SAN DIEGO — Bebe and I dreamed up an obesity control group to fulfill a requirement for our Master’s thesis. Our idea was to have several overweight people live 24 hours a day for seven days within the same confine, performing a regimen of controlled diet, exercise, and group therapy. Bebe and I would be the facilitators and active participants in the group. With my wife’s consent, I volunteered to use my home for the setting. My wife and kids cooperated and moved out for a week to a friend’s home.
We circulated a flyer announcing the group and five women and one man responded;
Barbara-In her early 40s, was a house wife. Very sweet and naïve. 20-30 pounds overweight.
Jo-In her late 40s, a tiny likable woman, who got into the swing of things easily. She was 10 pounds over her goal weight.
Mary – In her 40s, high school art teacher, always going up and down in the perennial battle of waistland. She needed to lose about 30-40 pounds.
Pat-Currently blonde, in her late 30s. A Girl Scout leader, in charge of the cookie drive every year, both in sales and consumption. 60-70 pounds.
Maureen – mid 50s, Very bright, out-of-shape body, some times disagreeable personality. 60-80 pounds.
Burt-52, big and burly, self-made, wealthy, already retired. 30-40 pounds.
Bebe-People oriented, bright spouse of Bob, a practicing psychologist. She wore loose denim shirts in those days, but no more than 10 pounds to go to her goal weight.
Myself-I was in one of my wonderful weight loss periods. I had just lost 40 pounds and was still losing.
We began by weighing ourselves. Everyone was asked to write down their weight before getting on the scales. We also checked the weight stated on each of our driver’s license. Without exception, the weight on each driver’s license was understated by at least twenty to fifty pounds.
Our day started with a Weight Watcher’s breakfast, followed by two hours of group discussion, then an hour’s walk on the beach nearby. After a lunch break, another two-hour group session and then a second walk on the beach before dinner. After dinner another group session until bedtime. This was the set routine for the entire seven days.
Bebe and I kept the group discussions focused on feelings, which was the therapeutic technique we were trained in.
Maureen was a difficult person, She refused to walk, and complained about her feet and other ailments. We encouraged her to try a little, and after several days she walked the entire trek with everyone else.
Burt, the only other man in the group beside myself, described himself as a loathsome belligerent terror in his younger days. He would enter a bar and every patron would exit in fear. He was now much mellower and wiser, but suffered from serious health problems.
Barbara shared with the group a problem she had with crying. She would burst into tears at the most inappropriate times and locations. Once, it occurred in the principal’s office at her son’s school, another time at the grocery store, and another while playing cards. We questioned her further, and she recalled a story about her deceased brother. He had a stroke and lay dying in the hospital. He asked Barbara if she would rub his paralyzed arm to increase the circulation. While she was rubbing he died. She was overcome with guilt and felt that rubbing his arm caused his death. She sobbed uncontrollably at his funeral and every time thereafter when she visited his grave.
I felt Barbara’s naiveté made her a good candidate for psychodrama, a technique used to recall buried feelings, and which might reveal the source of her problem. What transpired was an hour of intense emotions that revealed the power of the subconscious mind.
Psychodrama is the process of acting out a real-life situation in a play form. I created the hospital room scene. Jo acted the part of Barbara and Pat was the dying brother lying on the floor asking his sister to rub his arm. Pat feigned dying. Jo, who really got into the moment, acted out a great display of uncontrolled weeping .We had a funeral, and other members of the group lowered Pat into the grave, and buried her with dirt and rocks. There was incredible tension in the room. Suddenly Maureen burst out of the room and fled to the bathroom, retching loudly and uncontrollably. Burt, the macho-bull, began crying hysterically. Barbara, although she was weeping, was in control of herself. After emotions settled down, Burt said, “This experience generated feelings long since buried,” and that he did not wish to deal with again. He announced he was leaving the group, got up, and walked out the door. When Maureen returned from the bathroom, said, she said, “I was desolate from the experience, but could not verbalize it in my own words.” Barbara declared, “I found the experience ‘interesting, but could not connect it to any new feelings I had.” However, a month later we had a group follow up and Barbara said, “You know the strangest thing happened. I went to my brother’s grave a couple of weeks ago, and for the first time since he died I did not cry.”
The average weight loss for the seven days was seven pounds. Maureen became a member of the San Diego County Grand Jury. Pat dropped into my business about six months later. I did not recognize her, she had lost over ninety pounds. She was wearing a short skirt and white high leather boots that fitted the image she desired for herself. Forty years later, I still see Mary. She was quite heavy, and then lost 50 pounds. Bebe is still my dear best friend. I haven’t seen her in a denim shirt in quite a while. I’ve lost, gained, lost, gained, lost gained and lost hundreds of pounds since then.
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Ira Spector is a freelance writer based in San Diego. This selection, with slight revisions, was republished from Spector’s 2011 work, Sammy Where Are You? An Unconventional Memoir … Sort of. It is available via Amazon.