by Jenni Schaefer

Jenni Schaefer
Author of "Life Without Ed"

When someone close to me died from anorexia, I immediately called my friend, Rich, a longtime member of Alcoholics Anonymous (AA), for support. After I broke off my wedding engagement, I turned to Sarah, who is also a member of AA. And when a family member was diagnosed with cancer —you guessed it—I connected with yet another friend in AA for comfort. What is particularly interesting about all of this is that I have never battled the disease of alcoholism myself. I am not a member of AA, but I am a part of the larger recovery community. My “drug” of choice was food.

In my personal journey to overcome anorexia and bulimia, my treatment team encouraged me to attend open AA meetings to gain support and much-needed hope. I listened to story after story of leaving despair behind and finding a new way of life. I was eager to know more, so I read the Big Book of Alcoholics Anonymous. For the first time in a long time, I connected with words like gratitude, faith, serenity, happiness, higher power, and God. Even though I was not an AA member, I was welcomed with open arms. Most people said, “Maybe you don’t battle alcohol, Jenni, but you know what it’s like to feel powerless. You know hopelessness.” (Yes, I did.)

I saw a shared spirit among the people in those rooms—a unity despite any and all differences. I was amazed by the sense of love and respect between newcomers (who were often still drinking) and old-timers with years of sobriety. AA members opened their homes up to one another, drove each other to meetings, and even practiced tough love—saying “no” when that was the most helpful thing to do. I had never seen such an unbelievable selflessness and a willingness to give among people who—in many cases— were strangers (only knowing each other for days or possibly hours).

What I saw outside of the rooms amazed me even more. I watched individuals in AA live happy, balanced lives. Despite their past and how much they might have lost due to destructive alcoholic behaviors, they kept a focus on the solution and seemed to experience a serenity deeper than most. This calmness was contagious. Something else that seemed infectious to me was their incredible sense of humor. In their homes, work places, and greater communities, they were respected citizens who contributed their talents freely and with joy. I wanted what they had. They told me I needed to work the Twelve Steps. I would need to do that with a sponsor—someone who had personal experience with eating disorder recovery.

It took awhile, but I finally found a woman who would help me. She was in recovery from both alcoholism and an eating disorder, so she knew the Steps well. She lived them. She passed them on to me. For that, I am deeply grateful. I learned that the Steps are about living—not particularly about giving up the bottle.

I discovered a newly created Twelve Step meeting in my city specifically for people struggling with anorexia and bulimia. I began to attend and witnessed the same sense of love and selflessness that I had seen in open AA meetings. I credit a big part of that to the fact that an AA member, who also battled bulimia, had started the meeting.

My hope is that someday more Twelve Step meetings for people with eating disorders will be widely available— just as AA exists for alcoholics across the globe. Today, most cities in this country do not even have one meeting for people with eating disorders like anorexia and bulimia. As an eating disorder community, we must follow the footsteps of those in the AA fellowship and work toward building a larger network for connection and healing. I know from my friends in AA that starting meetings in diverse settings will take persistence, hard work, and time. Of course, meetings for people with anorexia and bulimia will focus on balance rather than abstinence. One cannot abstain from food like an alcoholic gives up drinking. Eating disorder recovery is about finding balance with both food and life.

Today, I can finally say that have achieved that balance. I am fully recovered from my eating disorder. I owe much of that to the AA fellowship.

As you celebrate your 75th year, thank you, Alcoholics Anonymous. You taught me that nothing changes if nothing changes—and you showed me how to change. I know that your single purpose is to help the alcoholic achieve sobriety, but in doing that, it just so happens that you have reached many others. I am only one.