My bedtime reading last night was the April InStyle Melissa McCarthy cover story. I slowly turned glossy pages — no scrolling on my iPhone or MacBook. I looked forward to the rare, delicious treat all day. Melissa’s beautiful hair, lipstick, blanket jacket and pastel, puff-sleeve dress — plus her personality…

And I definitely do — in the mirror. This is #1, Buttercup, in my flower-titled series on sugar addiction. Here’s how I know I am an addict. I cannot turn away from my substance once I start — primarily if it’s sugary but also floury, baked buttery, chocolate, salty or…

Pedaling the Cape Cod Rail Trail a couple of afternoons this summer, I realized that a simple bike ride is a metaphor for everyday challenges and gifts. Biking helps us find our way, process change and build confidence. Photo by Andriyko Podilnyk on Unsplash. Remember when you learned to ride…

You held light, carefree memories of sack lunches at Cape Cod Bay and the rich fudge a Cape lady made just for me. But no more. I feel sick. That’s because I needed an afternoon snack, felt my blood sugar dipping and ate more than I normally plan to at…

My sugar/white flour addiction loves it when I wallow in darkness, self-pity and mental pain. After a day in bed, Miss Sugar, in her purple stilettos, crushes my heart and squeezes a puff of poison perfume on my brain. And then it seems like the only thing that will help…

Is this delicate doily a graceful flower or an invasive weed? I say the first — and seeing it every summer brings back memories of walks from Nauset Light Beach with my mother, when I was a teenager. Today I changed my sugar/overeating story series header to Recovery. It started…

The new striped baby in our home managed to tread quickly on my heart, leaving four soft pawprints. I didn’t know my spirit and soul would be so open to her beguiling sweetness, curiosity and spunk. I didn’t know she would bring me back to my childhood, and even my…

I have a good, true sponsor in my 12-step program; a loving family; and supportive friends in my life and my group, but that Black King Pansy keeps unfurling and popping up at night. I try to uproot it — weed out the yen for sugar, banish the surrender to…

Now I know — unwelcome advances happen everywhere, even in a donor lounge chair with your feet up in the air and a needle in your arm for an 80-minute-plus platelet donation. Or is it especially then, when you’re in a situation like this, in my case at the mercy…