Even though I was an average-sized kid, I always knew my eating habits weren’t okay—my mom made sure of that. From the time I was 8 or 9, she warned me repeatedly: If you keep eating like this, you’ll be 500 pounds, and no one will want to date you.
(We will unpack how that affected me later)
Despite those words—or perhaps in defiance of them—I continued eating the way I always had. Slowly, I fulfilled her prophecy. I transitioned from an average-sized child to a plus-sized teenager, wearing a size 3X by the time I graduated. As my weight increased, my dating prospects steadily declined. The only men who expressed interest in me were old enough to be my father…or older.
My First Attempts at Change
After high school, at 260 pounds, I attempted to join a weight loss system that required purchasing their food. The cost? $75 a week. I was over 18 and living at home, willing to make the sacrifice, but my mom shut that down—knowing I couldn’t afford it.
A year later, at 280 pounds, I joined a popular weight loss program with weekly weigh-ins. I managed to drop to 240, but soon plateaued. After months of fluctuating within the same five-pound range, I decided it wasn’t worth the money. Having moved out, I could barely afford the $10 weekly membership fee, let alone the cost of rent, university tuition, and bills—all while still feeding my addiction.
Ironically, I maintained my weight because I was often broke and my primary mode of transportation was a bicycle. I preferred to spend my money on food rather than a bus pass.
Love, Loneliness & Food Access
After my first year of university, my dateless streak ended—not because I had found a deep connection, but because I was tired of being single. The relationship lacked real attraction, and instead of breaking up like well-adjusted adults, we simply drifted apart. I found myself with their roommate instead.
During my last two years of university, I moved in with the roommate. Again, I wasn’t entirely sure I was interested in them—but being in a relationship was preferable to being alone. Rent was cheaper living with someone than living on my own and we shared groceries. Before long, access to my binge foods became easy, and the weight piled back on.
By the time I hit 280 pounds, I rejoined the weight loss program.
Despite my efforts, I only managed to drop to 260 pounds before quitting—convinced it was a waste of money when the scale refused to move further. The cost cut into my food budget, and frankly, I wanted my junk food more than I wanted progress. I was drinking nearly a liter of diet soda daily, along with convenience store snacks. Spending money on a structured program seemed pointless when I could spend it on my favorite binge foods instead.
The Cycle Continues
Between July 1997 and July 1998, I crept up from 290 pounds to 300 pounds. The weight gain was slow due to my daily biking and attempts to control my eating. I doubled my diet soda intake to nearly two liters daily, desperately trying to suppress cravings. In hindsight, this probably made my cravings worse.
Then, in July 1998, I ended my relationship and moved in with my aunt and uncle. My family wanted me with them because the relationship had been abusive, and they saw this as a way to protect me.
I was juggling student loan payments and working two minimum-wage jobs. Money was tight, but what little I had went toward a gym membership and fast food. Despite hitting the gym four times a week, I gained 30 pounds in just a few months.
Realizing My Rock Bottom
By this point, I understood that dieting on my own never lasted more than a few days. Even structured weight loss programs only worked temporarily—I would inevitably lose momentum and fall back into old habits, despite knowing exactly how to eat better.
When I think back to why I first walked into an Overeaters Anonymous (OA) meeting, it wasn’t because I believed I had hit bottom. It wasn’t because I thought it was my last hope.
I simply wanted to stop gaining weight.
What I didn’t realize was that I was about to stop the insanity—or that my world was about to break wide open.
Attending my first OA meeting in December 1998 rocked me to my core.
As I share my story, I hope you gain a sense of what I experienced. I didn’t do everything perfectly—in fact, I made mistakes. But through my efforts, my commitment, and my willingness to keep trying, I have broken free from abusing food.
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