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Created by Alcoholics Anonymous, the Twelve Steps recovery model has expanded into a wide umbrella of programs aimed at supporting people struggling with a range of vices. The group meetings, where strangers gather under anonymity, are fundamental to the process.
But what happens when a resource based on community increasingly turns virtual?
Philadelphia-area members of Overeaters Anonymous (OA) — an organization offering physical, emotional, and spiritual recovery for individuals who suffer from compulsive eating or unhealthy food habits — credit their lives to OA. But, they have noticed a worrying trend of fewer in-person meetings since the pandemic.
“Coming here early, being at the meeting, and then sitting around talking afterwards — that’s what kept me alive all these years,” said Ed M, who declined to share his last name in accordance with OA guidelines. “I know that I can never take this for granted, and I want others to get what I got.”
The first OA meeting was held in 1960, and since then, the organization has grown to offer more than 6,000 meetings worldwide, with 3,500 accessible by phone. It’s meant to help anyone who has an unhealthy relationship with food, including people suffering from anorexia, binge eating, bulimia, and food addiction. The Twelve Steps program asks members to acknowledge that willpower alone may not be enough for recovery, and to place trust in a power greater than themselves.
Ed first got involved with OA in the late 1980s after he and his wife divorced. At night, he would compulsively binge food, pass out, wake up and swear he wasn’t going to do it again, and then repeat the cycle later that night. The obsession got progressively worse, making it a struggle to maintain a steady job and provide for his children.
Initially, Ed was reluctant to go to OA, especially because at the time, the meetings were predominantly attended by women. But, he persevered with the program because of an encouraging sponsor that took him under his wing.
“I get choked up when I start thinking about it, because it was like a transition without even knowing it,” said Ed. “We were able to face my addiction and I was able to provide for my kids the best I could.”
Ed ultimately went back to college, earned a degree, and became a nurse. He was able to become a more reliable father and grew closer to his children. Even nearly four decades into his recovery, he still regularly attends OA meetings, to keep both himself on track and help others going through the same struggle.
However, members described a shift in the Philly-area OA meetings that started with the pandemic. Bill K, a retired commercial roofer, said that when everyone was in lockdown, the video conferencing platform Zoom saved the Twelve Step programs. People could continue their recovery journey even as the rest of the world isolated themselves indoors.
Further, individuals who previously faced barriers to participation, like a former sponsor living in a nursing home, could remain involved in OA. “He was sponsoring people at 92, it was fabulous,” Bill said.
Though, in the aftermath of the pandemic, Zoom became a ubiquitous tool, and some meetings never returned to in-person. Bill, a Levittown resident, said there used to be a physical meeting every night of the week, but now it’s limited to only three or four.
Bill emphasized that because food addiction is a disease of isolation, the reliance on Zoom is problematic. “We hide, we isolate, we don’t want to go out, we don’t want to get dressed,” he said. “But that’s part of the treatment. So I have nothing against the fact that a lot of meetings are now virtual, but it can’t replace face-to-face.”
Ed shared a similar sentiment: “You could go anywhere in the world and log on — it’s great — but the in-person, face-to-face interaction is what really turned me around.”
It’s hard to describe the difference between online and offline interaction. Those on Zoom can still speak and see each other's faces, so hypothetically the quality of communication should be about the same. But studies in neuroscience and communication have quantified that abstract feeling of difference: video interactions do not engage the brain’s social processing system as strongly as face-to-face interaction, and the fewer spontaneous interactions result in weaker social ties.
Since recovery requires an extensive social support system, members often stress the importance of in-person community. These are connections that Zoom meetings may not fully reproduce.
“When you get there and all of a sudden you’re not that odd person that you always thought you were… it’s a big thing,” said Bill. “The fellowship can lift you up and hold you up.”
Further, an engaging meeting would likely make someone more likely to come back and contribute to the program, which is critical for recovery. According to the OA website, most members attend two meetings per week, and 61% of members are sponsors currently or have been one in the past.
Technology has ushered in an era of convenience, but perhaps there’s no convenient way to go about addiction recovery — especially when consistently showing up and giving back can make the greatest difference.
“One thing about recovery is it’s not for everyone; you have to be willing to go to any lengths,” Bill said. “And sitting at home at a kitchen table on a computer isn’t going to any lengths.”
Media contacts for the OA did not respond to requests for comment.
