Author: cpeikert1

From a very young age, we learn that our world is made up of rules. First, we learn basic safety guidelines (“don’t put that in your mouth”); then we start to grasp the rules of the household (“no hitting!!”, “sharing is caring,” “no boys until you are 30!”).

Laws, codes of conduct, ethics, social niceties, everywhere you turn, there are clear societal guidelines for our behavior.

I have mixed views when it comes to rules. While I see the purpose they serve and have a proven track record of following them in order to avoid trouble or conflict, I have been known to break one or two. I don’t do it often – only when I feel justified in contravening the norms. And, I’ll admit, it feels good when you disregard the rules. The adrenaline rush gives you a high that even I, rule-follower, sometimes crave.

Still, on the whole, I am a stickler for basic principles and guidelines – particularly when it comes to me; to my behavior.

This is itself is not really an issue. The problem is that I have a lot of rules and expectations for myself.

For example:

• Self-care allowed – IF everything gets done on time;
• Saying no is ok, but ONLY in dire circumstances;
• Going out is ok as long as I don’t miss more than one bedtime routine a week;
• Always make small talk to ensure everyone is at ease;
• Be careful, take risks, be grateful, be kind, don’t think too much, be present, be…..

The list is long and some rules contradict each other but one thing is constant: failure to live up to these expectations is unacceptable…for me. Others can do whatever they want, and I don’t judge…well…I try not to. But when it comes to disobeying the “laws” I have written for myself, I am the harshest judge, jury and executioner.

Still, I imagine most people have their own set of guiding principles for their behavior – a moral compass of sorts. So, I am not unique in this respect. However, I have a whole additional set of rules that pertain to eating:

• Avoid eating in front of others at the office;
• Never take lunch; always eat at your desk;
• No hot meals for lunch;
• You can only “eat out” once a day;
• Bacon OR pancakes, ice cream OR cake, potatoes OR
• And so on…

I had many more rules than these a few months ago. And I am doing a good job of removing all of these statements from my day-to-day thinking but, it is hard. In fact, it is one of the most difficult parts of ongoing recovery because now you are conscious of these rules and have to make a consistent effort to break them – going against years of conditioning .

I bet a part of you is thinking: “wow, this recovery process sounds pretty cool. You have to eat all kinds of yummy food AND you have to break rules too.” Sounds like every 6 year-old’s dream!

And there is some truth to this line of thinking. There are some days where your healthy self loves recovery; loves the fact that you are supposed to eat all the forbidden foods; loves the freedom that comes from being unshackled by the convoluted ideas in your mind.

But there are other days where your eating disorder voice is loud and strong and you have to face the internal battle between your inner angel (healthy self) and your inner devil (Anorexia).

This is exhausting.

And, still, you keep fighting because every time you break a food rule, you feel like walking on air. You feel free. This feeling rarely lasts; and is often followed by some level of guilt or shame. But, it is so powerful that you remember it and strive to feel it again the next time you face one.

Last week, I went out for sushi with one of my colleagues. For most people, this wouldn’t be a “thing.” But, for me, it was a big deal – especially since I suggested it. Going out for lunch is one of my biggest challenge because it means being away from the office for at least an hour, eating in front of others and focusing on something other that work.

And you know what? It was wonderful!

I had a great time; the food was delicious and no one batted an eyelid when I came back to the office after an hour lunch. An hour!

Now, I have not repeated this experience since, favoring the comfort of working alone at my desk while eating my lunch.  But, at least now I know I can do things differently without anything falling apart. And, now that I have broken a few of my food rules, the others are not too far away.

Pretty soon, I hope to say: The first rule of Peiky Club is there are NO rules.

“Can I ask you a question.”

“Sure,” I replied.

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah…I’m ok.” My standard response.

“Really? You don’t sound ok.”

A few years ago, during a period where I was knocked down by depression, this dialogue played out with a nurse who was entrusted with my care. I broke down when she saw through my fragile façade. That is when she gave me a prescription that changed the way I view the world…not at first, but definitely over the course of the past 3 years.

She told me to go to a park, to a museum, to an art gallery…anywhere that would remind me that there was beauty in the world.

At the time, I thought she was out of her mind. I was lost. I could barely get through a day without sobbing at least once and the thought of going out to do anything other than basic chores was completely absurd to me. The world was made of shades of grey – my life playing out before me like an old black and white tv show. How on earth could I see beauty when my world no longer had any color?

I couldn’t. And I didn’t…even when people pointed out great things in front of me. I felt nothing.

I’m not sure when things changed for me. I assume it happened gradually as people helped me dig myself out of the dark space I found myself in. But, to be honest, if I noticed the change, I didn’t register it.

Until now.

Over the past two months, I have found myself being stopped in my tracks by the wonders around me. I notice things now…many things; and I find myself appreciating them in a way I never did. To tell the truth, I don’t think I actually noticed these things at all before – my head buzzing with thoughts, to-do lists and anxious feelings while my eyes glazed over.

What colors my world these days and makes my spirits soar?

Lots of things: The leaves changing color; the beauty of the pink evening sky as I drive home after a tough session at the Clinic; a homecooked meal that reminds me of the sheer joy of eating; the sound of a child giggling; the delicious first sip of my coffee in the morning; and the way a song makes me smile. Everywhere I look, I see beauty.

I see what I couldn’t.

I am different now.

I bask in someone’s loving look rather than look away; I feel the joy of what is there rather than what is missing; and I feel comfort rather than shame when I am vulnerable.

And, I don’t just notice these small wonders; I seek them out. I will set my alarm earlier to watch the sunrise or put my phone away to focus solely on listening to my girls play.

Am I being too Pollyanna – all unicorns and butterflies? I don’t think so. I know the world is not all sunshine and rainbows. My senses still take in the bad and the ugly – same as they always did. The difference is the magnitude I give to them.

Do I see beauty in the world? You bet I do…starting with my reflection in the mirror.

Oh how things have changed.

“I am really pissed off!”

This is not a sentence I say often. Sure, I get frustrated and irked here and there. But, anger is an emotion I have a hard time with.

From a young age, anger scared me because it was loud and unpredictable.  I associated it with someone losing control and hurting others. To this day, I shrink a little when I hear a raised voice and I avoid conflict whenever I can. My discomfort with rage is not limited to when I see it in others. Being angry causes a lot of shame for me; and I dislike shame more than any other emotion. Needless to say, I have gone to great lengths to suppress my anger in the past.

So yes…I have a hard time with this emotion. But I am mad at the moment. And, rather than deny it or run away from it, I am embracing it as a critical fuel to my ongoing recovery.

I am angry with Anorexia. It is an unforgiving illness that robs you of so much of your life. I know this. Of course, I know this. But, something that has becoming glaringly apparent as I recover is that it robs you of the normality of the day-to-day.

A few weeks ago, I attended a Leadership meeting at work. It was a fully-packed 2-day event filled with strategic discussions, team building and fun. I started preparing for this meeting a week before. Normal, right? Maybe. Except that I was not preparing my content  – that was done. Instead, I was  gathering all the tools I had to ensure I ate enough throughout those fully-catered 2 days. We talked about it at the Clinic to ensure I had a master plan; we visualized the meals; and we made sure I had backup food in case I couldn’t face the catered option.

I was stressed but I was ready. I walked into the room and immediately  my brain went into scan mode. “What do we have here….muffins, hmmm, donuts, ouf, fruit, ok, etc.” People were talking to me and I was barely there as I took everything in.  Immediately, a dialogue started in my head about what to eat and when to eat it.

I sat back down while I continued to analyze what I would eat. As I did this, I watched people come in, grab something to eat, sit down, all the time chatting away with their colleagues. The meeting started but part of my mind was still at the buffet – my recovery voice urging me to get up and get something to eat – which I eventually did.

Later, as we were eating lunch, a similar dialogue started in my head as everyone was gathering at the buffet line. I filled my plate and sat down and managed to remain focused on a conversation with my colleague. When I was finished, though, I knew I was still hungry; and that is when things became really hard.

Recovering from Anorexia has some great moments – one of them being getting in touch with your hunger again, acknowledging it and feeding it. But, when you have long associated denying your hunger as a reflection of your personal strength, it takes a lot of energy to admit you are still hungry AFTER finishing your plate and doing something about it.

So, there I sat for 20 minutes, repeating the words: “get up and get a cookie, get up and get a cookie…” in my head.

I eventually did and was proud. But before I could bask in the moment too long, I watched one of my colleagues stand up mid sentence, walk to the dessert table while talking, grab two cookies and sit back down – fully present in the moment and the discussion.

And then it hit me. For lots of people, eating is completely natural. It is like breathing. It requires very little thought and feels perfectly normal – like slipping on a comfortable pair of slippers.. The meals and snacks we had over those 2 days were NON-EVENTS – for everyone but me.

And then I got mad. “I’m done with this,” I said to myself. “I want to be like THEM. That is what recovery looks like. That is how I want to be!”

I can still feel my frustration now and  I use it to push me further in my recovery. This is what the journey is all about: hyper awareness to keep you focused on your goal and inspire you to take corrective action. It is the most exhausting thing I have ever done but it is the farthest I’ve ever come in my efforts to get healthy.

And while I sometimes long for the oblivion I used to have about illness and its effects on my life, I know that there is no going back.

I know  what I want. I just need to keep remembering that!

Some days adulting can be hard. The same can be said for parenting. Luckily, there seems to be an awakening around these facts, with a proliferation of blogs, books, workshops and memes popping up.

At the same time, lots of attention is currently being brought to the fact that “kid-ing” is hard. Whereas my biggest worry as a kid at recess was losing at dodgeball, today’s “school yards” are minefields of bullying, pressure to perform, anxiety, learning difficulties, etc.

And, again, the amount of advice out there for parents to support their children through these tough issues is extensive.

So help is out there. Sifting through it and finding what works for you remains a challenge but, still, we have support.

But there is a specific area that I don’t see written about very often. What do you do when you are struggling to keep things together just as your child turns to you with their own struggles? How do you help your child manage their anxiety when you are living with high levels of anxiety yourself?

Parenting an anxious child when you are battling anxiety is tough…for a variety of reasons:

• When your anxiety levels are high, issues that pop up seem heightened…tinged with a glow of the dramatic. You are using trick from your tickle trunk to cope with what your anxious thoughts and feelings and then BOOM, something new pops up and causes it to spike;
• It is heart breaking because you know exactly what your child is feeling. You don’t just sympathize, you empathize – fully. You feel their pain and fear and internal chaos in a way that only a person who lives it themselves can;
• You feel especially helpless because you have struggled to learn various ways of coping with anxiety but passing them on to your child is difficult. Sure, you can give them tips and tricks but it is unrealistic to expect them to remember to put them into practice when they are crippled by their worries and deep-rooted fears. Afterall, it is hard enough to remember them as an adult;
• You catastrophize – double-time – because worrying is not only part of the parent job and it is par for the course with your anxiety. Suddenly, you have visions of your child’s life being filled with the most dramatic and far-fetched hardships;  and

• You feel guilty, asking yourself constantly if you caused their anxiety – either through genetics or role modelling.

Lily has recently developed noticeable anxiety. We saw signs at a young age. First, she was afraid of thunder storms…not atypical so we didn’t worry. Then it was the wind and animals. It has since grown to include a variety of worries and concerns. Even worse, her anxiety is starting to manifest itself through her body. Tummy aches are a daily issue and requests for reassuring cuddles are so numerous that it feels like she is permanently attached to me.

I’ll admit, her behavior puzzled me at first. Most of the time, she is outgoing, confident and assertive. She is a sassy, attention-seeking performer who makes friends easily and keeps everyone entertained. For example, she is sitting beside me now singing “everybody loves culottes.”

I had not anticipated how quickly she could switch from the life-of-the-party to the cowering figure in the corner. I have since learned that old or young, anxiety can turn you into a very different person when it takes over. No matter your age, how you appear to the world isn’t always an accurate picture of how you feel inside.

After much reflection and discussion, we started seeing a specialist with Lily. We talked about it as a family because Zoe is often witness to her little sister’s anxious behavior. Some days, she is baffled by her sister’s hysterics and finds refuge in the quiet of her room.  Others, she does her utmost to soothe her genetic BFF.  I sometimes worry she too will be impacted by this but all I can do for now is talk to her about it and watch her. Yet another thing that has me on high alert.

At first, I worried Lily would not want to go see the specialist or that she would be embarrassed. She surprised me. I guess shame really is a learned-construct…one that does yet seem to appear in her rule-book. She happily goes to her sessions and is incredibly proud of what she accomplishes.

Progress is slow and I sometimes ask myself if we are doing the right thing. But, I remind myself that if she needed physio for an injured limb, I would not question the speed of her rehabilitation. Small progress is still progress….I know this better than most.

So we keep going, we keep breathing and we keep experimenting with different ways to cope with anxiety…Lily’s AND mine.

Warning: Objects in your mirror are more beautiful than they appear.

Mirrors can be faulty. Visit a funhouse or look in your car’s side mirror, and it is obvious. When you encounter these flawed perspectives, you discount them, knowing they do not represent reality. But in other cases, particularly when human perception is involved, things are not quite so clear.

Human beings are fallible. No matter how open minded we are, we are susceptible to seeing things through a variety of lenses. Halo effects, biases and distortions surround us, color our views daily and affect how we see how others. Even more importantly, they affect our own self-perceptions – for better or worse.

At times, we view ourselves as greater than we truly are. We are over confident and lack an accurate level of self-awareness. And, while an inflated sense of self has its potential downsides (disappointment, alienation of others to name a few), there is nothing more damaging than viewing ourselves too harshly.

When I was in intensive treatment for Anorexia, I started to realize just how harmful my negative self-perceptions have been in my life. And, when I looked around and listened to the people in treatment with me, I started to realize that I was not alone.

Turns out that, like me, lots of people see themselves as ugly, bad, incompetent and inferior. When things go wrong, they blame themselves and reinforce their own negative views of themselves. When things go well, it is always down to others or simply to dumb luck.

I think that many people assume we minimize the positive we bring to the world. But I disagree. You cannot minimize something you don’t even know exists. Rather, I believe we see ourselves and the world we create around us with significant blind spots, forming inaccurate pictures of who we truly are and of how others see us.

Week after week in treatment, I would find myself saying to the strong, beautiful, intelligent women around me: “I wish you could see yourself as I see you.” They echoed those sentiments right back.

So, why do we do this?  Why do we create images of ourselves that don’t do ourselves justice? Why do we tear ourselves down with our own eyes to the point that we no longer see things as they are?

If I had all the answers to these questions, I would create a potion we could drink or a mirror that would ensure we saw the beauty and good that others see when they are with us.  Sadly I don’t.

What I do know is that somewhere along the way in our lives, we developed beliefs about ourselves. We all do. Some have pretty accurate truths about themselves. Others believe more greatness in themselves than exists (narcissists for one) and yet others believe they are not good enough. No matter the level of accuracy of your core beliefs, the human mind works the same for all of us. It selects events and information that reinforces these core truths and discounts or ignores the ones the run counter to them.

You believe you are a Rockstar and, magically, your brain records all instances where you rise above.

You believe you are less than… and, poof, your mind clings to every situation where you fell short as irrefutable proof that you are bad. The vicious cycle is never ending, and the pathways in your brain begin to form deep grooves in your mind, to the point where you draw conclusions about yourself in a matter of seconds.

In my case, I really believed I was a bad person, a monster, a perpetrator of harm to others. Forget a birthday- bad friend; feel intense anger at my child – monster; terminate an employee – horrible individual.

I explored the monster image a lot in treatment.

The good news  is that this pattern can be altered. Just like you can carve out new tracks in the snow, you can create new ways of thinking in your mind. But, it takes time and effort to create these treads in your brain and it is sometimes so tempting to follow your traditional, well-worn paths.

Still, it can be done. You just have to remain open to new data points in your life. If you look hard enough, you will find them.

And, sometimes, they are so obvious you cannot ignore them.

“You’re not a monster, mommy”, the girls said to me when I showed them a drawing I made of myself while at the Clinic.

“You don’t think so?” I asked with hopeful disbelief.

“Noooooo, you’re the best mommy” they giggled.

Hmmm…maybe they’re right. Maybe objects in my mirror and less scary than they appear.

What’s in your mirror?

My last post was my love letter to London and an acknowledgment of the person I have become in recent years. And, while I meant every word I wrote, something was niggling at me as I continued my travels.

Yes, London Town holds many great memories – a few of which were created during this family trip where we introduced the girls to the place we got engaged. But, just as everything that goes up must come down, life is made up of a mix of moments, good and bad – always carrying its own lesson.

It started off innocently enough…with feelings of pleasure as I saw my favorite raspberry and white chocolate cookies at the supermarket. Oh…how I loved them. But then I remembered when I would eat them all those years ago : at home on the kitchen floor as I ravaged through bags of groceries in a single sitting on lonely nights in between days of starvation.

“That person is a ghost of who you were. Let it go,” I said to myself. And I did. But the memory left an imprint – subtle at first but growing more distinct as others came.

Next was a visit to Covent Garden and the Opera House – a smile spread across my face as I remembered a magical evening at the ballet. But then an image of a man who took advantage of a lonely, scared and vulnerable twenty something flickered in my mind.

“I know better now,” I thought. And yet…another mark was left.

These recalls did not tarnish my vacation;  they did not get me down. Not really. And still they dimmed the lights just a little bit.

Did that make me angry at my former self? Disappointed with my mind’s ability to bring back these thoughts?

Not in the slightest.

I simply accepted them as moments of my past and as thoughts I was having. I surprised myself by acknowledging them but not grabbing onto them and letting them consume me. I say surprised because this ability to let thoughts float by without jumping down a rabbit hole of negativity is something I have been working on a lot over the past 4 months through meditation. I practiced this a lot during treatment but I had never seen this technique play out in my daily life.

In the past, I would have either completely shut out the memories, swallowing them whole and shutting down – or spiraled into a continuous loop of darkness.

Not this time.

Some have suggested I only remember the bad memories. I disagree. For better or for worse, I have an excellent memory which allows me to remember pretty much everything. I am at peace with this because I believe all memories have a purpose and that the negative ones stay with us for a reason (a lingering hurt that needs to be addressed, a lesson to be learned, a pattern that needs to emerge and be broken): to help us grow and heal.

You need the bad and the good because they are parts of you, and acknowledging both of them helps unlock a better self, a better life.

After all, you cannot have rainbows without a little sunshine AND rain.

Ah London…the city that first captured my heart back in university; and that drew me back in from the moment I touched down in Gatwick a few days ago.

The City’s streets are filled with memories I cannot shake.

It was during my time here that I learned the dangers of flavoured vodka and Pimms; went to my first British wedding (if only I knew then the criticality of your hat selection); and found the freedom of dancing without fear of being groped at my first Gay club.

London always made me bolder, more fearless. I tried speed dating, traveled alone – from Brighton & Blackpool to Europe, Pakistan and Asia – and moved 3 times. I left my shoes in a bar, got lost countless times, tried my hand at travel on the night bus; and resigned without a second’s thought or job to go to.

I also learned how to make a decent cuppa, made life long friends and even fell in love.

For these reasons and many more, this city will always pull at my heartstrings.

As I walked along the streets earlier this week, I started thinking. Lots of my favorite things still abound here – Prêt a Manger, pubs, Boots, Monsoon, Accessorize, the theatre and the parks, and the accent (oh yes…the accent). And still, something seemed different.

Me.

Of course, one would argue that, logically, it is a given that I am different than who I was at any other time I have been in London. I am older, for one, and have continued to be shaped by life’s experiences. But the transformation goes much deeper.

When I moved to London almost 20 years ago, I was « bone-deep » in my first ever experience with Anorexia. I was the thinnest and the most controlling I have ever been – tracking every calorie eaten, every pence spent and filling up every minute of the day with activities to avoid having to deal with my health and loneliness.

While I now wish I had sought out help then, I didn’t. I wore kids clothing, fainted in the produce section of the grocery store and worked from 7-9 most days, but I never saw a doctor or therapist. In fact, it would be another 16 years before I started any sort of treatment for my eating disorder. If only I had known that the odds of recovery are much higher if you seek treatment early on. Oh well…

So, here is one major difference between new-to-London Christina and who I am today: I am more knowledgeable, with many additional tools in my arsenal against my inner struggles.

I am also more at peace. I no longer have to be « on » all the time, running from thing to thing, distracting myself from my feelings and emotions. I can actually sit in a park and simply enjoy the view, and I can walk in the street without wanting to scream if I get stuck behind a slow-strolling tourist.

And I am more free. I now know the joy of being able to pretty much go to any restaurant and enjoy a meal. My life is no longer dictated by my eating habits. No! Instead, it is bound by the picky eating of my children – just as the universe intended.

And I am free from the secrets and lies that go hand-in-hand with being ashamed and protective of my eating disorder.

And because I am different, so too is my beloved London. Its colours are more vibrant, its sounds are more delightful and its food is more flavourful.

So bring on more of your wonders London Town. I finally « see » you.

I haven’t eaten gum in over a month.

« Um…congratulations? Good for you? You go girl? »

Not sure what to say? I don’t blame you. After all, it seems like an insignificant statement, worthy of little or no reaction at all.

Except, for me, it is kinda a big deal.

4 months ago, I ate a lot of gum; 3-4 packs a day, to be precise. I chewed so much gum that it caused frequent, painful canker sores. But I slapped on some orajel and kept chewing.

At the time, gum helped make my intense hunger more tolerable and helped me delay eating as long as possible.

Then I started my intensive treatment for anorexia – where I ate three supervised meals daily.

I bet you are thinking that when I started eating food, I reduced my gum intake. That is certainly what I expected to happen.

And yet…

I kept on chewing.

I was baffled at first. Then, as I was driving home one night after a particularly emotional day, frantically popping gum into my mouth, I realized that I was using it as a tool to calm my anxiety. As you can imagine, I had a lot of pent up angst during my intense emotional and  physical journey.

Anxiety. The other « A » in my life. I have lived with anxiety for as long as I can remember, starting with separation anxiety as a child. It has fuelled my insomnia, driven me to work extremely hard and lead me to do anything I could to shut down all of my emotions (from workaholism to restriction to, yes, gum chewing).

My mantra was simple: Don’t feel, just keep swimming, starving and running from your emotions.

And therein lies the problem. Denying your emotions – including anxiety – can be extremely harmful. Corny as it sounds, and I resisted this in treatment at first, it is true that the only way to cope with your emotions is to allow yourself to feel and then express them, to find healthy ways to tolerate them.

Trust me, if there was any other solution, I would have found it. I would have sold my soul to avoid ever feeling shame or anger (my two least favorite emotions).

It is simply not possible.

So, after almost 4 months of work, I have found new ways to cope with my anxiety, ways that do not include swallowing it down and denying it or numbing myself to it.

Now, instead of cutting out food or reaching for a pack of Dentyne Ice, I have a whole new tickle trunk of tricks to turn to when I am an unpleasant emotion. I sing, I dance, I sit in the sun (hence the tan), I meditate, I write and, ouff, I talk about how I am feeling.

Yes. Talk…

about…

feelings!

This is very much a work in progress.

One month and counting…