My 12-step program teaches us that food addicts tend to isolate. Five years into the program and I knew that wasn’t true of me… until…

Gregory interrupts my audio book as I’m cooking (and as I’m breaking my abstinence with 4 ounces of wine). He wants to help prepare the meal. He wants to be together. He wants to be close. I want to be alone (with my 4 ounces of wine). And I can’t say that I want to be alone.

He’s scratching at me, breaking through my defenses. He says one more thing… like “Why do you load the dishwasher this way?” And I sink into the depths.

He sees me, comes over, and strokes my head and kneads my shoulders. He asks, “May I listen to you?”

I begin to hear my own internal questions. Is it solitude that I want or isolation? Do I want to be alone or in hiding? Am I going for silence or distraction? Do I want to be in the present moment or unconscious?

I tell him what I remember from childhood – a desperate desire to be by myself… in a secret garden. The loud pounding on my bedroom door and my father’s voice shouting at me to get up, do chores, come to the table, practice, do homework, etc. I want to be alone, but I can’t say that I want to be alone.

For the first time, I tell Gregory about the connection between food addiction and isolation. I’m ready to unlock that door. I’m ready to let go of feeling detached, disconnected, unreal and forgotten. Intimacy is what I want, too.

It’s taken an absurd step to cross the bridge. It has taken breaking my abstinence with 4 ounces of wine and a question about loading the dishwasher.

Now I’m at a meeting point between my finite self and the other. It could be G-d. It could be Gregory. It could be a group of friends. It could be Nature. I’m invited, and unity with the other makes my half whole.

Friday night, we hosted a dinner for our Marriage Care Committee. This is the Committee of F(f)riends we have chosen to help us prepare for our wedding and to support us through our marriage.

After everyone left I said to Gregory, “That was the most intimate, beautiful, and challenging time I’ve ever spent in a group.” I was available in a new way which created a new experience.

The next morning, while walking Miranda, the Labradoodle, I was practicing open presence. I was not distracted, not hiding from myself and the world. In one shared moment Miranda stopped and looked, and I stopped and looked, and, just up the street, Brother Fox stopped and looked at us. Our eyes met and then he turned and we went our separate ways. It was a beautiful moment.

More of that please.

Love & Light,

Valerie