The first step to asking for help is admitting you have a problem

Hi. My name is Erin and I am addicted to potato chips.

It started out completely harmless. It always does. My colleagues and I took a ramble to the dairy every afternoon and a baby bag of Eta Ripples Ready Salted potato chips became my 3pm-itus staple. Myrtle (name changed to protect her identity) grabbed a Coke Zero every afternoon. For both of us, it was just the thing we did. We could stop if we wanted. We just didn’t want to.

It was when I left that job that my afternoon snack became bigger than, well, just an afternoon snack. The stress of a new job projected itself onto a big bag of Eta Ripples Ready Salted potato chips. At first it was every day or so, then every day, then sometimes twice a day. Sometimes a bag of chips replaced an entire meal. Once, two bags replaced an entire day’s worth of meals.

When Eta Ripples didn’t give me the salty fix I craved, I moved onto the harder stuff: Ready Salted Kettles. When that wasn’t enough, bags of Chip Off the Old Block chips satisfied the cravings a little more. The crunchiness; the saltiness; the crinkle of the wrapper; they had me hooked.

Then New Zealand went through its potato shortage. Bags and bags and bags of chips weren’t being produced any more – only bags – so prices went through the roof. One day I spent $47.60 on chips. Another day, a handwritten sign saying Soz, no chippies today, try again tomoz left me shaken and confused. A New World security guard had to escort me out.

When I started stuffing empty bags under other rubbish in the bin and hiding wrappers in the bottom of my gym bag so I could get rid of the evidence somewhere else, I knew I had a problem. If I couldn’t be open and honest about my snacking around my husband, who could I be open and honest with?

So I established Potato Chips Anonymous (PCA). Yes, it was purely out of selfish reasons, but my habit was getting a bit cray. At first, PCA meetings were comprised of only me. It was pretty boring. Like, really boring. I just sat there, slouched down in my chair, avoiding all eye contact with the empty chairs around me. I had a pretty stink attitude in those early days. I didn’t want to be there. All I could think about during those excruciatingly long hour meetings was the crunch, the salt, the crinkle.

One day someone else walked into the hall and sat down. Her name was … ah, you almost got me. It’s not called Potato Chips Anonymous for nothing. We’ll call her Myrtle 2.0 for naming’s sake. Myrtle 2.0 was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but there was just something in her eyes – behind her eyes – that told me things weren’t quite alright in there. Her addiction was salt and vinegar, with a side of Burger Rings if she was feeling particularly at-risk. She’d decided to go cold turkey. She needed a friend.

We just sat there looking at each other’s feet on the first day. When the hour was up, we both got up, scraped our chairs across the floor back to where the church who took over the community hall on Sundays would line them out again, nodded at each other, then went our separate ways. But as one week became two became four became 12, we became closer, even swapping phone numbers just in case we needed additional text support during the week.

Last week Myrtle 2.0 and I graduated from PCA. Our friends and families weren’t there (we were both trying to break the habit without them even knowing it was an issue), so as Myrtle 2.0 went up onstage and picked her own certificate up off the table, I stood up and cheered and yelled and waved my Salt and vinegar’s a bitch banner, and she posed for the camera with a beaming smile and a look of hope in her eyes.

When it was my turn to take the stage, I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. I pictured an unopened bag of potato chips, holding the image in front of my eyes for far longer than I’d trusted myself to do before. I felt nothing. No longing. No craving. No saliva build-up. I had broken the hold that potato chips had over my life. I didn’t need them anymore. I could say no. As I walked up onto the stage and picked my certificate up off the table I turned and looked back at Myrtle 2.0. She stood there beaming, gently clapping, her eyes welling up with pride.

I think I’ll always be a potato chip addict. You never fully recover from these kinds of things. But now I understand what triggers me, what unleashes the dragon. Now I understand how to deal with the cravings, what better crunchy, salty, crinkly alternatives can satisfy them. There’s a great kumara chip alternative from Farro, just in case you’re wondering.

Yeah, I’ve stumbled a few times – heck, no one’s perfect – but every time I’ve jumped back on the road to healthdom without condemning myself. And every time I’ve remembered that we’ve all got our own crunchy, salty, crinkly things that hold us back a little bit.

Hi. My name is Erin and I am addicted to potato chips.