My Name Is Erin, and I'm a Food Addict

I have fortunately never been addicted to drugs or alcohol. Maybe I tried a little pot in high school, and had some very blurry nights in my Roaring 20’s, but I’ve never felt compelled to drink or smoke. I’ve never tried any heavy drugs. I was a smoker for several years, but kicked that “habit” by myself.  In fact, if someone told me today that I HAD to give up craft beer or a glass of wine before bed, I really think I could do it quite easily. I wouldn’t like it, but I could do it.

My addiction is food.

In the past, when the going got rough, I turned to food. I’m sure you remember those gloriously flattering posts about me stuffing my face when I was sad, when I was happy, and let’s be honest, when I was feeling just normal. Food was my go-to drug to calm the growing depression inside me – and I was (and am) addicted.

I had already started eating for comfort when I was in my early 20’s. I suffered a devastating break-up, was living alone, hated my job, and was really in a bad place. Late night episodes of carb loading were the norm, and I always felt just a little dirty afterward. When I got divorced, things got just a little worse. I was a single mother, home owner, and sole supporter, and all of a sudden had to do everything for and by myself and my kid.

Then my mom died, and I truly and completely fell under the spell of food.

I ate ALL THE TIME. Pasta, fast food, whole pints of ice cream… and I ate alone, so no one would know. I have gained 100 lbs since my divorce, most of it over the last five years. My addiction is deep, and woven into the very fabric of my life. Because of my addiction, and my weight gain, I had successfully convinced myself that I was unworthy of love (have another chocolate bar), that I would remain alone for the duration of my life (Sausage McMuffin and large Coke), and that I would never achieve happiness (full bowl of pasta). It was OK – I felt like I didn’t deserve to be happy anyway (late night pizza).

Not anymore.

I can happily say that I successfully navigated a wonderfully thrilling and terribly sad weekend without indulging even one time. I ate for fuel, and not for comfort. I ate for enjoyment, and tasted some really nice things, but didn’t overdo it.  I took a major step in breaking my cycle of addiction, and I couldn’t be more pleased.  I don’t have a monkey on my back – it’s a donut as big as my head. And it’s time to throw it off.

I think I’m on the road to becoming addicted to being HAPPY and HEALTHY. I’m no longer interested in being alone, or going another eight (gulp) years without someone in my life. I want to become addicted to love, and sharing my time, not sharing a cinnamon roll. I want to spend as much time as I can with my friends – not eating out, but walking, biking, hiking, and talking. I want to spend QUALITY time with my son, exploring, boating, and running.

I want to become addicted to living. I think I’m on my way.