Eric Clapton once made a fascinating comment about addiction. When asked about his long struggle with heroin, alcohol, and other substances, he said the addictive pattern did not begin with drugs.
It began with sugar.
As a child, he recognized that sugar could give him a quick little lift — a way to change how he felt before he had words for what he was feeling. In other words, sugar may have been the first “substance” his nervous system learned to use for comfort, reward, escape, or emotional regulation.
That is why sugar addiction is worth looking at with more compassion and more intelligence.
A Fairy Tale- even Fractal- can make a complex subject like this easier to see, which is why I’ve been writing it.
A craving for sugar may not be only about sugar. It may reflect an old childhood need, a nervous system pattern, a family wound, a repeated inner message, or a body memory still looking for comfort. The story gives a way to look at the pattern without shame.
And we do need to look.
For starters, the norm is now to be overweight. We are also facing a massive obesity, illness, blood sugar, mental health and even financial crisis related to this.
Just one example: diabetes. Diabetes is not only a health crisis; it is also a massive financial system. In the U.S. alone, diagnosed diabetes was estimated to cost $412.9 billion in 2022, including $306.6 billion in direct medical costs. Insulin spending alone reached $22.3 billion. Globally, diabetes medications — especially insulin and GLP-1 drugs — generate tens of billions more each year.
So yes, we have some points of stress to consider — not just personally, but for future generations.
The group focus today, along with the regular energetic work, is addressing stress related to sugar as a “safe place,” sugar as a shortcut for nourishment, sugar as reward, mood swings, poor sleep, puffiness, weak future-focused choice, and disconnection from the body’s true signals.
Chapter 4
THE ROOM UNDER THE ROOM
The computer’s glow dimmed.
Another room began to appear on the screen.
Smaller.
Older.
Darker around the edges.
Tess felt her chest tighten.
“I don’t like this,” she said.
“I know,” said the angel.
“What is it?”
“The room under the room.”
Tess looked at the screen.
A little girl sat at a table much too large for her. Her feet did not touch the floor.
Tess stopped breathing for a moment.
“Is that me?”
The angel’s voice softened.
“Yes.”
The little girl on the screen looked toward a doorway.
Voices came from the other side.
Mommy and Daddy were fighting again.
The little girl’s eyes widened.
She was afraid Daddy would hurt Mommy again.
If Mommy would just shut up! She was making him angrier!
Tess whispered, “I remember that kitchen.”
The angel nodded.
“Most grooves do not begin with food,” he said. “They begin with a feeling the child cannot process.”
On the screen, the little girl kept staring at the doorway.
The door was not fully closed.
Just open enough for fear to leak through.
And then Tess saw something else.
A shape.
It was crouched behind the door, pressed into the shadow between the hinges and the wall.
Its outline was almost human.
Almost.
But not quite.
There was something cold-blooded about it. Something ancient, watchful, and predatory. Its eyes did not look angry.
They looked calculating.
Tess leaned back.
“What is that?”
The angel’s expression changed.
His light sharpened.
“That,” he said, “is not part of the child.”
The thing behind the door smiled.
Tess swallowed.
“It looks… reptilian.”
The angel did not look surprised.
“Some distortions do,” he said. “because they operate through the lower survival field."
The thing behind the door hissed softly.
“What is it doing there?” Tess asked.
“Waiting,” said the angel.
“For what?”
“For the family to fracture.”
The creature’s smile widened.
The angel touched the diagnostic screen.
Words appeared:
FAMILY UNIT DISRUPTION ENTITY DETECTED
Then another line appeared:
PREDATOR-PREY PROGRAMMING ACTIVE
Tess stared.
“What does it want?”
“To separate,” said the angel. “To divide husband from wife, parent from child, child from safety, memory from truth, and eventually the person from herself.”
The demon tapped one long finger against the doorframe.
Each tap seemed to land inside the little girl’s nervous system.
The child flinched.
The angel’s voice remained steady.
“It does not always destroy a family all at once. Sometimes it simply teaches the child that love is unstable. That belonging is temporary. That peace can disappear at any moment.”
Tess watched the little girl reach for a box of cookies sitting on the table.
It was available.
Comfort was not.
The demon smiled.
Then Ultra Processa appeared in the corner of the screen, glossy and bright, dressed in labels, coupons, colorful promises, and very small print.
“Oh no,” Tess said.
The angel sighed.
“Yes. They often work together.”
Ultra Processa gave a theatrical bow.
“Convenience,” it purred. “Comfort. Reward. Childhood memory. Shelf stability. Emotional sparkle.”
The demon behind the door whispered, “Division.”
Ultra Processa whispered, “Distraction.”
The little girl took a cookie.
For one brief second, her face softened.
“There,” said the angel.
The screen froze.
“What?” Tess whispered.
“The first association.”
Words appeared across the diagnostic field:
SWEETNESS = SAFETY
Tess stared at them.
Then more words appeared:
SUGAR = SOFTENING
FOOD = COMFORT
PANTRY = CONTROL
FULLNESS = PROTECTION
CRAVING = MESSAGE
Tess’s eyes filled with tears.
“I thought I just liked it.”
“You did like it,” said the angel gently. “That was not the problem.”
“What was the problem?”
“No one helped you understand what you were asking it to do.”
The old room flickered.
The child looked smaller now.
Or perhaps Tess was finally seeing how small she had been.
Behind the door, the demon leaned closer to the arguing voices.
The diagnostic screen flashed:
RELIEF RECORDED.
Then:
REPEAT SUGGESTED.
Then:
GROOVE INITIATED.
The screen blinked again.
A diagram appeared.
Not a medical diagram exactly.
Lines of light ran between several pulsing centers.
The angel tapped the screen.
“Now we see how the pattern traveled.”
Words appeared:
AMYGDALA: SAFETY ALARM ACTIVATED
HIPPOCAMPUS: MEMORY ASSOCIATION STORED
NUCLEUS ACCUMBENS: REWARD VALUE ASSIGNED
DORSAL STRIATUM: HABIT GROOVE BEGUN
PREFRONTAL CORTEX: CHOICE CENTER BYPASSED
Tess stared.
“That seems like a lot for one cookie.”
“One cookie did not create the groove,” said the angel. “One cookie became a message. Repetition created the groove.”
The little girl on the screen chewed slowly.
Her shoulders dropped again.
The amygdala pulsed red, then dimmed.
The hippocampus lit up and stamped the memory:
SWEETNESS = SAFER
The nucleus accumbens shimmered gold.
REWARD RECORDED
The dorsal striatum began sketching a narrow little road.
USE AGAIN WHEN DISTRESSED
Tess felt sick.
“So my brain was trying to help me?”
“Yes,” said the angel. “Badly. But sincerely.”
“That’s annoying.”
“Healing often begins with discovering that the problem was not stupidity or weakness,” said the angel. “It was an outdated rescue plan.”
The screen flashed again:
OUTDATED RESCUE PLAN IDENTIFIED
“So it started there.”
“One layer of it,” said the angel. “There are often many beginnings.”
“That sounds discouraging.”
“It is not,” said the angel. “It means there are many places to bring Light.”
The demon behind the door hissed.
Ultra Processa smiled brightly.
“This memory is under contract,” it said.
The demon added, “And the family line was already weakened.”
The angel lifted his clipboard.
“Objection noted.”
Tess looked at him.
“You can object?”
“I can do more than object,” said the angel.
Tess looked at the little girl.
She felt sorrow.
And something warmer than sorrow.
Mercy.
The angel glanced at her.
“Ah,” he said.
“What?”
“The prayer is working.”
Tess wiped her face.
“I only said one word.”
“One word said from the heart is not small,” said the angel. “Especially when the word is Mercy.”
The little girl on the screen looked up.
For the first time, she seemed to notice Tess.
Tess leaned closer.
“What do I do?”
The angel smiled.
“You stop yelling at the woman with the spoon.”
“Then what?”
“You speak to the child who needed comfort.”
Tess looked at the little girl.
Her voice shook.
“I’m sorry no one helped you feel safe.”
The room under the room grew brighter.
Ultra Processa flickered.
The demon behind the door recoiled.
“This is inappropriate,” Ultra Processa said. “This memory is under contract.”
The family-unit demon slid one finger across the doorframe.
“This room belongs to fear.”
The angel stepped closer to the screen.
“No,” he said.
His voice was not loud.
But the walls listened.
“This room belongs to God.”
A new line appeared on the diagnostic screen:
MERCY ENTERED THE PATTERN.
And for one brief moment, the little girl at the table was no longer alone.
