I’ve been journaling about my experiences in recovery and comparing different Twelve Step programs and their areas of focus. Looking back over where I’ve come from, I can see that I’ve made real progress—but I can also see that my understanding of my problem has changed.
Recently, in an eating-disorder Twelve Step meeting, someone shared that they had originally been a member of Overeaters Anonymous but eventually came to realize that they were not powerless over food.
That stopped me in my tracks.
Yes. That’s true for me too.
I came to the same realization a few weeks ago.
Food Isn’t What Overwhelms Me
I’m not powerless over food. Food itself doesn’t overwhelm me.
What overwhelms me is my emotional reaction to people, places, things, and situations that don’t conform to my expectations.
My overeating has often been a response to those feelings. I’ve used food to fill an emotional void or to suppress irritation, frustration, boredom, disappointment, and discomfort. Food became one of the ways I responded when I didn’t know how to sit with uncomfortable feelings or manage them in a healthy way.
That distinction has become increasingly important to me.
The food was real. The overeating was real. But underneath it was something deeper.
For me, the problem was emotional.
What OA Has Given Me
Overeaters Anonymous has helped me a great deal, and I’m genuinely grateful for what I’ve learned there. I value the fellowship, the Twelve Steps, and the people who have shared their experience, strength, and hope with me.
But recovery sometimes means being willing to recognize when our understanding of ourselves has changed.
I no longer feel comfortable identifying my primary problem as powerlessness over food. That simply isn’t how I understand my experience anymore.
What I struggle with is feeling powerless in the face of difficult emotions and my reactions to them.
And that changes where I need to place my attention.
From Abstinence to Balance
I’m also reconsidering the role that abstinence should play in my recovery.
When I focus intensely on attaining and maintaining abstinence from certain eating behaviors, I can actually become more preoccupied with food:
Can I eat this?
Should I eat that?
Does this count?
Have I broken my abstinence?
Food begins occupying even more space in my mind.
But something different happens when I shift my attention away from abstinence and toward balance.
Instead of constantly asking, “What am I allowed to eat?” I begin asking:
“Why am I eating?”
Am I hungry?
Am I bored?
Am I irritated?
Am I lonely?
Am I disappointed?
Am I trying to change how I feel?
That question takes me beneath the food and toward the place where my recovery actually needs to happen.
Learning to Live With My Feelings
I’m beginning to see recovery as learning to allow feelings to exist without automatically reacting to them.
Feelings don’t have to be eliminated.
They don’t even necessarily have to be controlled.
They can be noticed, acknowledged, experienced, and allowed to pass without dictating what I do next.
I can be irritated without eating.
I can be bored without eating.
I can be disappointed without eating.
I can be uncomfortable without immediately trying to make the discomfort disappear.
Perhaps emotional maturity is not about controlling what I feel, but learning how to respond to my emotions rather than allowing my emotions to dictate my behavior.
That feels much closer to the recovery I’m seeking.
Something Surprising Happens
There is an irony in all of this.
When I stop making food abstinence the center of my recovery and begin concentrating on emotional balance, my relationship with food seems to become more balanced as well.
I think about food less.
I eat when I’m hungry.
I can notice when I’m becoming comfortably full.
And when I find myself wanting to eat when I’m not hungry, I have an opportunity to become curious rather than judgmental:
“What am I feeling right now?”
In other words, focusing on balance seems capable of producing naturally some of the behaviors I had previously tried to achieve through rules and abstinence.
That has been an important discovery.
My Recovery Is Changing
None of this is a criticism of OA.
OA offers a path that has helped countless people, and it has helped me too. I continue to value its fellowship and what I have learned there.
But I’m realizing that recovery is not necessarily about finding one program and forcing every experience into its framework.
It is about becoming increasingly honest about what is happening inside me.
And right now, honesty requires me to say:
“I’m not powerless over food.”
My struggle lies deeper.
It is in my relationship with my emotions—my expectations, frustrations, disappointments, boredom, irritation, and discomfort—and in what I choose to do when those feelings arise.
So the direction of my recovery is changing.
Less obsession with abstinence.
Less preoccupation with food.
More attention to feelings.
More curiosity about my reactions.
More acceptance of discomfort.
And more balance.
Perhaps the next right thing for me is not learning how to control food.
Perhaps it is learning how to live peacefully with what I feel.
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