A Doctor Finds Serenity in the GreySheet Solution

–Linda M., Abstinent since Dec. 20, 2018

As December 2018 came to a close, I had my last moment of powerlessness over food. As so many times before, a bag of small, sweet foods waited in the closet, calling to me. I weighed 308 pounds. I couldn’t walk without assistance. I couldn’t breathe without oxygen because the weight on my chest was crushing. I was 54 years old, riding a scooter, tethered to oxygen. I knew exactly why my health had collapsed—and still I moved toward the bag and ate the rest of it.

For days beforehand, I had done what I always did: “controlled” myself by allowing small portions, convincing myself I was managing it. Until the inevitable day came when I had to finish what remained—even against my will. I saw it clearly then—my inability to stop was identical to what I saw daily in my heroin-addicted patients. The rationalizations. The bargaining. The compulsion. I was humbled by the truth. I was an addict. Knowing this did not stop me. I ate the food anyway.

The next day at work, I broke a rule of psychiatry: I disclosed a personal struggle to a patient. I had treated her for years—watched her stop drinking, stop misusing pain pills, and steadily lose weight. I asked her, “What are you doing? I cannot stop eating.” She answered simply: “I weigh and measure my food off the GreySheet. I write it down and commit it to my sponsor. I eat everything I commit and nothing in between. My serenity is in direct proportion to my surrender.”

Two thoughts landed immediately: I could do that. And serenity sounds nice.

She gave me the website—greysheet.org. I called. A woman explained the program and asked for my first three committed meals. Protein and fruit were easy. Vegetables stopped me cold. After a long pause, she said with some impatience, “Just pick a vegetable.” I asked, “But how will I know what I feel like eating tomorrow?”

In that moment, it clicked. My emotions need not dictate my food anymore. The person choosing tomorrow’s meals was a better version of me—and I could trust that Me. Once the meals were committed, my job was simple: eat only those meals, no matter how the day went, no matter what I felt. If I disliked a meal, I could finish it and know that another meal was coming, which I might enjoy more.

I lost 75 pounds the first year, 50 the next, and 25 the year after that. Seven years later, I have maintained that 150-pound weight loss. I surrendered the foods we avoid—and in return, I lost the scooter, the oxygen, the desperation, the self-condemnation, and the obsessive food thoughts. I gained serenity, health, purpose, friends, and the freedom to eat without guilt. I have a wonderful life between meals now. I agree with the saying that GreySheet is a bridge back to life, and it is saving my life one day at a time.