How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 3

This is How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 3. And good news! Here’s the part where things start to get better, and where I finally started to truly leave disordered eating behind! 🙂 In case you missed them, though, here is the Intro, Part 1, and Part 2.

Newly pregnant and terrified that I would slide back into my old ways, I decided that nothing mattered more than figuring out what “healthy” really was and then fighting for it tooth and nail. One night, when I was about 8 weeks along with Aurora, I promised myself that I’d once and for all tackle all my food issues, and that I wouldn’t stop working until I’d figured it all out and truly gotten better.

I’m proud to say that I’ve kept that promise.

pregnant
Here I am at 29 weeks pregnant with Aurora.

Trying Out Intuitive Eating

One of the first things I did that night was dig out the book my counselor from my freshman year had  recommended. Intuitive Eating, it was called. The main tenets of intuitive eating (as I understood them) are as follows:

  • If you simply listen to your body and eat when you are hungry and stop when you’re full, and allow yourself to eat whatever foods you feel like, you will settle into a pattern of feeding yourself exactly what your body needs and wants.
  • Furthermore, your weight will stabilize at a healthy, happy place.
  • Your body comes pre-programmed to be hungry when it needs nourishment, and if you listen to it, it will also tell you when it’s had enough.
  • Reconnecting to internal cues is the ultimate key to normal, healthy eating and ultimately a healthy weight.


Aren’t those beautiful ideas? I read Intuitive Eating from cover to cover within the week, and I wanted what it offered.  The lifestyle the book described of listening to your body, eating the foods you want without ever bingeing, and never following a diet again sounded like a dream come true. I wanted that. And  I was determined to do whatever it took to become an intuitive eater.

Julie

I went online and found a list of dietitians and therapists who specialized in helping patients master intuitive eating. I signed myself up to see both a dietitian and a therapist in my area that very evening. I committed to seeing them both regularly for as long as it took to straighten out my eating.

The dietitian I went to see, Julie, was absolutely wonderful. Julie was a practicer of intuitive eating herself and was convinced that it was a wonderful way to live. And I truly believe that for her it was the answer. She seemed healthy, genuinely happy, and all-around what I wanted to one day be like.

I loved meeting with Julie. She was kind, compassionate, and a wonderful listener. Yet she was also willing to tell it to me straight and help me see where my thinking and eating simply wasn’t healthy or logical. She reacquainted me with basic nutritional information I’d learned once but forgotten thanks to so many diet books and magazines. I learned that many of my old ideals—1200, maybe 1500 calories a day tops, for example—were insanely low for someone of my age and height and activity level. I also learned that trying to stay under 100 grams of carbs a day (something I was trying at one point) was similarly nuts. No wonder I was grouchy so much of the time! Most importantly of all, she was able to convince me that I needed to eat much, much more than I had been eating, especially now that I was pregnant.

We talked a LOT about how restricting was never, ever going to be the answer to my problems. And for me, restricting took on two forms. I was limiting how much I ate, as I’ve described, but I was also very restrictive in what particular foods I deemed okay to eat.

“Scary” Foods

We sat down and listed all the foods I thought were “bad.” Candy. Cookies. Cake. Doughnuts. Sugary cereal. Brownies. Ice cream. You get the idea. We grouped them into the “scariest” foods—the things I’d never dream of taking home and keeping in my kitchen for fear of bingeing—to things that were less tempting to me. One of my lower-tier “scary” foods happened to be Golden Grahams cereal. Julie challenged me to go and buy a box of Golden Grahams and have some. I was supposed to then keep them around the house and eat them whenever I wanted to, and when I ran out of them, go buy more.

WHAT?!?

I was terrified of this idea. Why on earth would I keep something like that close at hand? And then openly eat it whenever I wanted to? Well, as intuitive eating explains, the magic of forbidden foods wears off after a time once they’re no longer deemed forbidden. Sure, you are likely to overeat at first, but eventually the Golden Grahams would become nothing special as I granted myself true, full permission to eat them. The idea was to eventually reach this place with all foods. Nothing would be off-limits. All foods were mine for the taking whenever I was hungry.

birthday dinner
The dinner I ate on my 24th birthday. A big-but-not-insane plate of my favorite things with a sugar cookie instead of cake because I LOVE SUGAR COOKIES and was finally allowing myself to eat them guilt-free again. Being able to sit down and eat a meal like this was a major victory for me, because before this point my meals were tiny plates of only foods I deemed “okay,” and I was simply bingeing in between as a result of being so restrictive.

So I dove in, doing everything I could to follow Julie’s instructions. I bought the Golden Grahams and kept buying them. I moved onto other favorites: sugar cookies, ice cream, Cadbury chocolate. I kept them around and ate them, doing as best I could to not feel bad or guilty for doing so. In a lot of ways, it felt so, so good. I was no longer a sinner, a loser, a joke every time I ate a brownie. Detaching moral wrongness and rightness from certain foods was a big deal for me in seeing myself in a more positive light.

Along with all this, of course, I was also focusing on another core principle of intuitive eating: figuring out when I was both hungry and full. I was trying to listen to my body for things like tummy rumblings and headaches that indicated that I was physically hungry (as opposed to just in the mood to eat). And when I did eat, I tried to really savor my food slowly and determine when I was full. I always had permission to eat again any time I felt hunger, but I was to try to stop once I was satisfied.

Changing My Disordered Thinking

As I mentioned before, I was also meeting with a therapist during this time. It was scary and embarrassing and humbling to call up a counselor and schedule myself that first appointment, but I’m so I chose to do it. If you think this is something that might help you, I strongly encourage you to seek professional help too.

Anyway. I’ll call my counselor Karen. Karen was a key figure in my getting better as well. I feel like Julie helped me untangle the knots in my disordered eating, and Karen helped me finally start to change the disordered thinking I’d had such a hard time shaking off before this point.

The major takeaways I had from Karen were this: I was so, so negative and mean and critical in my self-talk. I was outright cruel in the way I’d berate myself for even the tiniest of mistakes. Karen helped me see myself more clearly and appreciate that while I wasn’t yet where I wanted to be, I was doing a lot of things really well. I’d been practicing mean self talk and negative thinking for long enough that I think I needed an outside source of help to pull me out of my old patterns.

She also helped me “reframe” a lot of my thinking in general. I used to make a LOT of assumptions about others’ intentions and about what was true. For example, back in college, I was sure everyone thought I was fat and ugly. But had anyone actually SAID I was either? Ever? Once? No. Had anyone done anything to me that suggested they thought that? No! This was something I simply assumed everyone else thought, for all sorts of dumb reasons that didn’t hold up to logic when I wrote them down or said them out loud.

half marathon
Old assumption: “I’m not really a runner and I don’t have friends.” Oh, wait. Isn’t that a picture of me right after running a 1:54 half marathon and surrounded by friends who did it with me? Unraveling all my old wonky, negative, illogical thinking was part of what made the clouds finally start to part for me.

More Key Realizations

Another big assumption Karen helped me tear down was that being thinner would help me be happier. It’s sad to look back and see how fiercely I believed that. It’s true that our society puts a premium on appearance—remember how much attention I got for losing weight both in junior high and at the start of pregnancy #2—but Karen helped me reason through how in my day-to-day life, thin doesn’t really correlate with happy. Taking good care of you body does, yes. Being a good mom to my kids certainly does. Taking time to get back in touch with things I loved doing, like writing and playing the piano, could too. Running could as well if I kept it in its place and didn’t do it excessively. But would simply being thin make me happier? NO!

For the first time I questioned my erroneous assumption that weight loss was my ticket to everything I wanted to have and be. And once I’d kicked it off its false pedestal, it was much easier to relax in my eating. Eating a cookie was now eating a dang cookie, not making a choice that would take me away from the happy life I dreamed of and therefore something to feel extremely upset and guilty about.

Learning how to think logically about my thinking patterns was a huge, huge deal. I began to consider other possibilities than my own assumptions when it came to my outlook on life. I used to be so quick to conclude that others didn’t like me, or that qualities and problems I had automatically made me a bad person, and so on. Reframing my thinking finally gave me the ability to start changing my actions.

I slowly began to accept that maybe my body had looked just fine all along. This was the biggest breakthrough: my realization that although I had been absolutely convinced that I needed to lose weight, maybe I’d never needed to. Maybe all of my reasons for believing that were bizarre, illogical, overly negative assumptions. Finally kicking the stuffing out of my disordered thinking was a tremendous, important victory for me.

Internalizing those key ideas from Karen was a critical turning points for me. I’m grateful that she helped me so much in this way. After our first few months of meeting, though, I felt like our talks became meandering and odd. Karen didn’t seem to listen well anymore or understand the things I was trying to say. Sometimes things got so strange and irrelevant to me in our sessions that I wondered if she had me mixed up with somebody else. In retrospect, I should have kept trying to find a therapist that was a better fit instead. But I decided to keep on trying with Karen in the hopes that maybe all the random things we’d talk about at our appointments would eventually come together and make sense. But they didn’t. So once my baby Aurora arrived and getting to appointments became tricky and stressful anyway, I decided to call it quits with Karen and simply work with what we’d accomplished to that point.

Intuitive Eating: Not My Answer

I carried on with my meetings with Julie and efforts to eat intuitively, though, through, that entire pregnancy as well as for few months after my Aurora was born. I was diligent in noting my hunger and fullness. I sincerely tried to stop restricting food and thinking of it in terms of good and bad. I read and re-read the Intuitive Eating book, marking helpful sections in hot pink and orange highlighter. I did every last thing Julie urged me to . . . yet still didn’t see myself becoming the intuitive eater the book promised I eventually would.

My Rorie was born August 15, 2013. I'll always look on my pregnancy with Aurora as the time when I really began to change. How fitting that the name Aurora means DAWN.
My Rorie was born August 15, 2013. I’ll always look back on my pregnancy with Aurora as the time when I really began to change. How fitting that the name Aurora means DAWN.

I felt like many of the ideas and principles from Intuitive Eating were things I needed in my life. I needed to stop hating my body. I needed to allow myself to eat enough food to stay nourished and energized. I needed to stop allowing myself to eat so little from day-to-day and totally restricting certain types of foods, because all that ever led to was more bingeing. And my life’s mission was so, so much more than to simply hit a certain weight.

These are things I still strongly believe, and I’m grateful for the time I spent with intuitive eating because of what it taught me. I wholeheartedly recommend intuitive eating to anyone who thinks it may be helpful for them. But I couldn’t deny a few troubling things that I was seeing in my eating patterns throughout this time I spent trying to eat intuitively.

Maybe I was doing it wrong. Maybe that year I devoted to it wasn’t enough. Maybe I wasn’t really giving myself unconditional permission to eat. I don’t know what to say except that while I felt worlds better emotionally and was finally seeing myself in a more positive light, I was still overeating pretty regularly. I resisted thoughts of “you shouldn’t eat that” when it came to sugary treats, thinking that was my old diet thinking coming into play, and just plain ate a lot of indulgent and sugary foods. I’m sure the total number of calories I ate was dramatically lower than when I was full-on bingeing, but the quality of my day-to-day nutrition tanked. And I began to feel the effects physically after several months.

Saying Goodbye to Intuitive Eating

I started to long for my dieting days in one sense. I felt like committing myself to listen solely to my stomach to know when I could eat was simply restricting in another way. What if I wanted to eat lunch while my baby was sleeping simply for convenience, even if I wasn’t super hungry yet? Or what if I wasn’t really hungry but felt like having a cookie or two at a party? Or what if I was starting to feel uncomfortable with the amount of sugar I was eating? What if I truly wanted to go back to eating less of it so I’d feel better physically? I felt robbed of the ability to choose how I wanted to eat for fear that those choices were in fact “restrictive.”

More than anything, I felt like there was in fact some truth to sugar having an addictive component. Keeping treats around and getting habituated to them did take my overeating down a few notches, that’s true. But I feel like it meant I could now eat 10 Oreos at a time instead of a whole package. No matter how long I kept at it, if I had sugar in my house, I’d eat plenty of it. The “magic” of sugary foods never wore off like it was supposed to. Intuitive Eating promised that eventually I’d be satisfied with an Oreo or two, but that never happened for me.

About 6 months after my daughter Aurora was born, I decided I wanted to take back my power when it came to eating. I wanted to call the shots on what I ate and when I ate it, not rely on some book or the “hunger cues” that never did become particularly clear or consistent for me. Instead of assuming I was broken or stupid or doing things wrong, as I would have in the past, I reasoned that I had worked extremely hard at this and that it simply wasn’t the right approach for me personally. And I decided that while intuitive eating had been a helpful stepping stone in my journey, and likely was a great final destination for others out there, it wasn’t going to work long-term for me.

 

Sarah McConkie baby
Me with Aurora on Christmas Day of 2013. I was way less aggressive in taking off the baby weight this time, and ironically the weight gradually came off all the same. It took longer but I was SO much happier at this point in time than I’d been right after I had my first daughter, Sophia.

Takeaways from Intuitive Eating

So. In my year or so of experimenting with Intuitive Eating, I concluded that it wasn’t for me. In the end, I fundamentally disagreed with its logic. Would intuitive shopping work, for example? No—there’s no company on the planet that doesn’t operate on a budget, and for good reason. How about intuitive parenting? After the first time your child runs into oncoming traffic they’ll learn it’s a bad idea, right? Or intuitive piano playing? Just practice when you feel like it and you’ll be the next Mozart. Or intuitive living generally, from a moral standpoint? Just do whatever you want to in the moment and eventually you’ll end up happy and successful. All these scenarios seemed preposterous. So why was eating magically different from anything else in life? Why was discipline and structure such a key element of success in any other area I could think of, but an absolute no-no when it came to eating?

beat binge eating
More of my Rorie as a baby. Wasn’t she adorable?

I decided that I believed that overly harsh restrictions on my eating were a bad plan that would only fuel my bingeing. Intuitive Eating was spot-on there. I made a firm decision that my endpoint healthy lifestyle was going to include lots of healthy, wholesome foods, but that it was also going to include brownies in moderation. Doing so would safeguard myself against bingeing. Also, brownies are good!

But back to my beef with intuitive eating. Is structure itself always a bad thing when it comes to eating, as the book suggests? Are all forms of discipline, rules, and guidelines inherently evil? I decided that the answer here was NO. I decided a healthy lifestyle, for me, would be a  matter of finding a balance. What things in my eating were keeping me locked in a cage, and what things were acting as guardrails to keep me from careening off a cliff?

I believed I had the right to lay down some ground rules, some structure to my eating. I wanted to figure out how to eat in a healthy way that made me feel both emotionally AND physically good. Intuitive eating and counseling got me to where I was no longer terrified of food and no longer hated myself and my body, yes. But I couldn’t deny that eating as much junk food as I was during this time made me feel sluggish and generally blah. So armed with some great principles and beliefs from the two professionals I’d sought help from, but with some equally firm convictions of my very own, I decided to jump back into the fray solo. I would put my newfound experiences and realizations to work, yet allow myself to be the one to call the shots once more.

Coming Next: How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 4

How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 2

This is How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 2. In case you missed them, here are links to my Intro and Part 1 posts of this series.

“Disordered Thinking”

Now, let me be clear: I was NOT fat. At 5’5″ at 145ish, I wasn’t huge by any stretch of the imagination. Yet my critical view of myself distorted everything I saw in the mirror, and I seriously believed that I had a weight problem. In retrospect I can see how messed up my thinking was. I now think I look pretty fit, cute, and awesome in the pictures in this post. I wish I could go back in time and both whack myself upside the head for being such an idiot and then immediately give myself a big, big hug to help with all the hurt and fear I was dealing with back then.

disordered thinking
Eat hardly anything, eat everything, repeat. Through all this madness my weight and body hardly changed at all.

But anyway. I made a firm promise to myself that purging was no longer an option for me. It was something I never wanted to revisit. But instead, I decided I’d get “healthy.” I was convinced that I was fat and needed to lose weight, and that somehow all of my problems were rooted back to the inadequate, unacceptable way that I looked. I felt like I was addicted to food, particularly sugary food. But if I could work hard and have willpower, I though, I could change everything about myself and my life.

I still catch myself defaulting to this crazy logic in times of high stress. I think it’s easier to decide weight loss is the answer to your problems in life than it is to actually face your real problems. I see now how irrational, how stupid this line of thinking is. But in any event, I moved forward both determined to never purge again and to lose about 20 pounds.

 

The Beginning of Intentional Dieting

So I joined a gym. I hit the fitness and diet magazines, cutting out and saving 1200-calorie diet plans and sub-300-calorie dinner recipes. I began doing sets of exercises from the magazines that promised to thin my thighs and flatten my abs. I decided I was going to become a newer, better, infinitely hotter and happier version of Sarah.

I sincerely thought that by losing some weight and getting my eating back under control, I’d solve all my problems at once because I’d then be not just healthier but prettier too, which would mean more dating and more friends. Ta-da! I remembered how kind everyone had been when I’d lost weight back in junior high, and whereas one day it seemed like no one noticed me or liked me much, the next day I was bombarded with attention and praise simply because I’d dropped a jeans size or two. I wanted that again! I believed I was going to have EVERYTHING once I lost 20 pounds. And sticking to my  new regimen of “healthy” meal plans and tough workouts was my ticket there.

By this point, all my overtly dangerous and disordered behaviors were gone. No more purges, no more sub-500-calorie days. But my thinking was so jacked up that I was still doing watered-down versions of full-blown disorder behaviors. I ate, but not enough. I didn’t make myself throw up, but I still used exercise as a less-intense form of compensated when I felt I’d eaten too much. And my thoughts were nothing but FOOD. FOOD. FOOD. FOOD. LOSE WEIGHT. GET SKINNY. FOOD.

I think a lot of people currently or in the past fall into this category. We don’t have full-on disorders that need swift and serious medical attention, but we’re not living in a healthy and happy way. Food and exercise and weight loss become obsessions. It’s not so much a state of disordered eating but a state of disordered thinking. It’s being almost anorexic. Borderline bulimic. Often orthorexic. It’s not glaringly dangerous or unsafe, but it is miserable. And it’s a zone I lived in for far too long.

Restricting

Yet the bingeing raged on.

Before this, I was bingeing not out of hunger but solely due to emotions. I ate fairly healthy and normal meals and snacks throughout the day before I’d ingest an excessive several thousand calories of sugar in the evenings. But starting in the second half of my freshman year, once my first real efforts to diet began, my eating took on a whole new pattern. For the first time ever, my caloric intake became chronically low. And I honestly believed that I was being HEALTHY at this point: after all, the magazines were telling me to do all the things I’d started, and surely they weren’t advocating disordered behavior, right?

The best way I can sum up the shift here is that my binges began solely as a comfort mechanism when I was met with stress I couldn’t handle. But then they morphed into a biological, inevitable rebound effect as I was perpetually hungry. Consistently undereating is what kept the flame of my bingeing alive and well. Label it as restricting, dieting, or whatever you want, but it’s the #1 reason I could never stop binges from happening.

disordered thinking
Here I am at a friend’s wedding. Disordered thinking still kept me in its grip: at this point in time, I still believed I was horrendously fat.

Addicted to Food?

My binges never again reached the sheer amounts of food they did during that brief, awful time during my first semester as a college freshman. But the frequency of my binges? I found myself overeating if not all-out bingeing once or twice a week. I could “stick to a healthy eating plan” for about 5 days before giving up, it seemed. I’d do just fine with my bowl of oatmeal for breakfast, sandwich piled mostly with spinach for lunch, then chicken and veggies for dinner for a few days. But every time, like clockwork,  I’d snap around day 5 or 6. I’d walk past the campus bakery and feel my brain screaming at me that I needed brownies—and buy not one but a dozen. I’d go to a party and wolf down a huge plate of chips and dip plus a half dozen desserts. My hunger would get the better of me every single time after a few days of “good” eating, and despite my best intentions, I’d binge. Every. Single. Time.

I chalked it up to my pathetic lack of willpower. I’d swear to “start over” the next day. Often, I’d revise my diet or eating plan to be even stricter than it had been before, and the vicious cycle would continue.

In retrospect, I now see that anyone living on 1200 calories a day and burning another 300+ in daily workouts would react exactly as I did. My binges were a result of the physiological need to stay nourished! My brain was telling me I needed brownies because there was in fact a serious lack of carbs, fat, and general calories in my system! I didn’t see what I was doing as “starving myself,” because in my mind I was eating 3 “healthy” meals a day.

But I literally was starving most days, netting about 900 calories where a girl at my age, weight, and height could have and should have eaten somewhere near 1000 more calories than that daily. Yet because of my frequent bouts of overeating, I was probably averaging roughly the correct amount of calories: it just came about by under eating for several days and then stuffing my face.

Keeping Up Appearances

No one would have imagined all this was going on by simply looking at me. With what I felt was herculean effort, I dropped only a few pounds (at my lowest, I was 142) due to all the bingeing. And at my all-time high when my binges were at their peak as a freshman, I was in the low 150s. The few people I confided my overeating problem to acted confused: I hadn’t lost or gained a lot of weight at any point, and I wasn’t purging anymore, so what was the problem?

addicted to food
Another picture from the days where, in my distorted mind, I believed I was still problematically fat. Isn’t that sad?

I’ll tell you what the problem was. The problem was that I felt like garbage. The problem was that at any given moment I was either ravenously hungry or overstuffed and sick. The problem was that I inwardly screamed at myself and called myself horrible names any time I put one toe out of line from whatever stupid diet or cleanse or meal plan I was currently on. The problem was that I looked in the mirror and saw only UGLY. The problem was that I was unhappy and confused and had no idea what “healthy” even was anymore.

The Emotional Damage of Disordered Eating

I kept most of these feelings locked up inside. And it’s not like everything in my life was horrible. Not by any means! I found myself loving the major I’d chosen, finally making more friends and dating more, and honestly feeling fairly happy a lot of the time. So much of my life was great. I landed several writing and editing internships in a row that were fun and fulfilling. I got married to a wonderful, wonderful guy. I graduated from school. I had my first baby, my darling daughter Sophia.

But this undercurrent of constant dieting, constant fighting for a goal weight, and constant self-loathing was always in the background. The time after I had Sophia especially was brutal as I starved/binged myself down from my delivery day 200ish to my pre-baby 140s in just 4 months. The overtly dangerous purging was long gone, but the way I was living sure didn’t make me happy.

Sarah McConkie wedding day
Me on my wedding day with Mark. 🙂 I’m so lucky he’s mine. He’s known about my eating struggles since the early days of our marriage, and he’s never been anything but supportive and loving and amazing through all of this.

And ironically, a new emotion crept in. I read in lots of places that bingeing was a result of trying to cope with stress and problems, and that made me feel so, so guilty. What stress did I have, after all? What problems did I have? My husband loved me, and I loved him. My new baby girl was healthy and gorgeous and perfect. I’d found work to do from home that kept my passion for writing and editing alive (and also helped our meager college-student budget all work out). I had made wonderful friends in the town we’d moved to after I finished my degree.

Guilt

By pretty much any standard, my life was amazing. What kind of crazy, whiny, ungrateful, broken loser was I to feel the need to binge with so much GOOD in my life? By this point, I’d decided and firmly believed that I was fat, but I now also believed I was fundamentally a bad, pathetic human being.

binge eating
My beautiful oldest daughter, Sophia, at just 3 days old.

This is what my life was like for the next 4 years.

Life had settled into a groove of good with hidden bad. I was constantly dieting and restricting, and as a result, constantly overeating. Disordered thinking dominated my thoughts about eating, exercise, and my body. But it was livable. And so I lived that way, pretty much from the second part of freshman year on until I became pregnant with my second child in 2013.

sure I was addicted to food as a new mom
Here we are on a hike with baby Sophia in the fall of 2011.

Pregnancy #2

At the beginning of that pregnancy, both my husband and I were hit with a terrible, terrible stomach flu. Think stomach convulsions as painful as childbirth. Dry-heaving in 10-minute intervals for two hours straight. An ER visit because I seriously thought I was either experiencing ectopic pregnancy or dying. It was horrendous.

Yet the end result of all that misery was a bit of weight loss—and people noticed. I was hit by waves and waves of “You look amazing! What are you doing?” and I loved it. It was like when I lost that weight in junior high all over again! I liked the slightly thinner version of myself too. So? I found myself dreading the inevitable gain that was going to come with this pregnancy. I next found myself lying about having morning sickness (which I really didn’t) so I could skip meals here and there. But within a week or two, I realized this was NOT okay.

I felt horrible. What kind of monster would start all this disordered stuff up again while PREGNANT? How could I be DREADING weight gain when the reason for it was that I was bringing a beautiful baby into the world? What selfish, shallow, superficial, small-minded brat could justify intentionally undereating that would put my unborn baby at risk? I was so ashamed.

The phrasing I used when I talked to myself was overly harsh, but my core feeling was right. If this kind of thinking and behavior was resurfacing while another little life was dependent on mine, I needed help. ASAP.

Coming next: How I Beat Binge Eating: Part 3