I didn’t always understand why my relationship with food felt so all-consuming. It wasn’t until I attended my first Big Book study that things began to click. That’s where I’d like to begin today—with a powerful line that reframed everything for me:
“We, of Alcoholics Anonymous, are more than one hundred men and women who have recovered from a seemingly hopeless state of mind and body.”
—Foreword to the First Edition, Alcoholics Anonymous
This powerful sentence introduces a crucial concept: the alcoholic suffers from a twofold illness—affecting both mind and body. The mind cannot stop thinking about “it,” and once “it” is obtained, the body just wants more.
I react to food in the same way.
When My Mind Won’t Let Go
If I eat certain foods, I’m never sure I’ll be able to stop. And even when I do manage to stop, my mind fixates on the foods I’m trying to avoid—pulling me back in until I cave and binge again.
This isn’t just about saying no to party snacks or resisting temptation at the office. Sometimes it’s a specific food thought that won’t let go. Other times, it’s a quiet voice whispering, “You know you’re going to blow it anyway.” Either way, I get locked in—and it’s hard to break free.
I’ve heard friends say, “I can never say no to chocolate,” but the truth is—they can. Maybe they struggle when it’s in front of them, but eventually, they stop. They hide it, avoid buying more, or simply walk away. Their desire doesn’t hijack their lives. I’ve used food to cope with every kind of day—bad, good, celebratory, shameful—you name it.
Trying to Win the Battle With Willpower
In my efforts to lose weight, I followed diet programs three different times and actually used gym memberships. I knew how to eat well and live a healthy lifestyle. But even with that knowledge, food became the loudest voice in my head—consuming my thoughts, my planning, my energy.
I watched myself regain all the weight I’d lost—and more.
This is the hopeless mind portion of my illness. The obsession is relentless. I can’t simply will the thoughts away—they get louder, more urgent.
Eventually, I give in. At first, there’s peace. The chaos in my mind quiets. But the relief never lasts. I keep eating.
Then Comes the Shame
Before long, I feel bloated and full. Then ashamed. I realize what I’ve done, and the guilt sets in—but instead of stopping me, it fuels the next binge. I eat to numb how bad I feel about eating.
This is the hopeless body portion. Even when I’m full and disgusted with myself, my body still wants more. The Big Book refers to this as an allergy—an abnormal reaction to a substance. For me, it’s not hives or swelling. It’s compulsion. I eat past fullness, even when I hate what I’m doing.
Finding a New Way Forward
When I began working with my Big Book sponsor, I learned that I couldn’t change my physical response to food. In 1999, I finally accepted I was powerless over this cycle. Hearing others share their stories helped me recognize myself in their patterns.
Later, I learned about food industry practices and how many of the “highly palatable” foods I craved were engineered to keep people wanting more. My response wasn’t just emotional—it had scientific merit. What separates me from the average eater is the intensity of my response, and my inability to make willpower stick.
The cycle—obsession, eating, guilt, repeat—felt irrational. But it was real. And I felt trapped.
Shifting the Focus
Today, I operate from the truth that my body will likely always react addictively to certain foods and behaviors. I no longer try to fight that. And I no longer listen to people who don’t struggle the way I do when they say I’m weak or silly.
Instead, I focus on how I think about food.
Because the real root of my twofold illness isn’t just the body’s reaction. It’s my mind’s fixation—my relentless attempts to control and enjoy the very foods that harm me.
And that’s where the Twelve Steps come in.
Their purpose is simple, yet profound:
To help get my brain unstuck.
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