When I was in my late 20s, I sat in “the rooms.” That is what the 12-step program meeting places are called.

My meeting was with OA, or Overeaters’ Anonymous. A veteran of every diet known at the time (which is why I kept regaining even more weight than I lost), I was desperate for help.

A friend had suggested it was time to admit my “powerlessness over my disease.” Though I had no idea what she was talking about, I followed her into the dusty, dank meeting room in the basement of a church on the Upper East Side of Manhattan.

I was encouraged to “turn my food plan over to God each morning.” Did God really care about my food plan for the day? Wasn’t it possible that the chicken salad planned in the morning wasn’t going to sound so good (or be available) in the evening?

But there was something else in the room that presented a bigger challenge for me. What I learned that day changed my life forever.

As they introduced themselves, my 14 meeting mates sucked down big cups of coffee or diet soda, and smoked cigarettes. No wonder the rooms smelled so bad. This was back when smoking indoors was common.

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As they all told their stories, I realized they all had a “referral addiction.” One person was saved by AA, but soon needed OA. Another was a gambler first, and when he stopped gambling on ponies at the Belmont race track he found himself with 100 extra pounds. Yet another was eating because she couldn’t do drugs, and eating was legal, right?

Transference.

This was the transference of an addiction: When one outlet is cut off, the addictive behavior moves onto another substance. To me, that meant the addiction was still inside you, eating you alive.

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It’s one of the many downsides of the recovery model. It focuses on controlling certain behaviors but doesn’t dive deep enough to understand addictive behavior and fix it.

Transference scared me more than the concept of powerlessness did. And even though it would take me another 15 years of struggle to solve my own addiction, I was positive I was not going to transfer it to another substance.

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As I went through layers of self-discovery via therapy, soul awareness healing, coaching and yoga, I found my way. I wasn’t broken and in need of being fixed. I needed to know and accept myself.

I didn’t need to continue pleasing others in the hopes of having my needs met. I needed to draw people into my life who pleased me by their very presence.

I didn’t need to control food in order to convince myself I was managing life.

I just needed a life, one that was my mine and authentic. I finally found it.