At OA this morning–yes I went to OA again today, which is pretty friggin amazing for me–there was a woman talking about how she has sometimes felt bad in meetings about not being thin–like it was a sign of how little recovery she had. Like the outside is an accurate reflection of what’s going on inside. I spoke to her afterwards (I know…another unbelievable thing for me to do…) and told her about how I’d often felt that way in OA too. Then I told her about having Duodenal Switch surgery 3 years ago and losing all the weight and how I look much better on the outside now, but inside I have the same struggles with food that I always did. I still use food to feed my shame, to dampen the noise of my feelings, I use out of boredom and fear and to substitute for human contact. It’s more clear to me now than ever how screwed up I am about food, but now I can keep it more of a secret because it doesn’t show on the outside.
I’m sitting in the living room and my 14 year old daughter just sat down at the piano and started doing a song my husband and I wrote for her. She’s so beautiful, she sings so well–it’s amazing to me. I have so much good in my life, so much grace and loveliness and love. And yet…this food compulsion…it kicks my ass every day. Maybe that’s the point. To keep me numb and isolated, to keep me from feeling anything but shame and sadness, to keep me far away from the joy. It makes me think of the quote by William Blake: “And we are put on earth a little space, that we may learn to bear the beams of love.” That is the most difficult thing of all for me, to bear the grace and love that’s in the air all around me, like dust motes, sparkling in the sun.
A while ago I was in this meeting at my job in advertising and we were talking about using some piece of language or another in an ad and this guy, one of our clients, who was French and not in total command of the English language said, “Oh but I think that has a lot of bad luggage.” And we all looked at him. Quizzically, I guess you could say. Trying to be polite but basically wondering what in the hell he was possibly talking about. And then it dawned on me. Bad luggage=baggage.
As a person who is “in recovery” from growing up Southern Baptist, I drag a lot of baggage around with me (as they say). About God and the church and what it means to be a Christian. Boatloadss of bad luggage about the Bible and Jesus. And it’s been a problem. Because I’m also a person in recovery from overeating, smoking, co-dependence and my bad luggage has made it hard for me to deal with 12-step groups, their trite phrases, their cult-like my-way-or-the-highway-ness, their “be a part of the group” -iness. Not to mention all those church basements they meet in.
There’s much I like about 12 step groups though. Mostly the sense that telling the truth, telling our stories helps us. Heals us. Maybe even saves us. It’s what I like most about the Bible too. The stories. When I can get past the bad luggage associated with the stories in the Bible, when I can get beyond what preachers and Sunday School teachers have told me to think about them and really see them as stories about real people, messed up and in pain, and hobbling through their lives, like the rest of us, those stories can be powerful. And healing.
So I thought I’d try an experiment. For a year. Or so. I thought I’d try to go to a 12 step meeting every week. And I’d read a story from the Bible every week. Maybe not just read, but sort of live with the story. Really listen to it. Imagine it might have something to say to me. Imagine it was a message in a bottle kind of communique from God.
For my story I’m going to just follow the Revised Common Lectionary selection for each Sunday.
For my meeting, today at least, I’m going to an OA meeting. And it starts at 9. So I need to go take a shower and get going.
