I grabbed the railing and hoisted myself up three steps to the community hall. Gasping for breath, I lumbered into a room where a dozen people sat in folding chairs. One was empty, but I figured it would collapse under my weight.<\/p>\n
\u201cHave a seat here,\u201d said a large woman on the sofa along the wall. People moved over to make room for me. Plenty of room.<\/p>\n
I was 45 years old, five foot six\u2014and weighed 396 pounds. The only clothes that fit me were size 60 blouses and voluminous elastic-waist pants. My shoes all had Velcro straps; I couldn\u2019t reach my feet to tie laces.<\/p>\n
I had recently bought a new full-size car because it was the only one whose steering wheel I could fit behind. I was miserable. Yet I couldn\u2019t admit it to anyone. I couldn\u2019t even talk about it.<\/p>\n
The meeting started right on time. People introduced themselves and told why they were there, how many pounds they\u2019d lost and what they\u2019d eaten that week. Then it was my turn. I forced out the words.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m Sylvia,\u201d I said. \u201cThis is my first time at a support group. I don\u2019t really have anything else to say.\u201d<\/p>\n
My name wasn\u2019t Sylvia, but I was too ashamed to let anyone know who I really was. Besides, I was used to keeping secrets. I was always telling people that I was trying to lose weight.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not my fault that nothing works,\u201d I declared. What I wouldn\u2019t admit was that my life was devoted to eating on the sly.<\/p>\n
As far back as I can remember I loved to sneak. Mom made big batches of chocolate-chip cookies for our family of six and stored them in bags in the freezer. I\u2019d take a bunch and hide them in my room.<\/p>\n
Whatever was bothering me, however happy or sad or bored I felt, gorging myself always helped, as if I could fill up a sense of emptiness inside. Even when I was a child my eating was dishonest.<\/p>\n
Later in college, studying for exams, I\u2019d devour my way through rolls of raw cookie dough. Or polish off a bag of chips and then start in on the candy bars I\u2019d stashed in the back of my desk drawer. I hid food like an alcoholic hides booze.<\/p>\n
Marriage didn\u2019t help me cope any better with my problem. When I went through a painful divorce, my weight crept up \u2026 200, 250, 300 pounds. Only food could fill the void.<\/p>\n
I taught middle-school English and social studies, and I hated overhearing kids mutter \u201cfatso\u201d and \u201cwhale\u201d behind my back. I slipped deeper into depression, which was worsened by failed diets and bouts of overeating. Finally, I started counseling sessions with a therapist in the spring of 1999.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you watch what you eat?\u201d my counselor asked in our first session. \u201cYes,\u201d I said. Actually, I was watching it go into my mouth. I would stop in a restaurant for a meal, then drive to the other side of town and have another meal\u2014then head home and have a third.<\/p>\n
That way, I convinced myself, nobody would know just how much food I was really consuming. \u201cYou need to talk to some people who struggle with overeating,\u201d my counselor suggested. \u201cThere\u2019s a group that meets every Saturday downtown.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not a joiner,\u201d I said. \u201cI can change by myself.\u201d<\/p>\n
But the truth was, I refused to imagine my life any other way. I left the counselor and headed for a drive-thru where I picked up several value meals plus extra orders of fries. \u201cFor my coworkers,\u201d I lied to the boy who handed me the three bulging bags.<\/p>\n
The next week my counselor laid it on the line. \u201cI\u2019m not going to see you anymore,\u201d she said, \u201cunless you attend a group. And you\u2019ve got to go to at least twelve meetings.\u201d<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
That\u2019s why I was sitting on the sofa at the support group, feeling more uncomfortable by the minute. \u201cI\u2019ve had some bad moments this week,\u201d the woman next to me announced, \u201cbut with God\u2019s help I managed to keep track of my calories and eat three sensible meals a day.\u201d<\/p>\n
God\u2019s help? I was sure God couldn\u2019t help me. \u201cI was feeling down,\u201d a man said, \u201cbut I realized overeating wouldn\u2019t change anything, not really. So I called a friend to go to a movie instead.\u201d But food did change things for me. It was my friend.<\/p>\n
I clapped along with everyone else, but deep down inside I had a terrible feeling. Not me. These other people might be helped by all this \u201csharing.\u201d Maybe they were even losing weight. But me? I was a hopeless case.<\/p>\n
As soon as people realized my secret, they would turn away. Even these folks. Especially these folks, who certainly didn\u2019t need a loser like me dragging them down. And all this talk of God. What would God want with someone like me?<\/p>\n
I left the meeting and drove straight to the grocery store. On the way home I wedged a pint of Ben & Jerry\u2019s between my knees so I could eat as I drove.<\/p>\n
\u201cI went to the meeting,\u201d I told my counselor.<\/p>\n
\u201cDid you talk?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n
\u201cSure,\u201d I said. I wasn\u2019t exactly lying, but I wasn\u2019t being honest either. All I\u2019d promised was to attend 12 meetings. The weeks went by, and the most I ever said to the group on Saturday morning was \u201cMy name is Sylvia\u201d and \u201cI don\u2019t feel like talking today.\u201d<\/p>\n
The eleventh Saturday approached. I was nearly home free. That Friday in school I had lunch with the other teachers and made a production of having only half a turkey hero.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019ll eat the rest for lunch tomorrow,\u201d I announced, thrusting it back in its brown bag. Easier to finish it off between classes in my room when no one was looking.<\/p>\n
I headed down the hall for class, moving slowly through the student throng. \u201cMoooo \u2026\u201d came the taunt of some boys behind me. The sound seemed to echo in the hall. I pretended I hadn\u2019t heard.<\/p>\n
An image stormed through my mind of me sharing this ugly humiliation with my support group. I blotted it out. I could never talk about something like this, never bare my soul. I thought of the sandwich in my bag and how soon I could get to it.<\/p>\n
Saturday morning the leader said, \u201cToday we\u2019ll talk about hope.\u201d Hope? Vaguely I heard the others talking. Round the circle they went. Then it was my turn. Waves of despair I\u2019d been suppressing for years surged up and nearly took my breath away. In a flash it all came pouring out.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t have any hope,\u201d I began. \u201cI can\u2019t even remember what hope feels like.\u201d I blinked frantically to keep back tears. Go on,<\/em> a voice inside me said. Go on.<\/em> Somehow I knew I needed to do this, to accept, acknowledge and feel the pain.<\/p>\n I grabbed a tissue and continued. \u201cI have no hope of ever being a normal size again. I have no hope at all. \u2026\u201d I was shaking. I started to sob so hard I couldn\u2019t say another word. I motioned for the next person to go ahead and take her turn.<\/p>\n The meeting ended. I dodged the hugs and headed to my car. I drove out in a spray of gravel. I\u2019m never going back. I\u2019ve made a fool of myself. There is no hope for me. God, even if you are listening, you\u2019re wasting your time.<\/em><\/p>\n On the way to the grocery store I stopped at the post office to pick up my mail, a little surprised that anything would get between me and a meal. Among the bills and catalogs was a thick envelope from a friend I\u2019d taught with but hadn\u2019t heard from in months.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Inside was a pretty card on which my friend had written: \u201cHere\u2019s something for you to hold on to.\u201d<\/p>\n I pulled the tape off the small package she\u2019d enclosed. A flat polished rock of white-and-purple marble dropped into my hand. Engraved on it was a single word: HOPE. I gripped it tightly in my hand.<\/p>\n I drove home and put the rock in the center of my dining room table. I didn\u2019t want to eat at all, as if that tiny stone were a great rock that stood between me and my compulsion. It was Day One of my recovery.<\/p>\n The following Saturday I went back to the meeting. Number 12. I wasn\u2019t ashamed to speak. I couldn\u2019t afford to be ashamed. \u201cI\u2019m determined to lose this weight,\u201d I said. \u201cWith God\u2019s help and your encouragement I know I can do it.\u201d<\/p>\n I had already begun planning. I would set up what worked for me. Only three meals a day, no snacking in between, yogurt instead of ice cream, hold the cheese and mayo and consume half the portion, maybe less.<\/p>\n I couldn\u2019t exercise yet\u2014I could barely even move\u2014but foresaw the day when I would get up every morning for a brisk walk. \u201cI can do it,\u201d I announced. \u201cI\u2019m not alone.\u201d<\/p>\n I took a deep breath. What I\u2019d said was scary, but I\u2019d made my commitment out loud, and I wasn\u2019t backing down. \u201cI have something else to tell you,\u201d I said. \u201cMy name\u2019s not Sylvia. My name is Jan. And I\u2019m really glad to be here.\u201d<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" I grabbed the railing and hoisted myself up three steps to the community hall. Gasping for breath, I lumbered into a room where a dozen people sat in folding chairs. One was empty, but I figured it would collapse under my weight. \u201cHave a seat here,\u201d said a large woman on the sofa along the […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":2,"featured_media":30164,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_acf_changed":false,"ep_exclude_from_search":false,"footnotes":"","_ppma_block_editor_authors":"","_wpscppro_dont_share_socialmedia":false,"_wpscppro_custom_social_share_image":0,"_facebook_share_type":"","_twitter_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type":"","_pinterest_share_type":"","_linkedin_share_type_page":"","_instagram_share_type":"","_medium_share_type":"","_threads_share_type":"","_google_business_share_type":"","_bluesky_share_type":"","_mastodon_share_type":"","_selected_social_profile":[],"_wpsp_enable_custom_social_template":false,"_wpsp_social_scheduling":{"enabled":false,"datetime":null,"platforms":[],"status":"template_only","dateOption":"","timeOption":"","customDays":"","customHours":"","customDate":"","customTime":"","schedulingType":""},"_wpsp_active_default_template":true},"categories":[360],"tags":[203,44,58,372],"ppma_author":[753],"class_list":["post-23051","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-coping-with-illness","tag-community","tag-courage","tag-guideposts","tag-weight-loss"],"acf":[],"yoast_head":"\n