bad” it takes away its attraction. Everything in moderation actually has meaning in my life now. So do the terms “eating to live” instead of “living to eat.” I love and embrace the new mindset of no food is forbidden, although I do choose to still make healthy choices, for instance, not choosing a meal with a cream sauce or one that is fried. Although when it comes to dessert, the sky is the limit, just in moderation.

Hey, it’s Sunny again. In recovery I think we all take winding paths. I went slightly overboard on being rigid before I was able to even out into “normal.” How has the eating pendulum swung for you? xo…Sunny

Living with a "binge buddy" ain't so great for recovery.

After that rousing discussion we had the other day about how important it can be to tell the person you’re dating about your food issues, I got to thinking. So many of the comments on that post were positive—it seems lots of readers have had great success and helpful, healthy experiences with their loved ones.

My husband, John, knows all about my bingeing history and is a source of quiet, stable, and healthy support. But there was a time when I didn’t have that in my life. In fact, when I was 20 years old and still in college, I was with someone who actually encouraged my binge eating.

I was still in college, and he was several (as in 13) years older than I was. We dated only briefly before getting married—I know, I know, what was I thinking?!—and that first year of marriage, I put on a whopping 50 pounds. As I grew bigger, he seemed to feel happier. Less worried about me spending time on campus. Less jealous of guy friends or time I spent away from home. I think my size made him feel more secure.

In fact, he became a bit of a “binge buddy.” On Sunday nights he would go pick up smorgasbords worth of fish-and-chips or Mexican food, and we’d spread it all out on the living room floor and eat. It took a major toll on my body. I remember the look on my mom’s face when she saw me after us not visiting for a few months. We were at a pool party, and I was in a one-piece bathing suit, with bright purple stretch marks snaking their way down the front of both of my hips and thighs. She was shocked at the sight and pulled me aside to ask me what was wrong—if I was OK.

I didn’t know what to tell her. I thought I was happy; but I was totally clouded by food and in denial about what was happening in my life and that relationship.

Eventually, I began to tune in more closely to what was going on with me on the inside, and started going to counseling. The bingeing didn’t stop, but it did slow a bit, and as I began to let go of some weight, he got more insecure. I slowly realized that relationship was not right for me and left two years after the wedding. I don’t regret a day of it—that experience is part of what has made me who I am today, and I learned some super important lessons about myself and recovery. Still, it was a sad time of life, and looking back makes me (briefly) melancholy.

Have you ever been in a relationship that was unhealthy for your recovery? A binge-eating enabler or someone who made you feel badly about yourself and your body? Get it off your chest, ladies—and then revel in the fact that you’re no longer in that situation. It feels good! xo…Sunny

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Piles of wrappers and other food debris have been a part of most binge eaters lives.

My eating disorder story began over 30 years ago when I was about 8 or 9 years old, when I became a compulsive overeater and binger. I had a mother who hid junk food from me because she said/knew I would eat more than my share and not leave enough for the family to enjoy, and I had a father who teased me in my teen years about my rear end being big. He thought he was a riot and that I knew he was teasing, but he had no idea how that “teasing” affected me.

For many years I binged on sweets like there was no tomorrow, always hiding the wrappers, packages and bags out of shame. My weight ballooned up and would come down when I would diet, only to balloon back up again. It was an ugly cycle. As I got older and got married, it continued. When we went to parties or events, my mind was busy centered on the food, instead of enjoying time with friends. When we hosted parties, I loved cleaning up because then I got to devour leftover desserts when everyone had gone. I lived to eat, instead of eating to live.

I thought about food all the time. I would think about what I would eat next before even finishing what I was currently eating.

My recovery first began in December of 2007, soon before I turned 40, when one night, the words “compulsive overeater” somehow popped into my head. I got on my laptop and did some googling, and found my way to the Overeaters Anonymous website. They had a list of questions that asked something to the effect of “are you one of us?” I answered “yes” to most of them. This was both horrific and wonderful at the same time. There was the shame of having a sickness, a disease, an eating disorder, but at the same time, being an A-type personality, I was thrilled there was a name for what I was doing and realized that I could get help.

So my passion then became getting help for myself. I went to OA meetings, I found a therapist, and I got honest with myself and my husband. I wrote him a very long, cathartic letter revealing all of my food/eating secrets. He knew I liked to eat sweets, but had no idea that I did so much eating in secret and how much I thought about food/eating. I cried off and on for days. Decades of my secrets had finally come to the surface. OA helped me to realize that I was not alone. Through therapy I learned that the things I wrote about earlier in my childhood are what turned me to the comfort of food. I was not getting the nurturing and love that I needed from my family, so I found it in food. This pattern repeated itself over and over again as I got older and had become deeply ingrained even though I married an amazing man almost 13 years ago.

I have been binge-free since I realized and embraced that I had an eating disorder. I lost the extra weight I had been carrying and have maintained the loss for 20 months now. I did this by counting calories, weighing and measuring food portions, and working out. I also weighed myself every day. Oddly enough, I had weighed myself and have counted calories for over 20 years, even when the numbers of either/both were astronomically high. I felt like food was the only thing I could control in my life.

In January 2010, I started to just get on the scale once a month. The mere thought of that gave me heart palpitations, but it turned out to be quite simple.

Then in late March, a certain calm or peace came over me and I decided I was ready to delve into the world of Intuitive Eating. Six months prior, the mere thought of giving up my calorie counting, weighing/measuring my food portions would have had me laughing in your face, but at the end of March, all the therapy, eating disorder books I read and blogging gave me the awarenesses I needed to make the giant leap of faith.

Several months later, I can’t tell you how empowering and freeing it is to have dropped that white-knuckle grip of control I had on my food. I have come to learn that “normal” eaters overeat occasionally. The difference is that they don’t focus on it and beat themselves up about it. They just put it behind them and move on to the next meal or day.

The “voices” in my head that roared like a lion when I was in the throws of compulsive overeating and bingeing have become the whispers of a mouse.

Anonymous will be back tomorrow or the next day with another post—a post totally focused on intuitive eating and how she deals with food today.

I can relate to so much in Anonymous’s story! I had my first weird food situation at around 7 years old, when I ate 13 Christmas cookies after my mom told me “not to blow it” at Grandmas on Xmas Eve. What about you guys? When did your food issues begin? xo…Sunny

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