Crossing the Fleshold. Food Addict to Food Advocate

The writing of the Book

When I turned 30, I started writing a book.  Originally, entitled The Dieter's Blues, I genuinely thought I was on the final decent into a more relaxed relationship with food & that the book would serve as a diary of sorts to work through my final neuroses & skewed body issues.  While I had made much progress through my earlier years, at 30 years old, I truly thought I had calmed my demons, I thought I was genuinely educated about food & how to eat for optimum health.  In actuality, all I knew how to do was be an awesome Yoyo Dieter.  I had zero concept of the difference between being on a diet, verses actually having a healthy diet.  Now, I get it.  

This book will chronicle my relationship to food and to myself.  It will help serve as a reminder that Food Addiction is real and can really be a real sucker of life's joy factor.  As someone who is now on the other side of the compulsiveness, I want others to know they are not alone.  

A Changed Woman



  • My story is that of a girl who never got over a size 16, but whose mind went through all the hoops & mental crisis overload caused by the simple phrase, "I think I am fat."  When someone has a food obsession, the mental weight load can be debilitating & can steal love, positivity & joy from your life.  My story is for anyone who has ever worried about a little fluff, to those consumed by it, to those who’ve never worried about it, but want to better understand someone in their life. 



  • It took me well into my mature adulthood to learn that my body functioned the best eating real food. Crazy concept huh?  My body feels great eating a mostly plant based diet, letting go of most animal proteins, alcohol, added sugars and lots of refined grains.   I learned to let go of the majority of the processed stuff, learned the art of drinking my water, eating more organic & spending a lot more time in the kitchen.  Now I have the energy to do my LIFE!!  This is good, because I have a LOT to do.  

Book is being written...stay Tuned

A few reading exerpts

You Tell the Easter Bunny I want Chocolate


  • It was Easter morning, I was 11 years old, and in front of the fireplace on the gold shag carpet lay my Easter treats.  I drooled.  Mom used gallon sized ice cream buckets for our baskets.  I guess she figured we had a ton of them, they were good sized and she found it ridiculous spending a pretty penny for those ugly multicolored pastel plastic baskets sold at Woolworth's.  I didn't care.  Bigger baskets equals more candy.  My mouth watered just fantasizing about the chocolate bunnies, the chocolate eggs and my ultimate favorite, those chocolate peanut crispy discs.  I hated the repulsive little marshmallow peep chicks and jelly beans (and still do), so she knew to never give me those.  But what was this mysterious stuff I was unearthing under my stringy green grass?  Fruit!?  Dried fruit rolls?!  Carob??? What 11 year old would want carob?  Mother!
  •  I waited a few days before presenting my case at the Grand Maternal Court.  Calmly, I approached my mother politely declaring, "Mom, please thank the Easter Bunny for my nice bucket of goodies, but can you please tell him that in future years, I don't ever want to see carob again.  I want chocolate like everyone else!"  Carob never again found its way into my Easter basket.  Honestly, it didn't taste that bad, I just viewed her help as an insult.  If I needed her assistance, I'd ask for it!

Food is Connection


  • There were a lot of people at my mother’s house following the memorial service; Bob’s children with their families, folks from the church community and many other people from Bob’s life journey.  Part of the grieving process, I have been told, is to “tell your story.”  Memories told aloud help to heal; laughter and tears intertwined in one breath.There were times while listening to someone’s story, watching Bob’s five grown kids create a memory photo board or enjoying the innocence of children at play, I would find myself quietly absorbing the information all the while shoveling potato chips, cheese, cookies, and hot dish in my mouth.  I was aware I was consuming a lot, but eating to numb the pain had by now, become second nature.  
  • The amount of food that appears at these kinds of occasions is monumental.  Maybe it’s a Lutheran thing, but eating around the time of funerals is as commonplace as is overeating at weddings or other joyous celebrations.  For the 48 hours I was home, I ate nonstop.  It was, I guess, my own way of coping, literally pushing down unfamiliar emotions that were bubbling right below the surface.  I realized with glaring obviousness, that I used food as a temporary cure.  I sought it to mask things in my life that didn’t feel good.  This masking technique was used for every arena of my existence.  I ate because I was in tragic debt.  I ate because my career was seemingly at a standstill so why bother.  I ate because I got stood up on a date with someone who I believed actually treasured me in the first place. I ate because it was 7:00 a.m. and I was at an audition for a show that had probably already cast and I ended up singing like crap.  Twenty percent of the time I ate, it may have actually involved hunger.  As for the other eighty percent, well PICK an emotion, any emotion.