Author: cpeikert1

Living with a mental illness can be challenging. Being a parent while battling a mental illness presents its own additional obstacles.

I’ve spoken a lot about dealing with my Anorexia while doing my best to raise two well-adjusted and healthy young girls. To a certain degree, my therapy and my time at the Douglas helped give me some important tools to manage this issue with my girls. On the whole, I feel prepared and equipped for what will come with them.

What I was not prepared for was being a mom battling depression.

Depression is smart… it creeps up on you slowly, stripping you away of strength, energy and optimism. In my case, it came on so slowly – while I was busy tackling my eating issues – that I did not even see it coming. Then BAM! I struggled to open my eyes in the morning, I couldn’t stand in the shower and basic daily function was a chore.

This would have been difficult for anyone, in any situation. For me, not only could I not process and accept what was happening, I was overcome by a huge amount of guilt. I thought I was failing my old self…and I definitely thought I was failing my daughters.

At some of my lowest moments, I had a really hard time getting out of bed. I remember Zoe being in the bed with me on weekends, snuggling me, refusing to leave my side until I felt better.

As I was lying there, I was disappointed with myself. I was supposed to be the mother, the strong one, whose job it was to take care of my girls. Instead, here was my 7-year-old daughter comforting me until I could muster the strength to get up.

Even once I was able to get out of bed, I felt like I was letting everyone down.

The energetic, fake-it-till-you-make-it activities coordinator that my girls were so accustomed to had disappeared. I was a shell…numb to the life going on around me. I walked around like a Zombie, going through the motions of parenting but I was absent – not physically but mentally and spiritually. The lights were on, but no one was home.

Luckily for me, I had a patient and understanding husband – who not only jumped in and took on my load but who also understood me well enough to know I was consumed by guilt. He taught me an important lesson: true partnership is not about giving 50/50. It is about giving what you can when you can.

Still, this was one of the most difficult times in my adult life. And even though I knew I was ill, with absolutely nothing to feel bad about, I struggled with the negative feelings I had about myself.

When you define yourself by your accomplishments, it can be particularly disconcerting when you feel like you are missing the most basic life targets. Still, eventually I learned that I simply had to redefine my accomplishments. In that period, getting through the day was an achievement. I had to learn to see it that way and pat myself on the back in order to keep going.

Eventually, with a lot of support and encouragement from Charles and my doctors, I graduated from getting through the day, to getting out of bed when the girls woke up, to taking a shower. These seemingly small achievements were some of my greatest. And, with each one, I was able to get stronger and to find my way back to my girls and to find myself again.

Recently, I felt the familiar tug of depression at my heels. I tried to shake it off; tried to power through. I hovered around the line of denial. But, the signs were getting stronger and the impact on my life was starting to grow. And I was reminded of the times when I needed Zoe’s hugs and compassion to kickstart my day.

Not wanting to go back there, I have made some changes. I am back on a mild dose of antidepressant, I am taking supplements and I am running when I feel I need a mood boost. And, Santa Charles brought me a UV lamp to help me get my daily “rays.”

“Psst….mommy…can we go downstairs now,” Zoe asked this morning as soon as she opened her eyes.

Yes Zoe, we can.

Today is a good day.

I am in a good place.

I have a great new job – where I feel challenged, motivated and engaged, but most of all, where I feel at home. My weight has been stable for 7 months. I exercise if and when I feel like it and my mood is generally good these days.

When I read these words, I feel good about where I am. “This is a good place I think. “I could pitch a tent here and make myself comfortable for a while.” This is the story I tell myself most days. But just as I am telling myself this story, there is another one playing out in my mind.

You see, to stay in this place takes a lot of work…I mean a lot of work. It is quite similar to treading water, legs beating frantically to keep your shoulders above water. You start off confident, proud of how you are doing and how strong you feel. But, no matter how good you are as a swimmer, eventually, your legs will start to give out a little. You get tired, frustrated that you are not moving forward and, honestly, you feel like you are battling for nothing. Eventually, you are faced with 2 options: stop and sink to the bottom or swim.

To anyone looking at me function on a daily basis, everything would appear to be normal. In fact, I would appear to be back to where I used to be 3 years ago before things started to really unravel.

And, in terms of actions and behaviours, I pretty much am. The difference is simple: my thoughts. You see, the recovery journey brings an enhanced awareness that I never had before. In the past, I went through my life, vaguely aware that some of my thoughts and behavioural patterns were not the healthiest. On the whole, I was in denial.

Now…well…not so much.

As a result, every day is a battle. A battle against my impulses to restrict or delay my eating.

“You’re hungry, eat.”

–        “Ah…just wait a little bit.”

“Ok, just a little. But then I’ll have my English Muffin.”

–        “You sure? Maybe you should have a granola bar instead.”

“No. that is not enough. No backtracking…”

–        “Fine…but I’ll try to convince you again tomorrow.”

“Lunchtime!”

–        “You sure you want to eat that? You are going out for dinner tonight!”

“I brought this for lunch. I’m going to eat it.”

–        “Really? Are you sure? You are gonna regret it.”

“Well…maybe I could just have…NO NO NO. stop it! Go away.”

Sigh…

I am happy to say I make the right choices the vast majority of the time. And, if these battles were infrequent, it would be tolerable. Sadly, they occur multiple times a day, every day, leaving me bruised and battered and thoroughly exhausted every night.

The impacts of feeling like this are far-reaching. Inevitably, they affect my home life. I have less energy, I am less patient and I withdraw from the world. The daily battles in my head regarding my eating turn into daily battles about living in general. I have spent quite a bit of time and energy in the past few months negotiating with myself throughout the day.

“You just need to get to Friday and then it will be the weekend,”

“You just need to get through the next 2 hours at the office holiday cocktail and then you can relax,”

“You just need to…”

For a while, I didn’t think much of this process. Powering-through is my go-to reaction to most things. And, I kinda thought that most people go through life like this. My therapist assures me that is not the case. So then I started to imagine keeping this up for the next 40 years. That is when I got really tired and, if I’m honest, when depression started to creep back into my daily life.

I know time is running out on treading water in my life. I can maybe tough it out for another year, or two, or three. But if I keep at this pace and change nothing, I will hit another wall eventually and start to sink. And, there are no guarantees that the next time this happens, I’ll be able to save myself.

So, I am making a few changes as a start. I am back on a low dose antidepressant in order to avoid a tsunami of depression. It is working at the moment so I will embrace this. I am also looking into other treatment options for my eating disorder – not because my anorexia is out of control but because I need some help in getting to the next level of recovery. They key is to ensure the anorexia does not get stronger so that I avoid having to re-scale the part of the mountain I have already climbed a few times in my life.

I am not sure what comes next but I am getting ready to swim…I’ll probably start with the doggy paddle but hey, it is less about technique and more about moving forward.

I need to file a missing person’s report. Someone I know very well – who has been a big part of my life – has disappeared…vanished without saying goodbye or leaving any clues behind to help me find them.

I am left lost, confused, bereft and anxious. And unfortunately, there is no search party I can send out, no team of investigators will ever be able to track them down.

“Who is this mystery person?” – you ask.

My old self! The woman I was 3 years ago…

Some of you might be thinking: what’s the big deal? You didn’t like yourself that much anyway!

True…but…my old self was familiar, well-known to me, an anchor of sorts. She was the persona  I used to define myself and to gauge how I was doing. And, of course, there were certain key characteristics about that person that I liked and admired very much.

Now… when I look in the mirror, I see someone I don’t recognize. This makes me both wary and weary at the same time. Wary because I am not sure what to make of this person and what it means to have changed so much. Weary because I am kinda tired of change.

Let’s take a closer look, shall we.

Hair is blonder, weight is lower, more wrinkles and battle scars, but there is more….some of my former key differentiators seem to have dulled:

• Ambition: of course, I still aspire to do things well and have a strong work ethic. But I no longer want the next big challenge, no longer thrive on having a plate so full I can barely breathe. I was never one to want to win the lottery but some days I now find myself wondering if I could sell my shoes and live off the proceeds.

• Energy: yes, I still stand out in a crowd for my dynamic presence. But, whereas I used to exude this energy naturally, with no limits, it now feels that I showcase an incredible amount of energy while exhaustion lies just beneath the surface.

• Peace of mind: ok, so really it was less peace and more denial but old me did not spend her time consciously battling unhealthy thoughts on a daily basis. And, while I know that my newfound awareness is much healthier than the denial I used to live with, I would give up a lot to go back and have one day of blissful ignorance.

So here it is: new me is tired, stable, sometimes looking for less rather than more. Ugh…

But, I remind myself, she is also stronger than ever because she battles now every day. She is more aware of her needs to slow down. And, she is no longer forcing her children to run after her as she chases “success”.

She is no worse than old me…she is just different. I am learning to accept her as I move and grow into yet another version of myself. It is hard at times and I still miss parts of the old me, the one I knew and still recognize so well – far better than the me I am today. But, leaving her behind is necessary in order to move forward.

One thing that comforts me is the fact that, no matter who I become, the shoes in my closet remain the same.

I tend to get what I want.

Between luck, hard work, sheer grit and determination, I typically achieve what I set my mind to. And I like it.

But there is another side to this coin. When things don’t go as I planned, it throws me for a loop. No, I don’t throw tantrums and become petulant. But I do find myself confused and lost; something just doesn’t seem to compute. And, then I find myself going through the following steps:

• Pure incomprehension. This is the stage where I am in denial and baffled by the outcome. “What? Things didn’t go as planned? I didn’t hear what I wanted to hear? How can that be? Whaaaaaattttttt?”

• Frantic fix-it mode. At this stage, I am still fixated on the target, certain I can still achieve what I want. “Ok, I got this. I can turn it around. Try this…no? ok, how about that? Still no…whaaaaatttt?”

• This is the stage where I begin to accept and then turn on myself a bit. In my head, achieving my goals is largely down to luck; missing them is down to my own flaws. “What did I do wrong? How did I miss the target? Seriously Peiky, you suck…”

• Self-loathing and disappointment. This is the stage where I really feel the pain and disappointment related to my perceived failure. “You could have done better…you could have been better. If only you were better, thinner, smarter, prettier…This totally sucks. Do things differently next time.”

• Turning the page and moving on to a new target, with a new plan. And this is the point where I swallow it down, accept it and set my sights on a new plan, a new target. “Ok, whatever, it is over. Screw it, screw you, screw them. Do this now. Go, go, go.”

Depending on the type of miss, I can go through these phases in a matter of minutes or hours, or in some cases days, weeks and, in some rare cases where human relationships are concerned, it could be years.

Recently, when I found myself with a situation that did not go as planned, I reacted badly. I retreated within myself and got really comfortable and cosy in the self-loathing and disappointment mode. Even though I knew it was not helping, it felt strangely soothing to stay in this stage.

But, now, I think it is time to reflect and reconsider all of these steps – particularly the 2 unhelpful stages of  1- frantic fixing and 2- disappointment.

1. I’m a fixer. I enjoy the rush and sense of accomplishment related to solving problems. There is nothing inherently wrong with that. Except that when I am faced with an unexpected outcome, rational thinking takes a back seat and impulsivity takes over. So, I find myself making quick decisions and taking quick action and then spiraling into a pattern as I repeatedly try and fail to fix things. I use this approach when cooking and it generally leads to the meal going into the garbage or quite a bit of wine is required to make the meal more palatable. And just like this is not the way to cook, it is not the way to live either. Sometimes, it is better to just let things be. They may be imperfect but, by leaving them as they are, you are not making them worse.
2.  I get disappointed a lot…mostly in myself. In the past, I would try to avoid the feeling and just focus on the self-blame. Here is what I realized recently. Avoiding the feeling doesn’t help. In fact, it prolongs it. Feelings need to be felt and processed in order to work their way out of your system. Denying them might make it seem like they are gone but, actually, they fester, grow stronger and then morph into something else. So, I am working on feeling my disappointments and not trying to run away from them.

Most importantly, I am moving away from the self blame. Things don’t always                      happen as planned – due to circumstance, other people, other factors. And, yes, I                may have played a part in the outcome and I may have lessons to learn from the                situation. BUT, and this is the most important and most difficult lesson for me to                  learn, it does not mean that I am useless, unloved or incompetent.

So what if I am not a best-selling author yet!? So what if some friendships dissolve!? So what if I burned the toast, did not win the lottery and totally screwed up the morning routine!?

I learned, I lived and now I am letting go.

Suivant, next!!

Like many people, I dusted off my winter gear this week. Warm puffy coat, check; beloved gloves from Accessorize, check; boots, hmmmm.

From the moment I put on the boots, something felt off. They felt too loose. I looked down and saw the source of this freedom: no laces.

Instantly I was brought back to that Sunday in March at the hospital where I was stripped down, laces included, and given a hospital gown and gurney. No belt, no scarf, no laces,  anything that could be used to take my own life was removed as I was brought to the corridor I would spend the next six hours awaiting my medical assessment.

A lot has happened since that moment at the Lakeshore emergency room in March. I started eating again, I started to see the beauty in the world again, depression took over but I battled back, I got stronger and, most recently, I started a new job.

Most days, the feeling of despair from that day seems like a lifetime ago. But on those rare darker days, my old « friend » -suicidal thoughts – follows me around all day.

I am no expert on the topic, but for me, it seems like from the moment I seriously contemplated suicide, I invited it into my life permanently as an option to consider. 

It is kinda like that Excel gum commercial where the donut, coffee and pizza follow you around and you cannot shake them. I don’t invite suicide or seek it out as a thought. Rather, I go about my day, pushing through the tough moments and suddenly, I feel a little tap on my shoulder. And there it is…

« Hi Christina, have you thought about me today? I’m here if you need me. »

Luckily, I have never gotten to the point where I entertain the thought but I am aware of its presence.

I am not sure if suicide will ever be completely off the table; if I will be able to put this option permanently back in the box now that it has been set free in my conscious mind.

But, I am hopeful. 

Afterall, even if I cannot banish it entirely, I am well surrounded by family and friends and have many tools (writing, meditation, therapists and even help lines) to help keep the thought of suicide at bay. This is my very own Justice League. 

And this gum-chewing Wonder Woman hasn’t lost a battle yet. 

I did something today that I haven’t done in 2 years. I ran. I dusted off my running gear and ran.

Before you start to worry about my motivations, this time things were different.

I wasn’t running to control my weight. I wasn’t running out of obligation. And I wasn’t trying to outrun my thoughts.

Nope. I was running because I felt like it. And, for the first time ever, I simply ran and listened to the music playing on my iPod. Every beat, ever lyric, I heard them all, my mind quiet.

I stopped exercising at my doctor’s request 2 years ago, when my weight was very low and my behaviours were almost exclusively unhealthy. I then went through a long period of depression where the mere thought of using my energy on anything more than surviving the day seemed ludicrous.

When the fog lifted, I was afraid to start jogging again. I was afraid I had lost the stamina I had built up over the years and, worse, afraid that once I started again, I wouldn’t be able to stop.

Well…i need not have worried. First, the body is an amazing thing. It remembers what it can do and it transitions relatively easily. That said, unlike in the past, I took it slow and kept a relaxed pace – unwilling to push my body to the limit.

My body was dictating what I did and how far I pushed – leaving my mind out of it.

When I finished 20 mins later, not a second more – I was happy. I had learned 3 important lessons:

1- nothing is ever truly lost. You can always go back to the things that made you happy once you are in a healthier place.

2- you can simply enjoy the moment without being taken over by an overwhelming urge to take things to the max.

3 – assumptions and fears can only ever hold you back. I had assumed that I was completely out of shape and had begun mourning my former fitness level – angry with myself for falling into the trap of anorexia. But what do you know…turns out it wasn’t quite so black and white.

Of course, it was only one workout. I have no idea what will happen next. Will my motivations shift into less healthy areas? Will I start to take things to extremes – fueled by the power you feel when you push yourself hard? Or will I retire my workout gear yet again?

Time will tell. In the meantime, I’m gonna take a nice long soak to take care of my slightly-out-of-use muscles.

« It’s me who is my enemy.
Me who beats me up.
Me who makes the monsters.
Me who strips my confidence »
Me by Paula Cole

People are hard. They are beautiful, frustrating, invigorating, puzzling, annoying.

I won’t lie. I often get annoyed with the people around me…especially those who are inconsiderate, dishonest or rude. Sometimes, I can’t even explain why they annoy me…they just do.

There is one person in particular that annoys the hell out of me:

Myself.

« Wait a minute, Christina, » you might be thinking. « What happened to all that self love and acceptance you have been harping on about? »

Ah well…my compassionate side is present and growing but it does not prevent my self annoyance. Still, it does help guide my reaction when I am frustrated with myself.

For example:

I was in a funk the other day. I was sitting in a bubble bath that was having no effect on my mood and a giant wave of annoyance hit me.

« I’m sick of this! » I thought to myself. « I am sick of feeling ill from eating a normal-size meal. I am sick of the anxiety that bubbles up inside me over big decisions. I am tired of needing to retreat to cope. I am sick of YOU, Peikert. »

Whoah…that was some bubble bath!!

Luckily, I have learned enough in the past year to be able to take a breath and tell myself, gently, that I was being harsh and unfair. I encouraged myself to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Sure, it was a rough day and everyone around me sensed it but at about 8pm that night, I finally addressed the source of my anxiety and « boom », I started to feel like my old self again.

So what did I learn from this?

First, I need to keep working on my compassionate acceptance. The world can be harsh enough, I really don’t need to be my worst critic. It is great to be able to tend to your own wounds. It would be even greater if I did not inflict them on myself in the first place.

Second, trying to ignore or suppress what is bothering me only prolongs the inevitable. Denying emotions is kinda like fighting nausea. You can fight the icky feeling for hours and puke anyway. Or, you can just stop fighting, embrace the feeling, go with it and start to feel better faster. Either way…you have to get it out of your system at some time, in some way.

Third, battling a mental illness is hard. Some days, you are blinded by the journey you see ahead and you cannot see the tremendous trail of progress behind you. On these days, you feel pulled down by the weight of what is left to be done rather than propelled forward by what you have accomplished. You are fed up instead of proud.

But this is just a moment in time. The feeling passes eventually and you start to see more clearly. And, if it doesn’t, someone or something can help things along. For me, if can be a sunrise, a giggle, a stranger offering their umbrella when you are waiting at a traffic light together in the rain…something to remind me there is beauty in the world and re-set my lens.

I am sure there will be times when none of this works and I will stay in a valley of self annoyance. But…today at least, I am grateful there is so much beauty in the world to help snap me out of my gloom.

I went quiet for a while…Not a shocker for those that know me well. When things get tough, my instinct is to retreat, to hide, to become silent. It helps me regroup, re-energize and redesign my life. So, when things got really tough last March, I took a step back from a lot of things, this Blog being one of them.

And while, I have not been sharing too much over these past few months, it doesn’t mean they have not been Blog-worthy. Nope, I’ve been keeping busy – with work, friends, recovery, mommy stuff. Oh, and I have been ticking a few things off my bucket list.

I met Youpi, saw Notre-Dame-de-Paris, tried Korean bbq (finally!)…and I wrote a book. Yup…a 126-page book.

When I began writing The Day I Started Eating six months ago, I was on a recovery high. I’d hit rock bottom…for real this time…and had used that low point to propel me on a recovery path I had never seen. I was improving week to week, impressing myself, my medical team and others around me with my rate of progress. I was sure that I would be fully recovered by the time I finished and published the book and would become the poster child for “success”.

Well…I wrote the book. The rest didn’t quite pan out the way I had envisioned. Why? Well, the thing I had not accounted for in terms of my recovery plan was…life! I forgot that I didn’t live in a bubble – free from the unpredictable, from anxiety, from temptation. I forgot that I was not bullet-proof. And so I encountered challenges, I faltered, I improved. I took steps forward, back and sideways. Through it all, I kept writing.

I finished the first draft on Labor Day weekend. And then I started the humbling experience of the editing process. I say humbling because, of course, the first draft needed work…a lot of work; and I had to accept that it wasn’t a masterpiece. But, it was not re-drafting that made me pause. Rather, the thing that threw me was the fact that I had forgotten some of the lessons I had learned and shared in my tale.

Writing a book is hard. Writing a book about your recovery while you are still in the process…well…that may not have been the best idea I ever had. When re-reading the first draft, I had to acknowledge that I had regressed in a few areas during the months it took me to pen my story. In some cases, I wasn’t troubled by the “regression”. I used the editing process to simply re-energize around a key point I had already learned. But, in other cases, the gap between where I saw myself now versus where I was when I had written a particular chapter felt huge.

In these moments, I was discouraged and felt a bit like a fraud. Could I really publish a book about recovery when I did not feel recovered. I thought about putting the whole thing on hold…continue my journey, get even stronger, and then maybe move forward with book. I thought about abandoning the project altogether. But then a few things happened:

• First, my editors (you know who you are…) convinced me to keep going. They showed me that the book is authentic, the epilogue rings true and there was no fraud in sight. I am fully open about the fact that I remain in recovery rather than at the finish line.
• Second, I realized that putting everything on hold would not accomplish anything. The lessons I learned (even those I may have temporarily forgotten) were valuable and worthy of being shared. Telling my story is part of my recovery and delaying it would only delay an important part of my journey.
• Third, there are days when recovery seems so close I can feel it…literally feel it. Here’s an example. Most mornings, my alarm goes off and I kinda hold my breath as I wait to see how my stomach feels. There are only ever two options: sick and full from a normal dinner the night before or starving due to lighter eating the day before. This morning, I woke up and felt…nothing. Not excessively full and not starving. I smiled. “This,” I thought…”this is what recovery feels like.”

So the book is printed. The launch is November 7. And, I am doing my best to promote it . I won’t lie, I still have apprehensions about the whole thing. Some days, I think about cancelling the launch; others, I feel it is all I talk about and I am growing tired of the topic. But, I’ve never really been one to back away from a target. Sure, I may doubt it or consider abandoning it, but through it all, I never stray from the course. And I never slow down my Peiky speed.

See you soon November 7. For better or for worse, The Day I Started Eating is coming….