A Searching & Fearless Inventory

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Last night I shared with my sponsor the challenges of the previous 24 hours and she was amazed at how I had been able to follow the thread of events, triggers, and choices that comprised my experience. It is the experience of an addict in recovery, of a trauma survivor seeking a new way of being, of a human being committed to living the best possible life in a world of increasing uncertainty and overwhelm.

I have spent the last five weeks working on my fourth step inventory for Overeaters Anonymous. As tens if not hundreds of thousands of addicts in recovery have done before me, I made a list of all people, institutions, and ideas I resent. I listed all of my fears. And I outlined the history of my sexual conduct. I looked at each person and experience in terms of why I was so disturbed, how I contributed to the harm caused in each situation, and what would be a more constructive, life-affirming response. The worksheets are completed in columns so that instead of fixating on a particular situation from start to finish, we identify all our triggers, all our responses, and then all the resources we need to call forth.

What emerged for me were new insights into undeniably clear patterns that have undermined my jobs, relationships, and ability to navigate challenges and transitions from as far back as I can remember. There were times, especially in the beginning of this process, of self-criticism and despair, but my overall experience has been humbling and inspiring. I’ve seen how my past career ambition, despite many generous and genuine contributions, was about pushing my agenda to gain status and recognition and how this undermined my ability to meet the genuine needs of the people and programs I supported. Most of my lingering resentments revolve around feeling undervalued, unsupported, and criticized because I accepted responsibilities that stretched me beyond my level of emotional security. I drank, overate, became increasingly bitter and self-righteous, and pursued a number of questionable men for comfort and adventure all in an effort to cope. My marriage and my job – both having contained potential – inevitably disintegrated under the impossible expectation that they shield me from the experience of uncertainty, vulnerability, failure, and rejection. Ironically, in my attempt to fit my strong, brilliant, adventurous ideal, I continued to make reckless choices misaligned with my true needs and gifts, and requiring me to dissociate, sedate, and pump myself up to endure.

It’s taken being defeated and a whole lot of consistent coaching over the past year to get me to stay put – to stop running, fighting, building. Most of the time, I comply out of sheer exhaustion and fear. Other times, I comply from a sense of humble faith that nothing that occurs to me as the answer to my suffering will cause anything but more suffering in the usual fashion. My life has become about hunkering down, being patient, and watching intensely for what arises. This has created moments of deep peace and serenity, as well as moments of restless agitation that make me want to jump out of my skin and moments of deep shame and humiliation when comparing my life to my ideal.

This week, I was feeling this tension while digging into a story in the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous about Jim, whose resentments over being hired as a salesman for a company he used to own build to a relapse. Although my relationship with my boss has been gentler, I am still insecure about my performance and subtly resentful about the less glamourous parts of being a secretary when I used to be in leadership. I was feeling defensive about two client interactions where I felt they were being demanding and slightly demeaning. I was also aware of subtle confusion and regret over a former executive at a past job who I had respected and seen as a mentor and who distanced himself from me without a clear explanation. With the warm weather and summer thrill in the air, a desire had been growing over the past few days for ice cream, which I never craved before and can’t have now due to the dairy and sugar. I had also been dreaming about cake.

As I scrolled through my emails, a vague memory rose of the night before when I had fried up some mahi mahi and sweet potatoes in ghee and picked crispy hot bits out of the frying pan. I sensed this wasn’t abstinent behavior, especially since I was already full from dinner, but I justified the pleasure since my diet is now so limited to heal my gut. I knew I had a small container of leftovers for a snack and I thought I would have a little treat before diving into the billing. As soon as I got the sweet potatoes in my mouth, an intense craving arose for more – far more than I had. An all-consuming mood arose – ravenous, peevish, hateful, self-absorbed – and a loud voice boomed in my head: “Fuck it! I don’t give a shit about anyone!” Suddenly, I became the person I was with all those men I justified staying with because I needed comfort, all those coworkers I subtly enticed into supporting my agenda, all those friendships and commitments I walked away from because I felt annoyed, and all the risks I’ve taken through down-playing the consequences. The next few hours and into the morning held a long string of fantasies about men I know locally, some I have only met once and not thought about since. My food cravings were intense and I felt exhausted, restless, and irritable.

But because I have been working on my inventory, listening to OA calls every morning, and diligently tracking my food, mood, and physical symptoms multiple times a day, I didn’t believe that this state was reality. I saw the build-up of emotion. I saw the impact of trigger foods. And I saw the addict mindset kick in. Instead of feeling defensive and entitled, instead of indulging my fantasies, I dialed into a recorded OA meeting. In the shares, I was reminded about higher power and prayed for support. I acknowledged my need for extra rest, space, and gentleness. And I stayed with the feelings and sensations instead of jumping into compulsive action that would initially feel liberating and empowering but ultimately only cause more disruption, drama, and suffering. In sharing with my sponsor that evening I realized that I had just seen at work in me much of what I have learned about compulsive food behaviors.

A friend of mine who works with eating disorders is convinced that recovery is about working with trauma and that restricting food is not helpful. While I agree that I have trauma to work through and that I have so far experienced an increase in cravings from restricting my food, I also know that I have to eat this way to manage my auto-immunity and that I have the allergy of the body and mental twist of the mind that qualifies me as a genuine compulsive overeater. I can eat sweet potatoes in stews. I can eat fried squash. But I cannot eat fried sweet potatoes. They, and a number of other foods I fantasize about, trigger cravings that, especially in times of emotional turmoil, culminate in a very a personally and socially destructive state. I have never been obese, never purged, and have been able to put down sugar and flour, but I know without a doubt that I am an addict and I will always be vulnerable to self-destructive impulses in a wide variety of forms if I’m not diligent with my recovery. Today, that has taken the form of writing this post which, for the last two hours, has given me a reprieve from both hunger and fantasy.

Some fellow OA members say they have no power over the food and that everything comes from their higher power. I agree, partially. When I pray, when I make an outreach call, when I write, eat abstinent food, go to bed on-time, and breathe until something passes, I feel a tremendous upwelling of inner support. I even see synchronicities around me, like a sudden flood of unsolicited texts from people I care about. This feels to me like divine intervention. But I am still the one in the heat of the moment to make the crucial choice. I choose the close the container. I choose to pick up the phone. I choose to sit and meditate. I choose to stay present enough with the feelings so I’m not avoiding them, but keep enough distance not to be consumed. I choose not to believe the thoughts that tell me a treat or a fling are a good idea.

The more I work the 12 steps, the more I am coming to understand they are all about connection. When I am in my addict mindset, even if I’m not acting on the impulses that arise, I am on my own. I am the one lone unappreciated person in a sea of chaos and idiots I give zero shits about and I deserve some fucking respect and pleasure right now. The program is designed to invite me back into the web of life – to admit that maybe I don’t have it all figured out, to ask for help from something outside myself, to look at the ways I’m not as great (and not as bad) as I think I am, to make amends for my wrong-doings, and to look at how I can be helpful.

Some people say that God is within us, and that we are in essence, God. I think this idea is beautiful and holds a lot of truth because I feel that presence active in me on an almost daily basis. But my addict mindset already thinks it’s God – it’s invulnerable, all-knowing, entitled, and the center of the universe. By appealing to something outside of me – whether it’s another person, an image, a sensation of energy – I step back into a reality in which we all suffer. We all have our limitations – inner and outer. We all have something to give, something that is needed from us, something to sacrifice. When I am willing to live in this shared reality with the intention to accept, serve, and find gratitude in simple things, I experience what David Bedrick recently described as the true experience of balance. It’s not the balance between things, such as work or rest, but living on a knife edge in the midst of a swirl of great energies.

My deepest fear is of being overwhelmed. I have spent my life fighting with and fleeing from feelings and sensations that felt too intense for me to withstand. I am starting to understand that being connected to the ground in the eye of the storm is sobriety, is power, and is revolutionary. It doesn’t require anything or anyone, even myself, to change. It is simply rooted in the sovereign right of each of us to exist. It is a statement of what is true and sacred to me. And each time I hold steady with something I think I cannot tolerate, a little part of me comes home. Instead of pushing away my shame, grief, rage, or restlessness, numbing out, or jumping into action, I welcome them a bit more and therefore feel a little more fully me, more restored, more whole. Then I can live myself into the world – not in an ambitious ploy for significance and security or an anxious desperation to earn acceptance and comfort – but in a genuine expression of my uniqueness and joy. Right now, that is manifesting as my ability to catch and eliminate social drama sooner, to take on responsibilities I can handle, and to sacrifice my greater desires on a daily basis in order to commit to self-nourishment. Through experiences like the one this week, my life is gradually becoming more manageable, I am settling into more frequent experiences of wellness, and I am finding an enhanced capacity to be present with the remnants of my past life that continue to compost within me.

Is this the gift of having invited a higher power into my life? Is this the result of my willingness to choose what is in my best interest? I believe it is both. And it is made possible by my ability to deeply witness myself as I am, ask for help, and give what I am able.

Nancy