Suck It Up Buttercup. I was so excited I had to use all of my words at once in this exchange. Kyle: I'm kind of a foodie Eddie: I am, too The irony being that I have only eaten out ONE TIME in my life. And it was a buffet. Kyle: I just got back from a trip through Italy and Rome where I ate. Eddie: I just got back from a trip to Vegas. Eddie: And I'm in Vegas now! Eddie: I got to see you on the way here. Eddie: Did you get to see my apartment in San Diego? You would think a trip through the Italian countryside would give him a better vocabulary than the airport or a casino parking lot. At first, I was worried that I'd be so busy having dinner that I wouldn't get to answer Eddie's message, but he emailed me back twice after that. Then another day, this happens. I was so busy eating that I couldn't respond. I'll still be writing tonight about how great we ate. I promised you guys that. Eddie promised. Now I feel guilty that I didn't get back to him earlier. So Eddie, as soon as you're done here, go ahead and keep eating! The food was excellent and I'll probably want to tell you all about it later. If you're a person who's hungry, please just send me a text and I'll send you a quick message on my phone to see if we're hungry and/or if you're nearby and maybe we can eat together. I don't want you to feel any more guilty than you already do. I'm sorry that I can't talk. I promise that you'll be hearing from me again soon. I'll see you when I'm done eating! Here's how it went down: Eddie, you should know that I'm really glad to talk to you. It's been a while. And I'm glad to see you back! I promise that I'll finish my dinner first and then call you back. I really appreciate you reaching out. Eddie ### **SOMETIMES I GET TIRED OF TALKING TO MY CHILDREN,** but they seem to be the only people who can understand how I really feel and who can give me the reassurance that helps me feel less guilty. My mom, for example, tells me that this, this, and this doesn't make me a terrible mom. Sometimes all I need is to hear it from someone else. That's what happens here: when I talk to my son and daughter, it's like a vent that pops the pressure valve, allowing the steam to escape as I tell them everything that's been holding me back. Sometimes I go to a meeting and instead of feeling better, I feel worse. This happens because my kids were there and I was talking about them instead of my eating. Sometimes I tell people I'm working on a problem with the whole family. I'm trying to be honest with everyone about what I'm up to because I want them to trust me to be a competent adult. There are also the times when my kids call out to me to talk about the problem that I've brought to the meeting, and I make it seem like they're my only reason for going to a meeting. It's like if it weren't for my kids, I wouldn't have to make any effort to get better. But to be honest, that's not really the case. The point of the meeting is to be around other people who are in recovery and so that I can learn new ways of dealing with problems. I mean, I might bring my son to a meeting because he's sick and we want to find a doctor who will take him on as a patient. The point is for us to learn how to get on top of my son's diabetes and not try to give it all away to the next person who's in charge. And I need to be around people who are in my position—people who can relate to me and teach me how to cope and stay with it. And that's what I learned when I went to the meeting tonight. When I asked about the possibility of someone leaving food out for my kids or doing their laundry because I'm not back in a place to take care of my own needs, the response was, "Eat. You know, take care of yourself. You're the adult, remember?" That was true. I'm the adult. I don't have anyone who's going to clean my house for me or fix my bike or bring me a pizza if I don't go pick it up. And I know that I can handle being alone when I need to be. As I'm starting to realize, a lot of my problems are like this: if I could do something by myself, I would. I guess I'd rather not have a relationship with somebody, and that's what makes me needy and vulnerable. When I ask someone to care for me, I can't help it. It's like my body has a voice that whispers, _Just let me give you a hug!_ And the voice doesn't know when it's going too far. Of course, it's great that I get to be around people who understand me. For example, tonight one of my friends at the meeting gave me a bag of cookies after the meeting ended. My friend knows how much I love chocolate and chocolate chip cookies, so he asked the woman who ran the meeting if he could just bring me a bag of cookies to share with her kids because she was sure they would love them. My friend knew that I love those cookies and that I've been so worried about what's happened with our kids that I've been ignoring myself. I hadn't taken time to eat something just for me for a long time, and my friend understood. He didn't know that I needed the cookies and didn't see how he could have known. But my friend cared enough to just bring me cookies and say, "Here, sweetheart, enjoy these. I know you'll enjoy them." I think I'll bring the cookies home to my son. He would eat chocolate chip cookies, I'm sure, because he just loves them so much. And he always makes the right thing of his. Of course I might eat one or two—who wouldn't? They're pretty good, so when I'm ready, I can grab a bite. The fact that he brought me the cookies meant a lot to me because I thought, _Why shouldn't he have? Isn't it like he's giving me a gift? Why does he have to wait for me to ask for anything? We're in a relationship! We're a team!_ He always does things for me. He's so good to me. But tonight, something big happened to me because of all of this. Tonight, it was me who felt like I was helping him. It was his mom who needed the cookies, and his mom who was craving comfort. I went to the meeting and started by telling them how much I had been worrying about him and how hard it is to stay calm and focused when you're worried about your kids. I talked about how guilty I am when I don't hear from him. I can't remember what else I talked about, but I know that I was sitting there thinking, _It would be so great if somebody else could just take care of him right now. He's in a lot of pain. It's like he can't stop moving or think straight or get control of himself_. I remember wanting someone to take care of him so much that I started sobbing. This is what I said: "I just feel like I'm losing control of everything, and I know that it's only because I'm waiting for him to tell me what to do. I know he needs me to be the mom that I know I can be, but he's the only person that needs me, and I'm the only person that's helping him. He's the one that needs help. I can't imagine what he must feel like, because he's so young. He wants to talk to me. But I can't talk to him because I can't seem to stay in my body long enough to talk, and all I want to do is help him so he can be okay. I'm the only person who can make him feel better right now, and I don't even