Author: cpeikert1

In the past few years, we have started off the new year with a week in the sun. Jamaica, Orlando, Mexico…no better way to start the year and keep the festive glow of the holidays going.

This year, we are off to Ixtapa, Mexico. The forecast calls for non stop sunshine, the kids packed their own suitcases and we will be staying at an all-inclusive. All you can eat and drink. No chores, no laundry, no schedule, no work…no….stress???

For most, an all-inclusive vacation is a dream. Ok, the food isn’t always perfect, the service is sometimes slow and the weather has been known to surprise, but on the whole, you check your stress at the aircraft door when you board and sit back and relax until you return.

For me…well…stress and anxiety are stowed in my carry-on. And while I am very much looking forward to our trip, a week at an all-inclusive can trigger some concerns for someone with an eating disorder – and their families.

Let’s start with the obvious…the food. Typically, I scan the buffet with the girls and get them settled at the table. I do this partly because it is wise parenting to get the kids fed first but also because it allows me to build a log of the various items available so I can start thinking about what I will eat. If not, wandering the buffet can take a while…with an internal dialogue going on in my head (eat this, don’t eat that, that looks good…don’t even think about it!!!) I usually do at least 2 rounds before I put an item on my plate.

Let’s take the breakfast buffet as an example.

First round, cross off everything I don’t like. Eggs, nope. Sausage, nope. Fish, meat, cheese, non, non, non. Second round, I cut out the absolutely verboten. Donuts and pastries, maybe next year. Bacon, last day, if your lucky. Pancakes, well…if you tasted good without syrup, but you don’t, so no.

I typically wind up with lots of fruit and maybe a slice to bread. Sometimes cereal but only if there is skim milk… a rare find.

Lunch and dinner are similar but it is the salad bar and, bread again. Chicken usually makes an appearance at dinner but rarely at any other time.

This year, my therapist and psychiatrist have given me advice for the upcoming trip. Every meal needs to have protein, grain and fruit. Technically, there should be dairy but I think they know that will be tough. They’ve advised that I take snacks from the buffet in the morning so I can ensure I have something to eat later on if required. And, I’ve been encouraged to bring snacks, like Cliff bars, from home.

When they told me this, I thought to myself: huh…do everything for myself that I would do for my kids? If I can do it for them, surely I should be able to do it for myself? If only I cared about myself as much as I love them. I’m working on it. And while I work on it, I will pack their snacks…and mine.

Then there is the alcohol. I am no lush, but I do enjoy a nice beverage. But alcohol is not my friend these days. First, it clashes with the medication I am on. Second, it reduces my resolve, blurs the lines of restriction and silences the voice inside my head urging me to stop eating. I always eat more if I’ve had a bit of alcohol. And while some would see that as a good thing, my anxiety around food now causes anxiety around alcohol for fear I won’t be able to stop myself from consuming too many calories.

Lastly, there is the sea of bathing suit beauties – many of whom are younger, more toned and seemingly more confident in their bodies. Sure, there are far more women with imperfect bodies at the beach but I don’t actually see them. Call it selective blindness.

My discomfort with my body in a bathing suit increased this year. Not because I am ashamed…I wear my skinny proudly most days. But because nothing fits. Adult bathing suits are too big and I feel awkward in a bathing suit designed for children. Not exactly a confidence boost when the 12 year-old in the pool is wearing the same outfit as you.

All this to say that this trip will present some challenges. But I knew that from the onset, before we even booked it. Recovery is about pushing your comfort zone, about moving beyond the things that have held me back in the past. I’ll have moments where I fall down, but the sand will be soft. And I look forward to sharing my ups and downs.

So let’s do this! Bring on the sunshine.

“Just try it, please…One bite…please!”

Nope…I am not trying to get my girls to eat broccoli – they both actually like it.

Rather, it is Zoe asking me to try something I don’t normally eat. Today, I am lucky. She is offering me cheese, something I’ve never loved but that I still consider edible. Some days, particularly if we are out for Dim Sum, her offerings have me backing away, shaking my head, jaw locked.

Worrying is par for the course for every parent. For me, big areas of concern are food, portions and eating behaviour.

Research has shown that eating disorders are caused by biological, psychological and social factors.

Evidence suggests that some people are genetically predisposed to developing an eating disorder. Some literature suggests that someone with an anorexic mother is 12 times more likely than someone with no family history to develop it themselves (Eating Disorders Review, Nov/Dec 2002).

The first time I heard this at the Douglas, I started to panic. My girls! My genes! My anxiety!! Luckily my therapist was there to remind me of a few important things. First, while my girls share some of my genes, their genetic makeup is not identical to mine. It is impossible. Yes, biology 101. But, as research also shows, starving yourself affects your brain chemistry, making thinking clearly a challenge. So I went to a place where I forgot this simple fact. Second, being genetically predisposed to an eating disorder does not mean you will fall prey to its insidious grasp. Other factors need to come into play and help trigger the ED.

Ok, so no need to panic…but…wait…what are the other factors, again?

Certain psychological traits tend to be common among people with eating disorders. Perfectionism, feelings of inadequacy, having a poor sense of self , and seeing the world as black and white are typically exhibited by ED sufferers.

Oh…A little more reason to worry. Zoe…my sweet Zoe who fretted about getting a B in kindergarten and refuses to let me go in the 12 items of less line at Walmart if we have 13 items in our cart. Now, I am on high alert.

Then there are the social factors. The beauty messages that are pervasive in our modern society. Body image messaging (positive/negative, spoken/implicit) is everywhere. And it is not just in Hollywood or on social media. It is much much closer to home: in the school yard, at family gatherings, even with friends. And, of course, in my own kitchen.

In arming my girls against an ED, my focus has been on reducing the social factors that can contribute to an eating disorder. I tell them they are beautiful and to never let anyone tell them otherwise. I compliment them on all aspects of their beauty – their sense of humour, kind hearts, intelligence, generosity, determination – and I tell them every day that they are wonderful and magical.

With respect to food, nothing is forbidden for them though I do teach them moderation and that it is important to be mindful about wasting food. I align their portions to what Charles gives them. No longer do they have toast with the thinnest layer of peanut butter or homemade pizza with a few sprinkles of cheese. They must have thought I was rationing our food. No wonder they used to want Charles to make every meal. Not anymore…

Still, they see my sparse portions, they know I have forbidden foods and they see things on their plates that I am too picky to try.

We have tried our best to counter these mixed messages by being clear about who is the exception and who is the rule. They know that I am not the example to follow when it comes to eating. And they know I am the one who has work to do. But I am never sure if these messages have truly sunk in. I wonder if they will do as I say and not as I do as they grow up.

Just as I was wondering if they understand that I have a disorder, Zoe announced to the family on Christmas Eve: “You’re not healthy mommy! You’re sick! You don’t eat enough.”

Maybe we’ll be ok….

It is 9:30 pm. I’m sitting in bed with both girls sleeping beside me, the glow of my iPhone is the only thing lighting up the room. I type a message to Charles and hit send:

“I cannot do this anymore.”

After an hour of whining, cajoling, arguing, bribing, punishing, capitulating and begging, the girls are finally asleep. Recently, the bedtime routine has been more difficult. The girls are more resistant to everything and they shun their father completely, leaving me with the difficult challenge of being fully present when they want to tell me about their day, just moments after having been the authoritarian mom. I usually feel so mentally and physically drained by the end of it that it is not unusual for me to fall asleep as they drift off for the night. Tonight was especially difficult. There were frustrated voices and tears…mine included.

So, I type…and send my cry for help. It is well received and a solution is found for the next night.

With 2 kids under the age of 7, these situations are bound to happen. They’ve happened before and they will surely re-occur. But I have changed the way I handle them.

18 months ago, when I would feel overwhelmed and overworked at home, I would say nothing. It was my job after all…they were asking for me, they needed me. I kept everything inside, felt like I was failing as a mom (I mean seriously, what mom feels like the life has been sucked out of her because of the bedtime routine??) and my frustration built – eventually coming out in passive aggressive behaviour…ok sometimes aggressive aggressive behaviour 🙂

A year ago, I started to share when I was feeling this way. But I struggled with saying I was struggling. It sometimes came out all wrong and, often, no matter how I shared how I was feeling, I did nothing to help myself. Sometimes I downright resisted offers of help. Why? Well, because the overwhelmed feeling passed and I wanted to power through and be there for my kids when they wanted me. I told myself that all I needed was a good night’s sleep and I would reboot.

A good idea in theory but it was not always the case. Sometimes, I would get so close to my maximum threshold that even a good night’s sleep would only do so much.

This week, I not only sent out the SOS but I took action to help myself. Deep down, I knew I needed a night off from bedtime. And I took it. I kissed the girls goodnight and left them with their loving dad even though they begged me earlier in the day not to leave. I went to my parents’ house, snuggled up in a blanket with a cup of coffee and read in complete silence, with no threat of interruption. When they were sleeping, I made my way home.

Some might find this a bit of an odd action. And maybe it was. I know I felt a bit embarrassed that I had to leave the house. But, for me, it was an important step in self care. I did what I had to do to give myself some time, even though I felt guilty about it at first. And putting my needs ahead of guilt is progress.

This is imperfect me…growing.

I’ve always loved Christmas. The carols, the decorations, seeing my family, the excitement around Santa, gifts and surprises, the random acts of kindness, oh and the downtime (from work and school).

The best thing about Christmas for me was our traditions: getting a new pair of Christmas pyjamas every year, using my artistic flair to decorate cookies (sprinkles, lots of sprinkles), driving around looking at the houses all lit up, and finding that perfect ornament to give as a gift.

While the holidays can be huge stress inducers for many, I’ve been lucky. I’ve never had to play hostess; I always start shopping early so I don’t have to set foot in a mall in December; and no one expects me to bake up a storm. All in all, holiday breaks have been relatively stress-free over the years…except when my eating disorder has been present. Hello, Christmas 2017.

We all have our challenges this time of year so I don’t pretend to have a unique claim to holiday stress or awkwardness. That said, a week of celebrating with food, treats and undertones of gluttony at the heart of most activities, well, it can make even Wonder Woman break into a sweat…or at the very least, a healthy sheen.

We all have people in our lives who, without meaning to, will make an unwelcome comment about our appearance or ask an inappropriate question. Sometimes you are gracious – “thanks, yup, I’ll send you my secret diet so you can tackle your New Year’s resolution to lose weight.”

Other times you use humour to deflect- “nope grandma, not going to the gym, just been having lots of sex. Burns lots of calories. You should try it.”

Even well-intentioned comments can have an undesired effect on a bad day.

“You look healthy.” Anorexic interpretation: you look fat.

“You look better.” Anorexic interpretation: omg, so fat.

“You look great.” Anorexic interpretation: yup…fat

“You are too thin”; “you’ve lost weight”. Anorexic interpretation: YES!!!!

So note to readers, since you are never sure what someone is dealing with regarding self image, keep the comments about appearance to yourselves…well…unless they are about shoes. I live off shoe compliments like I used to live off sugar.

I’ve been beyond open in this blog so, clearly, I don’t mind talking about my eating disorder if anyone asks. But, for those who keep their cards closer to their chests, holiday get-togethers and dinner conversations must trigger anxiety and feelings of being alone and misunderstood.

Then there is all the eating and drinking. When I was heavily into my eating disorder, it was almost easier. I was so rigid in my restriction and fearful of food that I was not tempted to eat and didn’t care what others thought. There was no battle being waged in my brain and I had no issue doing whatever it took to avoid eating. Now that I am in recovery, things are harder. I know I should eat, I am now tempted by the delicious food and being crafty feels inauthentic.

I can no longer hide behind ignorance.  And the expectations around my behaviours have changed. To be fair, no one has actually said they expect a new Christina to sit down at the table this year but, even if they don’t, I do. I’ve been taught all about the damage I am doing, I have been given the tools I need to just say yes to eating 6 times a day, so if I am acting the same as I did last year…well…I will be disappointed.

Needless to say, I am a bit apprehensive about the next week. It won’t be perfect and it won’t be easy. But Raffi Christmas is playing on my iPod, I’ve got my new Xmas pjs on and I’m ready to tackle whatever comes my way.

Over the years, there have been times where I’ve felt stuck in situations that made me unhappy. I hated where I was, how I felt, but somehow I just couldn’t seem to make the decisions I needed to make in order to change things. 

There was the time I stayed in a decaying relationship with my first boyfriend but kept putting off the breakup. He was distant, flirted even more than usual with other girls (I know, I know, what was I thinking?) and generally made me unhappy. Then there was the time I felt completely undervalued in my role in London but quitting would have a major impact on my life. And, of course,  there was the year I spent working for someone who made me feel small (no jokes allowed), and, quite simply, stupid. 

Usually, life intervened and things changed for the better. The boyfriend broke up with me; the London office moved to Farnborough; and the boss was promoted. 

Recently, though, I have found myself feeling incredibly stuck and this time, the universe isn’t resolving it for me. 

About 18 months ago, I began to feel stuck. It started off slowly at first and I just ignored the feeling and powered through. I used the tasks at hand to distract me and leaned on my restrictive tendencies to help me breathe (some people meditate or do yoga, I control my eating to “relax”). But as time went on, and nothing changed, I started to feel trapped. And so, I did what most people do when they find themselves sinking in quicksand, I panicked.

I started making rash decisions, convinced they would help me get unstuck. When something didn’t work, I quickly moved on to the new “solution.” One day, I was leaving the company, the next, I was eyeing a promotion. I was investing in friendships one minute, and dramatically withdrawing the next. I was erratic, I was hyper, I was emotional and…just plain crazy – all because I was so desperate to feel like I was moving forward and leaving the quicksand behind. 

The more I tried to get myself out of how I was feeling, the more I started to spiral – leading to sleep deprivation, depression and sick leave…where the anorexia I had been containing (or so I thought) engulfed me.

A year later, I feel more stuck than ever. “Kicked out” of the Douglas, no longer convinced Coaching is for me, with absolutely no idea what to do next, I’ve been falling back on my coping mechanisms. I am throwing noodles at a wall in hopes that something will stick. 

Go back to work, find a new job, quit coaching, keep coaching, do nothing, go to a different treatment centre…all of these things go through my head daily.

My head is buzzing. This time, though, rather than make a rash decision on my own and talk it out after… then change course of action, I am going to talk things out first with my medical team, with my family and with my closest friends. They will likely have to slow me down, and help me let go of the outcome. No easy fix this time.

One thing is for sure: I’m done with sinking and I’ll leave the noodles for Zoe’s lunch.

“You don’t look like you have an eating disorder.”

It is 9 pm. I am sitting on a gurney in the emergency room of a random hospital in London. After weeks of following a vicious cycle of starving for days followed by bingeing for days, I fainted in the produce aisle of the grocery store while on my way home from work. My diet for the day has consisted of rice cakes and Diet Coke. The last thing I remember before waking up and being put in an ambulance was lettuce and broccoli spinning around me.

I’m scared – I have no family in London, I have to go to an air show in 2 days – but I’m also hopeful. I’m in a hospital, finally a medical expert can help me with my eating. I’m saved!

In walks the doctor and I tell him I am sick, I need help. He looks at me, surprised, and tells me I don’t look sick.

Great! I think to myself. Not only has my anorexia morphed into bulimia and taken over my life but now I’m fat? A bona fide doctor is telling me that I am failing at having an eating disorder.

Years later, I can laugh at the absurdity of the comment and forgive said MD for his ignorance. Sort of…

As a medical professional, he should have known better. But, in the end, he was a human being who bought into the widespread stereotype that eating disorder equals skeletal, that everyone with an eating disorder wants to look like a supermodel.  This couldn’t be further from the truth.

A person affected by disordered eating can be any age, gender, religion, race, and body type – making it all the more difficult to spot. The root causes, triggers and motivations vary from person to person. The treatment and journey to recovery varies as well. And, to complicate matters, the disorder morphs and changes with time, leaving you and others around you bewildered.

For example, some days, pizza is ok. Others, it is strictly forbidden. Or it is ok but only with minimal cheese, thin crust, no oil, etc…I don’t know why it changes, I don’t know when it changes but it does. And, sadly, no memo goes out to the people around me to let them know something is back on the forbidden list.

You might be thinking to yourself, how on earth do I know if someone close to me has issues with eating? How do I know if I have an issue?

There are no steadfast rules but here are some signs that there may be disordered eating going on:

• Feeling like you cannot eat until a certain time in the day;
• Feeling like you have to “earn” the right to eat;
• Having a long list of items you don’t eat…seeing the list grow longer;
• Exercising to compensate for what you eat – quantity and type of food;
• Having snacks like bagels or cereal as a meal – this one was the biggest eye opener for me. Cereal is NOT dinner? What? You’re lying, just ask Jerry Seinfeld;
• Drinking a lot of water, tea, coffee, carbonated beverages to feel full;
• Chewing gum…a lot of gum…to control hunger;
• Skipping meals, letting calorie content drive what you order in a restaurant instead of ordering what you actually feel like eating; and so on.

The signs of an eating disorder, the strength of the illness, the amount of pain someone is in go far beyond how much they weigh or how they look. Whether you are a doctor, know someone who may have an eating disorder or are affected by one yourself, remember this fact because having an eating disorder is hard enough without having to “look” the part.

I woke up this morning and my stomach was flat. I smiled. I felt strong. I went in the shower and I felt soft flesh on my belly. I did sit-ups to be able to breathe again.

I woke up this morning and my stomach wasn’t flat. I was scared and sad. But I smiled and said nothing. I made my girls breakfast and danced as we went to school. I cried as I went to therapy.

I woke up this morning and my clothes were tight. I made Zoe’s lunch (macaroni and cheese) and thought about it. I brushed the girls’ teeth and thought about it. I dropped the girls off and thought about it. I listened to my stomach rumble and thought about it.

I woke up this morning and you were everywhere – in my dreams, in my shower, in my car. I’m pissed and want to scream: “Fuck off!!! Get out of my head and out of my life. I wish we never crossed paths and I don’t want you anymore.”

But at the same time, I want to hold on to you, beg you to never leave because you make me feel safe, calm, loved, like I can take on the world. And you have been such an important part of my life that I am scared of what will happen when you are gone. Will I crumble without you? Will everyone see me as I see myself If you are not there to prop me up? 

I believe most people can understand my reaction of anger. But few can grasp how I can “need” something so destructive. But I do…or at least I think I do – with a conviction more powerful than any other belief I hold.

Currently, there is a storm raging inside me. Me! The person known for seeing sunshine and rainbows in the world. But no one can see it. My weight is up. I have made progress. But with every gram I gain, with every article of clothing I have to retire as too small, my unhappiness grows. I try to deny it, to ignore it, to outrun it. People look at me and think I am better. And, in some ways I am. So I don’t dare share the ticker tape running through my head. If I did, I could only expect them to say what I keep saying to myself: “can’t you change the record already?”

I woke up this morning feeling great. I was happy. The sun was shining outside and I sang in the car. I looked in the mirror and liked what I saw. I felt light, energized and free – a glimmer of how I used to feel. I am hopeful and almost don’t want to go to sleep, for fear that this moment will slip away.

I woke up this morning, and there you were. I pretended not to see you, ignored your voice. I had let my guard down in the night and you had grabbed hold of me. I dragged you around like a shackle.

I am exhausted but I know this is not the end. I had one day without you. There will be others. I’m doing the hard work. Until then, I sleep the sleep of a battle-scared warrior – weary, weak…but alert! The wounds will heal. I will get new ones. But the war is not over. 

Carry on Gladiator.

I didn’t have the Nutella. I paused, thought about licking it off my finger, then washed my hands thoroughly.

Seems trivial but I can always tell how I am doing in my recovery by this simple action. When I am feeling strong, I happily, thoughtlessly lick the traces of Nutella left on my hands after making my girls’ breakfast. (Yes, they have Nutella for breakfast. Judge me later, I’m trying to make a point here). When my restrictive thoughts are strong, I cannot get rid of the chocolatey substance fast enough.

This week was hard. Having to adapt to life without the Program, wondering what the hell do I do now, feeling like I was starting all over…again…all these things drove me back to the comforting arms of restriction, of desperately seeking outside cues to tell me I was ok. Let’s just say, I washed my hands a lot this week. I was extremely emotional when I didn’t get what I thought I needed and I wanted to curl up by the fire and let the hours pass.

To many reading this, it might seem that I have relapsed. The thought had crossed my mind. But, waking up this morning, I felt light and happy. And here’s why. I woke up with a mental comparison of where I am now, versus where I was the last time I felt lost. It was almost as though while sleeping, my brain did the tally and wanted to ensure that it was top of mind when I woke up. So I opened my eyes and thought, wow, you are healing.

First, I bounced back…faster than ever before. Sure, I felt gloomy for a week but I didn’t let it wash over me. I kept putting on my heels every day and I kept writing, reading, singing and doing. Old me would have focused on the fact that I fell. New me is choosing to focus on how quickly I get back up.

I’ve also built a stronger support network. And I am leveraging it more. I have been blessed with amazing family and friends…who have rallied together this last year. And, now, after my time at the Day Program, I have a new group of strong, funny, caring and inspiring women in my life. They understand the incomprehensible and they make me stronger. I’ve leaned on them this week and it has helped. In fact, I’m thinking of forming an unofficial support group with whoever wants to join – possible name is Red Flags & Co. If you get this reference, this group may be for you.

And, I’m more accepting today than I ever was thanks to a few newly acquired coping skills. I am starting to silence certain voices to embrace new ways of seeing things. In the past, my false perceptions colored everything and allowed me to discount any other viewpoints. If someone gave me a compliment, a little voice inside me would pop up and say: “they mean well, but they are wrong. You are not amazing, you are weak, you are broken, you are…”

Even if I don’t see myself as others seem to see me, I am starting to hear what they are saying and accept that maybe they have a point. Yesterday, when a great friend told me I was bringing great things to the world, and the voice came in to contradict everything, I said to myself:

“Peikert, you may not see yourself this way…you may not believe it. And, today, you don’t have to believe it. But accept that maybe your perceptions are wrong. You can spend time fighting the positive messages you hear or you can just save that energy to fight other things.”

It worked.

No, I did not look in the mirror after and think: “You Rock Peikert.” That would be a bit dramatic and unrealistic. But, just accepting that others could be right was powerful. And it was energizing.

I know there will be days where I’ll still want to fight every compliment, every positive message. But today, I feel things are shifting and that eventually, the voice will be a whisper. And, that, makes me smile.

“Mommy, you have Nutella on your hand!”

I do, I thought to myself, as I raised my hand to my lips.