By M. Derasmo
I was a confirmed sugar addict. Starting in my early twenties, I ate sugar at every opportunity. I would do anything I had to in order to get my “fix,” including things I would rather not admit to, like stealing money, if I didn’t have any for chocolate or other sugar-rich things.
In a continuing effort to find the perfect diet, I somehow managed to find EFT in August of 2007. I dove in and never looked back.
I tapped for every single issue I could find, and I had a lot.
I had inconsolable grief over my alcoholic mother dying when I was 6-years-old, anger over being physically abused by a stepmother and sexually abused by her father, and then inconsolable grief over my father passing away when I was 10-years-old. These were big issues, but I was able to eliminate all their pain with emotional freedom techniques (EFT).
I spent the next year working on my Personal Peace Procedure and tapping on everything I could come up with.
But I still ate sugar uncontrollably.
Then on February 1, 2009, something happened that started me down the road to the answer. I was shopping in Macy’s department store (which was my second favorite thing to do at the time) and suddenly out of nowhere a baby started screaming and crying.
My first reaction was to get out of that space as fast as possible. My husband, who was with me at the time, turned to me and said, “What is wrong with you?”
Then it hit me. I thought everyone runs out of the room when there’s a crying baby. I can’t tolerate hearing babies cry. But no, apparently lots of people don’t have this issue at all. Slowly, the thought bubbled up for me: I can’t tolerate the crying baby because I am the crying baby–the baby that wasn’t taken care of–both while my mother was alive and after she died.
I went home and began to tap.
This was a long session of working on every single thing I could come up with , and whether it was true or not did not matter. These were the thoughts that I believed to be true.
I tapped:
Even though I’m so sad that my mother was too drunk to feed me, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother was too drunk to wake up and change my diaper, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother was too drunk to take care of me, I deeply and completely accept myself.
But more importantly, I realized that after she died she wasn’t there to do all the things a daughter needs in her life–and as I focused on what we had missed together, the tears came flooding out.
I tapped:
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to walk me to school everyday, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to tuck me in at night, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to read me a story, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to help me with my homework, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to place my picture on the refrigerator, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to congratulate me on my wonderful report card, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to push me on the swing in the park, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to listen to my heartaches, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to play with me, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to take me to get my first bra, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to make cookies with me, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to explain what a Tampax is, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to help me plan my wedding, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to tell me why I shouldn’t marry that idiot, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to hold her first granddaughter, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to tell me what a great daughter I am, I deeply and completely accept myself.
Even though I’m so sad that my mother wasn’t there to (and lot’s, lot’s more) I deeply and completely accept myself.
What happened when it was all done was quite stunning. The first thing I noticed was total silence–the voice that would constantly scream out for sugar was completely silent. I then started to test.
At work I walked by my co-worker’s office and the ton of chocolate on her desk–nothing.
I went by the vending machines–nothing.
I went to the supermarket and walked down the candy isle–nothing.
I picked up some chocolate, smelled it, had zero desire for it, put it down, and walked away.
If you are a sugar addict, you will understand that was nothing less than a miracle. After my tests I thought perhaps I had been abducted by aliens and exchanged for an addiction-free person–someone who is “normal.” I was quite unsettled about it, but willing to accept that whatever happened, it was good.
Since then, I have remained completely addiction-free. The endless, relentless “Pull” that would force me to eat is completely gone. Today I eat “normally.” I make low-calorie, balanced meals and I am perfectly OK with them. I am happy with one serving. I can watch others eat cake, cookies and candy without any issues at all. It does not bother me.
I simply don’t want it.
Looking back, I can see the clue my subconscious was trying to give me with the crying baby who was always there. I didn’t understand what it meant so I ignored it. And now, as I lose weight effortlessly, I hope that others will find this information useful. It may be that you need to tap on what didn’t happen for you as well as what did.
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Excerpt from the book, EFT for Weight Loss
By Dawson Church, Pages 139-143
