Posts about Lost Over 100 Pounds

Hidden Treasures

At my first FA meeting, I was angry. I weighed 243 pounds (110.2 k) and was humiliated that I had to be in what I thought was “group therapy” for fat people. The funny thing was that only three of us in the room were fat. The rest of the members were slim, and I thought for sure they knew nothing about food addiction or being overweight. I decided that I would play the game. I would simply go along with them in order to get the food plan. I’d go to meetings long enough to lose my weight, and then I would vanish and live a happy life as a skinny person, riding off into the sunset. It is six and a half years later, and I do live a happy life and am in a right-sized body. However, I have not vanished from FA. I didn’t leave FA... Continue Reading



Gratitude in Airplane Mode

As I sit in my airplane seat I am grateful for the plenty of room I have to rest comfortably – even with my seat belt on!  I sit here at 131 pounds, heading home from the Business Convention.  Ten years ago I came into program weighing 318 pounds – having been heavy my whole life. I believe my highest weight was almost 400 pounds. Before program I gave up on flying because I had been humiliated one too many times as a morbidly obese woman on an airplane. My dad traveled internationally for his job, and I have fond memories of my mom packing my sister and I into the car to send my dad off, or go pick him up at the airport.  From a very early age, flying was a wonderful event and came with compelling stories of unique places and people around the world.  As I... Continue Reading



Sweetened Studies

At 31 my life looked like this:  accounting degree graduate, single mom of a five year old son and I weighed 313 pounds (that wouldn’t end up being my highest).   I attempted to sit for the Certified Public Accountant (CPA) exam, a rigorous series of six four-hour tests at that time.  However, I was still face-down into the food, so although I spent the money on the books they were merely table mats for my constant snacking.  The flour-sugar fog prevented any productive learning from taking place.  At one point, I rented video lectures and audio taped them to listen to in the car (yes, back when cars had tape decks) but all the popping sounds of canned drinks and crinkling sounds of plastic bags muted out the lectures.  Fellow graduates would ask to borrow the tapes, but I refused, being too embarrassed they that would hear the constant eating.... Continue Reading




Before I go any further, I should tell you, I’ve never been in a real prison; not the kind you are thinking, anyway. I’ve never even had any trouble with the law. No, my prison was of my own making. I had built it up around me, one block and one bar at a time.  By the time I was well into middle age, I was securely “locked up,” with no escape in sight. When I was young, as far back as I can recall, I was called “fat boy,” “tubby,” and other unkind names, more than I care to mention here. There is an old saying: “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.” Well, truth be known, the names did hurt me; at least they hurt my feelings.  The name calling got me into trouble because I would retaliate.  Despite my size, I... Continue Reading



Still Precious

Starting over is always painful. I have been in this wonderful fellowship for 8 years, and in that span, I have had to start over four times. This time was no different. It was not FA that stopped working for me; it was I who stopped working the program. The food was the last to go. It started when I let the gifts of the program take me away from the program. There were other things that I just didn’t want to miss, so I would connect with two people on the phone instead of three, and my committed meetings suddenly weren’t as “committed.” My quiet time was not as peaceful with my “to do” list running through my mind, and 30 minutes became 27. I read my Big Book much too late and fell asleep on it. Now, this didn’t not happen all at once, nor every day. It... Continue Reading