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THE C-WORD

I’ve touched on control a little in previous posts so you likely know that we are long-time friends. Feeling in control has always been my solace. It didn’t matter if I actually had control. As long as I felt I did, I could tackle the world. Over the years, I found many ways to gain a sense of control: planning, studying/working hard, being prepared for every possible scenario, and restricting what I ate. These techniques served me well – or so I thought – until they suddenly stopped working. Petrified, I panicked and desperately tried to regain a sense of control, planning more, restricting more, and making irrational decisions.

I did all this without realizing it. But, once my control patterns stopped working and my life started to go off track, I was forced to face facts. I, Christina Peikert, was a control freak and, without a sense of control, I literally started to freak out. Some, Katherine Peikert, might call this stating the obvious, but for me, it was like a light bulb lit up. So many things started to fall into place. My erratic behavior was suddenly explained. Armed with this new awareness and determined to never go back to my lowest point, I decided to experiment a little. Maybe, just maybe, I need to try letting go.

I started slow. First, I had breakfast without measuring every Cheerio (living on the edge!). Then I ate a hotdog for lunch instead of throwing it out. Then I had a chocolate chip muffin at Tim’s and said yes to a second cookie for dessert. No brainers for some, these tiny steps felt daunting in the beginning. But, every time I let go a little, I felt lighter and energized to do it again. Feeling bold, I then took this experiment beyond food.

The Daily Challenge

I decided I would do one thing every day that was out of my control. Zoe and I wrote down a list of activities I could do and put each one on a small piece of paper. We folded them up and put them in a jar. Every night, Zoe would pick a paper from the jar and I would have to do whatever activity was written on it the following day.

The first round included:

  • Going to the movies at a random time and see whatever was playing (Halle Berry, I want my 2 hrs back);
  • Spending a few hours at Starbucks reading and eating my favorite blueberry scone;
  • Going to the park alone and swinging with abandon. In heels of course!;
  • Taking  a cooking class (ok, I walked out of this one but c’mon, they were making pizza. Pizza!!!)

Every day, I gave up a bit of control. And, every day, I got stronger, happier, more relaxed.

So, I am going to keep doing it and see what happens. I just started a second jar filled with activities. Today, I have to record myself singing – apologies to anyone that has gone karaoke with me for the painful flashbacks this post might cause 😉

In the meantime, any suggestions for what I should do next?

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THE WEIGHT-ING GAME

You spend your first week in the Eating Disorder Day Program getting a handle on things, adapting to the routine. You learn the rules of the house – both the unwritten ones and those extensively listed in the hefty binder you receive on your first day. You discover the personal dynamics in the group – the different subgroups, the cliques, the clashes, the returning patients and the newbies. Of course, since conquering your fears about food is a big part of the program, you start to learn how to eat a lot – often things you hope to never eat again (cue the lasagna). And then you face your first 3-day weekend with no rules, no supervision and none of your program cheerleaders to help ensure you eat every meal, every bite, every crumb.

Coming back to the Program on Tuesday is hard. You’ve just spent the weekend fighting the urge to exercise and skip meals as well as worrying about the effects of re-feeding on your body (bloating, stomach pains, weight gain). So you typically don’t skip your way into the clinic. With all this on your mind, you also have to face a new menu for the week and gear up to re-start the climb up your personal mountain of recovery. And, if all that wasn’t enough, Tuesday morning is your weekly weigh-in.

No matter the context, a weigh-in is almost always stressful. Here, every patient has a weight-gain contract. You have to gain 500 g per week or you get a red flag. Three strikes (flags) and you are out!

I was dreading the weigh-in this week. All weekend I battled my urges to cut back; to silence the obnoxious voice in my head that told me not to overdo it or I would gain 10 pounds. I ate my 3 meals, though I cut back on snacks, but I swear I could feel my clothes getting tighter. And given all that I had eaten during the week, I was sure I had not only reached my target for the week but likely overachieved it. I got on the scale, bracing myself for a significant gain and lo and behold, I had lost 300 g. WTF!?

I spent the next hour of group not listening. The small part of me still clinging to anorexia was triumphant. But that lasted about 30 seconds. Then I went to the worst case scenario. I was sure this was a sign that I would fail the program and get kicked out for inadequate weight gain; everyone would be disappointed in me; the world would end; fire and brimstone, blah, blah, blah. You get it. I went to the woe is me, I suck place. But then I snapped out of it. “OK Peiky, you can’t change what’s happened. This does not erase all the positives you had last week. You can only change what comes next.”

So I “came back” to the group in mind, body and spirit, just in time to eat the world’s biggest ham and cheese sandwich. Seriously… it was huge. When I got back home that night, I went through my food journal (a detailed document used to track every meal, drink, thought, emotion and behaviour) and saw how I could do things differently this coming weekend. And, rather than use food restriction as a way of coping with my emotions (my default pattern), I had Bravo pizza for dinner (special thanks to Charles for that).

So I recovered from the Tuesday weigh-in only to face the Thursday challenge: meeting the psychiatrist to discuss your progress. Dr “X” is a no-nonsense, compassionate, 5-ft dynamo that we sometimes fear but always channel when we need inner strength. Needless to say, always eager to please teacher, I was not looking forward to this little chat.

But to my surprise, she was warm and understanding and gave me some great advice. She even acknowledged my pizza meal as a win – though she made sure to remind me that one slice of gooey, greasy, tasty pizza won’t cut it for the week. Every day is a cheat day apparently…at least for now. For those of you who might be thinking lucky b***h, rest assured I don’t feel lucky.

So I survived week 2. And, while I had a few more disappointments than during my first week, this was a better one because I didn’t let myself get knocked down, because I haven’t once thought about quitting and because I feel stronger, happier.

I don’t know what the weekend will bring. But…at least I know I will be eating!

See you next Tuesday, scale.

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BAD MOMMY

“You’re a bad mommy.”

I used to hear these words a lot…like a lot. And every time they were said to me, I felt a little smaller (not good in general, worse when you are 4 ft, 11 and a half inches tall); my world lost a little bit of color. The bizarre thing is that my girls never said these word to me. I did.

Perfectionism is sometimes painted as a positive. We associate it with being driven, with quality and with commitment. But for some, the desire to be perfect is so strong that they miss out on life – either refusing to try anything they are not good at or simply spending all of their time looking for points to take off of their scorecard. The constant quest for 100% takes a lot of fun out of the game.

In some areas, where being perfect matters less to me because it seems impossible to achieve, I use humour to deal with my disappointment. I laugh about my height, my bad driving skills, my horrible cooking abilities (her father is a chef!!!) as a coping mechanism.

Now, when perfection matters most to me – work, my career, being a good mom – I am unforgiving. If I feel my performance is stellar, I am on the highest of highs. Achievement fuels me like nothing else. But when I fall short of my expectations, my self-esteem takes a hit. Over the years, I’ve developed many tools to help ensure a solid report card at work. Long hours, great mentors, a strong network, good bosses (minus one or two) and rock star team members have been my safety nets. If I felt out of my depth, I could always count on anorexia to help me gain my sense of power and control to turn things around.

As a mom, I felt much more unsteady and the stakes were higher. Screw up and you potentially screw up your child. Ok, I am being a bit dramatic but the pressure I put on myself was high. In my mind, I had to be ever-patient, loving and entertaining; part child psychologist, rule maker, nurse, teacher, encyclopedia…all while smiling, keeping everything up at work and wearing heels.

I worried constantly about my mistakes, read articles about parenting. If I lost it during the morning school run, I spent the drive into work replaying the incident and vowing to be better next time. I cannot even talk about the bedtime routine! I started getting up at 5 am so I could work out before the girls woke up. I didn’t want to eat into any mommy/girls time.

I felt ashamed when I looked forward to a work trip. I liked travelling; being able to close my hotel room door and use my oasis to do whatever I wanted – catch up on work, read, sleep without a child kicking me in the ribs or putting their wet Pull-up in my face. There was no guilt about choosing myself because there was no one else there. People used to offer their commiserations about my having to travel so much. I couldn’t admit to them or to myself that I liked being away from home for a few days. I felt like such a fraud so I never spoke about it.

Being a mom started to feel like a job I was inadequate at. I would look at the moms on the playground laughing and totally focused on their kids. There I was, half paying attention to the girls, typing away on my blackberry and wondering what “chip” I was missing.

Don’t get me wrong. In the midst of all this, I knew I loved these girls with all that I am and all that I have. Without question, they are the best thing in my life. But, I felt I was missing the mommy “secret sauce.”

It was about this time that my world came crashing down. As I started to dig out of the rubble, a few things happened.

  • I started to slow down and see things more clearly as opposed to a blur of activity and negative self-talk. I saw more beauty in the world.
  • I discovered self-compassion and noticed things I liked about myself. And slowly, when I looked in the mirror, I saw me again. A person. Flawed but beautiful – as each and every one of us is…human.
  • I started being open and honest with the girls when I felt overwhelmed or when I felt I messed up. Turns out, they are far more forgiving than I ever was with myself and they think I am the best mom. I see it in their faces when I pick them up at the end of the day and feel it in every hug and kiss.
  • I saw my girls in a new light. I started to connect with them more; to share my learnings, to stop and really listen to them. And, oh, how I fell even more in love with them.

It is not always easy and I am by no means any closer to being a perfect mom. (If anyone knows one, though, please send her my way so she can babysit.) But I am coping with this fact in a much healthier way and I’m not sure how I know this, but deep down I know I am a good mom.

Am I silly mommy; a song and dance mommy; a loving mommy; an imperfect mommy; a sometimes embarrassing mommy (just wait for the teen years)? You bet.

But am I a bad mommy? No way.

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ME TOO

Unless you have been on a deserted island for the past few weeks, I’m sure you have seen the Harvey Weinstein case unfold – bringing about a larger-scale discussion about sexual harassment in Hollywood, the world of entertainment and far beyond.

Disgusted, angry, sad, and ashamed of my own experience, I debated about sharing my thoughts on the topic – out of fear of retribution from the only organization I’ve ever worked for. But why shouldn’t I? Apart from the harassers themselves, no one should be censoring themselves. Still, so many women and men stay silent.

We don’t say anything because we don’t want to risk our jobs; we don’t want to cause trouble; we tell ourselves that it is not worth reporting – either because the harassment wasn’t “serious” enough or because we don’t think it will change anything; we don’t want every comment we make after speaking up to be classified as getting up on our soap box again; we don’t want to be excluded from meetings or events; we don’t want to be tainted with THAT brush – painted as the one who cannot take a joke or who is too sensitive; we blame ourselves; we think that unless someone puts their hands on you, it wasn’t really wrong.

I almost made it a personal and professional crusade to address the issue of sexual harassment and sexual culture in the workplace. I spoke up for others, and then, for myself. And, while efforts were made to listen, I never really felt heard. I was told that the behaviours highlighted were unique to one area of the organization and that I was generalizing, making the issue seem more widespread than it was. And while I strongly believe I was not, the question I have is:

“Wasn’t it worth checking?”

Like, really checking? With actual data, across the entire organization? Didn’t we owe it to ourselves to make sure I was wrong? So that no future harassment was on our collective conscience?

I get it, this is an uncomfortable topic. Men and women alike don’t know how to tackle it, how to respond to it if they are on the receiving end, or even what to do if they witness it. It is a mountain and most people, HR professionals and organizational leaders simply don’t know how to get their arms around the problem. I certainly didn’t. But that does not mean we should not try.

Because here is the thing people sometimes ignore. At the root of sexual harassment lies a bigger issue, a lack of respect. No victim of sexual harassment can say they felt respected in the moment – victimized, ashamed, dirty, embarrassed, angry, hurt, numb…yes…but not respected. Diversity seems à la mode these days among many organizations. A nice buzz word that makes many pat themselves on the back for being good corporate citizens. But, you cannot create a truly diverse work environment if disrespectful behaviour such as sexual harassment is tolerated – especially when it is largely targeted toward one gender. Organizations cannot attract and retain female talent if there is an undercurrent of sexual harassment.

Embracing diversity in the workplace does not involve groping the person as you do it! Of course, there are many elements to attracting talented individuals of all genders, races, religions… The foundation is creating an environment of mutual respect.

I wish I had a solution to propose. Or, at the very least, was in a position right now to leverage the awakening that seems to be happening in certain industries to influence change much closer to home. But I have other dragons to slay. Gimme a few months and then I’ll be all over it…though I feel we have a small window of opportunity NOW.

All I can do is encourage each of you to speak up, speak out, and be catalysts for change. If you are a manager, executive, leader, HR professional, use the current public outcry to broach the topic at work, to listen to employees and really see an issue exists. I have been reading a lot about fault versus responsibility and I think one of the lessons I learned applies here. It may not be a leader or an HR professional’s fault that sexual harassment exists in his/her work place. The point is, the very nature of their job or their title makes it their responsibility to fix it.

This is the OTHER bottom line.

– For Zoe and Lily, for whom I hope the world will change. –

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TAKE 2!

It has been a challenging week – starting the Day program and re-learning to balance home life with program requirements. I wish I could say I strode into the Douglas confidently on Tuesday. But, turns out my yellow shoes are still too big. Instead, I hobbled my way up the road with my snowman blanket – for comfort – in one hand and my “C” (for Christina) coffee mug – for tea –  in the other. Not quite the entrance I had planned but there it is.

Day treatment takes place in a house on the Douglas campus. It is run by the eating disorder clinic and takes place 4 days a week, from 9:30-3:30. Length of your stay in the program varies, but it is generally 12 or 16 weeks. Currently, we are a group of 15 women. We spend the week learning about nutrition, eating disorders and related topics, as well as doing group therapy, mindfulness exercises and learning different techniques to identify and manage emotions. Many of us have spent years ignoring our emotions and numbing ourselves that the thawing process can feel foreign and out of character…and can bring on a sudden flood of feelings. We also do chores: we cook together, we do the dishes, we clean, etc. And so, we bicker, we get impatient with each other, like any family.

Every day, we are given a snack in the morning, lunch – with dessert – and a snack in the afternoon. We are expected to eat everything we are given. Very few exceptions are made and are only allowed if they are on your approved food aversion list. You are only allowed 3 food items on your list so Picky Peiky has to eat things she does not like…at all. If you cannot eat all of your meal, you have to have a meal replacement instead. I’m proud to say, I have only had one Boost this week…Ugh…Spinach-Ricotta Lasagna, I curse you. I can only ever eat half the portion.

House rules are strict. No picking at your food, eat everything on your plate, drink a glass of milk filled to the rim (oh yes, they measure) with every meal. Bathrooms are locked form the moment we sit down to eat until 30 minutes after the meal is completed. The first time around, I saw these rules as an affront to our independence and as borderline barbaric. But here is the thing. People with eating disorders can be excellent con artists. We have many tricks to “protect” ourselves and our disorder. From diluting your milk with water, to hiding things in napkins, to saying you ate a big meal before you came, you name it, I’m certain it has been tried. We do this, not because we are evil liars. We do it out of extreme fear and anxiety – fear of gaining weight, fear of life without our eating disorder, fear of food itself.

Last time, I saw inflexibility and prison walls. Now, with a very different mindset, I see the purpose of the rules and I see caring and flexibility. Funny how things change with a new lens. And, just like the rules have purpose, so too does the program. Obviously it helps you gain weight – you get a red flag is you don’t gain a pound a week and 3 flags, you’re out. It also helps you learn tools needed to manage your destructive urges, allows you to learn and grow from others so you feel less alone but, most importantly, it teaches you to just be – to live, to embrace the beauty within but also all around you.

Yesterday, after a day of tears and conflict, we ended our afternoon walking alone around the grounds. Our mission was to see, hear, feel the leaves on the ground. There I was, eyes closed, listening to the leaves rustling as I walked through them in my 4-inch pink stilettos – which kept getting stuck in the grass – just me, the squirrel and the creepy guy on the bench.  Smiling.

Bring on week 2.

 

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SEDUCTION

Go slow…Trust me…It will feel sooooo good…You know you want to… I know just what you need…yeah…

And just like that, it has you: Anorexia!

What? Did you think I was talking about something else?

 

“At least 30 million people of all ages and genders suffer from an eating disorder in the U.S.”[1]

I am by no means an expert, but over the last 9 months, I’ve learned that every person has a story about why and how they became anorexic. For me, what started as a way of achieving and feeling in control eventually turned into a quest to be thin.

Anorexia has long been my temptress. We fell into bed 16 years ago and have had an on-again/off-again relationship ever since. When life was going pretty well and I felt I was living up to my high expectations, we’d have an occasional booty call but I could largely ignore it. But in times of great insecurity and emotional stress, I could not get enough of sweet, sweet restriction.

“Eating disorders have the highest mortality rate of any mental illness.”[2]

It started off innocently enough. I watched what I ate, cut a few “naughty” foods from my diet, skipped a meal here or there. At first, I felt in control and powerful. Then…before I realised what was happening, the very thing I had used to help me feel like I had a handle on things took over. I was in the grips of the disorder. And even though it occasionally loosened its hold on me, it never left my side.

My “first time” was in my early 20s. I had my heart broken, graduated, got my first job and moved out on my own – all within the span of 6 months. I found myself with new friends, disposable income and a whole new social life. Cooking for myself, going out for dinner and drinks led to my clothes becoming a little tight. I started counting calories in the hopes of losing 5 lbs. But, always looking for a target to overachieve, to get my A+, I started each day aiming for a lower caloric intake than the day before. Soon, I was surviving on 900 calories a day. I snapped at everyone that tried to help. I ran away to live in London. I went down to 70lbs. After about 18 months, I added bulimia to the mix – starving for days and then eating bags of groceries in a matter of minutes, then starving for days…on and on. My weight ballooned to 120 lbs, I quit my job, moved back to Canada, and generally hated myself. It wasn’t until I moved in with my now husband that I found my balance. Until…

I got pregnant. The pressure to eat well for the baby was strong. But, from the very first pound I gained, I was planning my return to pre-baby weight. I was so proud of being back in my regular jeans within 2 weeks of giving birth. But I struggled with breast feeding, had a mild case of post-partum depression and generally felt out of my depth most of the time. I felt like I was failing at being a mom so I turned to being successful at restricting my food intake. At least then I could feel good about something. I found my footing as a mom and then as a working mom and 90lbs became my new happy weight. Lily came and things kept ticking along. I had no idea my disorder was back – even though I now restricted daily (either in terms of what or how much I ate).

Then came the latest chapter. Changes happened at work and by the time I realised I was unhappy, it was too late. I was eating far less, was not sleeping and was making rash decisions in an attempt to regain a sense of control over my life. I went off work, stopped eating altogether, went back to work after a month, living on pure adrenaline, and then crashed. This time, anorexia hit me hard. There was no resisting its allure and we fused into one.

In a span of weeks, I went from seeing myself as too thin, to thinking I looked good to wanting to lose a few more pounds. It didn’t matter if my clothes didn’t fit anymore – although I did pause when my shoes got too big – or that my hair started to fall out or that I was cold all the time. All that mattered was the comfort I felt from not eating. If I ate too much, I could feel my skin stretching as my body expanded, could see my reflection widen. If I got on the scale and my weight was stable, my reflection would shrink before my eyes. Magic!!

The anorexic mind plays all kinds of tricks, morphs and evolves as you start the refeeding process, sabotages the new habits you try hard to form. Many people said to me: “why don’t you just eat?” I wish it were that simple. But the problem with the anorexic mind is that it is a part of you. And the battle for recovery is so hard because you are constantly fighting yourself.

Today, I am taking an important step toward the front lines. I am going back to Day Therapy at the Douglas Eating Disorder Clinic for up to 16 weeks. It won’t be easy.

But, I’ve got my yellow stilettos on and this gladiator is ready for battle.

 

Resources for Eating Disorder support: http://cliniquebaca.com/ ; https://anebquebec.com/ ; http://www.douglas.qc.ca/section/eating-disorders-146?locale=en

 

[1] Biological Psychiatry (2007).

[2] Current Psychiatry reports (2012).

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Finding Wonder Woman

About 2 months ago, I thought I had it all figured out. I knew better than the doctors; I wouldn’t listen to my family and friends. I quit the Day Program I was in for eating disorders and I convinced myself that going back to work would fix everything. I would simply step back into my old life and all would be fine…like nothing ever happened. Good plan, right?

What I didn’t count on was that my old life didn’t exist anymore. Work had changed, people had changed, and without realizing it, I had changed. I thought if I could control my recovery (more on control later), everything would fall into place. I, Christina Peikert, Queen of options and plans, had a plan. And then, suddenly, I didn’t. On the eve of my target return to work date, I was hit with the painful reality that my plan sucked. Big time.

Really? I was just gonna go back to work, where finding time to eat is a challenge, where stress is sky high and where naps (a daily occurrence for me at that time) are highly discouraged – even if you do it covertly under your desk (COSTANZA!). Looking back, I have to laugh at how flawed my solution was but, at the time, it was devastating to see it all fall to pieces. I had worked so hard the previous 5 months scaling my own personal mountain and it turned out that all that work had only gotten me to the base. Scared and heartbroken, I had no idea how to start to climb again.

I had failed…and I had refused to see it coming. I felt lost and desperately wanted to give up. My friends rallied and took me to get help. I met a new psychiatrist, Fred, and for the first time, I truly felt understood and seen. He helped me start to reboot and find my fighting spirit.

And that is when I found Wonder Woman: a plastic doll I picked up in my friend’s car and held in my lap as I left the hospital for the second time in 5 months after having suicidal thoughts (I am happy to say they are gone…for good). Somehow she gave me the strength I need to take the first baby steps on my current path. I accepted to stay off work indefinitely. I started to work on self-love, on my desperate need for control and on living a life with no plan. And right now, I am in a really good place.  I am happier than I have been for a while and I am going back to Day Treatment. Stay tuned for stories from there!

This new path began with Wonder Woman…who knows where it will lead. But, if I had my pick, it would be to Ryan Reynolds as the Green Lantern!

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I AM

I am a mother. I am a friend. I am a leader. I am a lover. I am a sister. I am a boss. I am a wife. I am a daughter. I am a confidante.

I am anorexic. I am caring. I am a bad driver. I am confident. I am silly. I am intelligent. I am recovering. I am insecure. I am impatient. I am curious. I am driven. I am discovering. I am growing. I am not perfect. I am passionate. I am valued. I am sensitive. I am strong. I am seen. I am a work in progress. I am human.

I am a gladiator. I am enough. I am.

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WELCOME

Life is a jumble of experiences. Some painful, some thrilling and everything in between. The last nine months have been quite the roller coaster. My body gave out. I had to abruptly leave a job I’d worked 17 years to earn – prompting some interesting rumors. (For the record, I did not get fired or quit, I did not go get a boob job and I did not have a burn out.) I lost myself. I went down to 80 lbs. I started eating disorder treatment. I fell down. I got back up. I went to a very dark place. I lied. I got back up again. I made friends and family worry and I shut down. Then, I started fighting, singing, dancing…being…

This blog is about my experiences. About finding myself, about falling in love with who I am, about being a mom, about relinquishing control and about living.

I hope that reading this you will be entertained, that you will gain new insights, maybe even be inspired to try something new. I hope it makes you think, smile and maybe even cringe: “she did what?” Crazy girl…

I don’t know where this blog will take us. But buckle up because this is going to be some ride.

Continue reading “WELCOME”