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Ah, yes. The inner Critic. The all-too-familiar voice that pops up to tarnish your achievements, lower your self-confidence and bring you down.

We all have an inner Critic. For some, it shows up infrequently; for others, it is a constant presence. It may whisper or scream, sound disappointed or angry.

Mine has a German accent and refers to me by my last name: « come ON Peikert! Back in the game!!!! NOW! »

Whether your inner critic is particularly harsh or more mild, it is often hard to relinquish its power over you because it has served an important purpose in our lives.

It drives us to aim higher, learn from our mistakes, improve, grow and achieve. What’s wrong with that, right? Nothing.

There is nothing wrong with the ultimate goal of the inner Critic. It is the approach that is harmful.

I’ve been toying with the idea of the inner critic for a few months, wondering about the role it should play in my life. I like succeeding, doing well and achieving, so saying goodbye to my inner critic and take my chances didn’t really appeal to me.

Hmmmm…could there be another way? A voice that could help propel me further but with an encouraging tone? One that sits on the sidelines and motivates me rather than tear me down and bark orders?

That is when I discovered the inner Cheerleader. Before you dismiss this concept altogether, assuming the cheerleader is soft and meek and all sunshine and rainbows, think again.

The purpose of the inner Cheerleader is not to placate, gloss-over mistakes or lead you to complacency. Far from it! It’s goal is, in fact, the same as the inner Critic: to help you improve and grow.

But, rather than beat you down with harsh words, it plays the role of an honest friend or mentor. Consider it the inner critic’s filter. It takes the harshest critique and boils it down to the essence of the message, and then plays it back in a compassionate way that inspires you to dig deep and shoot for more.

Not sure about the difference between the two?

Let’s take the example of when you bomb a presentation:

Inner Critic: «What a disaster! You stumbled at the beginning and lost your audience. Can’t you go anything right? You will never get them to agree to your proposal. Get your act together! Work harder and go back to the next meeting with your head in the game! Do it or quit. No one likes losers. »

Inner Cheerleader: « Ok, that was not great. You got off to a rocky start and that shook your confidence; then the people in the room became disengaged. But your proposal is a good one. So, prep again, seek out allies before the meeting, and trust yourself. You can do this. You have nailed presentations before and you will again. But you gotta be focused and believe in yourself. You can do it! »

I’ll admit, I’m still trying this out and am a bit skeptical. But I will keep listening. After all, it is a lot easier to soar when you are starting with two feet firmly on the ground rather than when you are beaten down on the floor.

Inner Cheerleader: « come on Christina, get back in the game. You can do this! »

For many kids growing up, security “objects” play a key comforting role as they learn to navigate the sometimes daunting world out there. Linus from the Peanuts had his blanket, my Lily has my arm to hold, others have pacifiers, stuffed animals, toys, etc. No matter what the object, these things soothe our little ones and help them feel safe.

But what would happen if Linus lost his blanket, or my arm wasn’t there for Lily to hold onto, or all the pacifiers in the world disappeared?

Distraught children, frantic parents seeking to find the lost item, a tornado of emotions and fear would all enter the scene. The fear of losing something comforting is extremely powerful because it leads to a lot of questions about what will happen without it. Will the world crumble? Will emotions take over leading to chaos, suffering and pain? How will we survive? What will comfort us ever again? This uncertain can be paralyzing.

Hmmmm…not the prettiest of pictures.

I know I am not a child. I am a grown adult who will soon turn 41. I am too old pacifiers and stuffed toys. But, as it turns out, I have been holding on to my own type of security blanket – one which has become increasingly significant in my life this past year in order to manage life’s discomforts and wounds.

My body.

I have anxiety…more than I would care to admit. And I have turned to the size of my body for reassurance. Wake up in the morning stressed, no problem, I touch my flat stomach and feel instant relief. Stressed about something, ok, just touch my hip bone jutting out to feel in control. Trouble falling asleep due to all the thoughts twirling in my head, caress my ribs and drift to sleep.

Oh dear… I cannot explain yet how this soothes me but it does…or at least it did. Not anymore. It can’t because my body is changing and these once comforting aspects are disappearing with every pound gained.

Here is the truth about recovery for me. Every day, I take actions (ie eating) to remove the very things that I found reassuring in my most difficult times. Sure, these things were, in reality,  symbols of self-harm to any objective observer. But, to me, they were THE only things that worked to calm my troubled soul. And, to make things harder, by gaining weight, I have not only lost my comfort mechanisms but I am putting myself in even greater emotional stress as I gain weight and tackle deep-rooted issues.

Anxiety levels are high, stress is soaring and emotions are all over the place and I have to tackle all this with none of my old “friends” to help. I have to tolerate this as I battle while finding new, healthier ways to find relief in challenging times.

I’m told that you do eventually come out of this stronger, with new coping mechanisms that help you grow rather than shrink you.

For now, I lost my “binkie”.

I consider myself a fairly logical and well-informed person. I know that human beings – particularly their bodies and their health – are fallible. I watch the news, I read health reports, I am aware of the risks that exist in the world – that on any given day, on any given moment, someone can be hit by illness or unforeseen tragedy.

And yet…

I have long believed I am invincible.

What? Really?

Ok, let’s be clear. I don’t have a death wish. And, I certainly don’t engage in reckless behavior believing I have unlimited lives.

However, the fact of the matter is that, for decades, I have engaged in extremely unhealthy eating patterns – pushing my body to its limits – believing it would never catch up to me.

“Not me,” I would think when I would read articles on the effects of chronic starvation.

“I’m not like other people,” “My situation is different,” “It hasn’t affected me so far, so it never will,” “I’m unique.”

These are the stories I told myself – much to the frustration of the people that cared about me. I did not say these things as a diversion or to appease others. I firmly believed that my body was immune to the effects of Anorexia.

Why? A few reasons:

• In the 19 years I have been on the eating disorder roller coaster, I have never had a single medical exam indicate health issues;
• No matter how little I ate in a given day, I always managed to keep going. Actually, not only keep going, but keep performing at an energetic pace. My heart kept beating; my blood tests appeared normal; and I never fainted – even when I spent 9 hrs on my feet at work with zero food in my body; and
• Restriction gave me a natural high and made me feel infinitely powerful.

Ok, so maybe not the best indicators of one’s invincibility. But, in the absence of any other proof of the damage I was doing, I clung to these reference points as gospel.

Until…

I recently mentioned that my blood work finally caught up with my eating disorder; and that the doctor feared the possible shut down of my liver, kidneys and heart. And, while scary, I knew that bed rest and Gatorade would help stabilize my electrolytes. I also knew that the eventual re-feeding process would bring everything back to normal.

No harm done, right?

Well…not quite.

While my blood work is trending toward normal after just 3 weeks of eating – food is my medicine these days – the same cannot be said for my bones.

When I went for a bone density test a month ago, I made jokes about being the youngest patient in the waiting room (by at least 15-20 years). “I’ll show them,” I told myself. “My body always surprises every one…I am indestructible!”

I said these things in jest because I didn’t want to believe any different.

And then the results came in.

Turns out that my hip bones are veering on the extremely fragile. At 40, I am as close to osteoporosis as I can get – with 92% of women in my demographic having better bones than me.

“Ok,” I say to the doc. “What do I do to fix this because we all know that breaking a hip usually brings lots of pain and subsequent health decline? Tell me doc and I’ll do it.”

Nothing. I, Christina “the Fixer” Peikert cannot fix this.

You see, bone cannot be rebuilt. At best, I preserve and protect an already sad state of bone density. At worst…I start meds when I turn fifty, face a post retirement in a shrunken body frame (call me granny leprechaun) and live with a high likelihood that I break my hip at some point in my lifetime.

Ah…maybe not so invincible then.

It is hard to accept that I have done irreparable damage to my body – harder still to admit that I was stubborn and just plain wrong. But it is now my reality…one I created…and one only I can prevent from getting worse by choosing recovery.

For anyone reading this who also believes they are untouchable; who think: “not me” as I tell my story, if you are right, hats off too you. Buy a lotto ticket because you are one in a million.

But, just ask yourself, what if you are wrong?

Afterall, even super heroes can fall…

 

If you have ever been close to someone with an Eating Disorder, you likely know how conversations with them can be tricky.  Emotional triggers can be hard to anticipate – often creating situations where everyone walks on eggshells.

One might assume that when someone with an ED decides they want to get better and begins treatment that communication becomes easier. But this could not be further from the truth. The path to recovery is a minefield.

While every person’s story is different, one common theme for anyone living with disordered eating is the overwhelming fear of gaining weight. This fear fuels the disorder and causes repeated unhealthy behaviours such as restricting and purging. When you are engaging in these behaviours, the fear is contained and controlled because the odds of weight gain remain relatively low.

AH…but when you start treatment, everything changes. You eat more…a lot more; and the fear grows – bite after bite, meal after meal. Suddenly, the prospect of gaining weight is no longer an irrational fear but a guaranteed result – leaving you hyper sensitive to every comment you hear. Every bit of feedback – even if it is innocuous – is taken over by the Eating Disorder in our head and played back through fear-fueled language designed to bring you back to your disordered eating.

Not sure what I mean? Let me paint you a picture

What someone says to person in recovery                  What someone in recovery hears

• You ate really well                                                        – woah, you ate soooooo much
• You look healthy                                                           – you look fat
• You look good                                                                – you look fat
• You really liked the chicken                                       – you ate soooooooo much chicken
• You were hungry                                                          – you ate sooooooooooo much
• I’m proud of you for having dessert                        – you should not have eaten dessert
• You seem good                                                              – you seem fixed
• I’M not hungry myself                                                – YOU shouldn’t be hungry either

I think you get the gist. When you begin treatment, every word, message, sentence is intercepted by the illness in your brain and modified to try to drive you back to your eating disorder behaviours. Even if you want to get better, a big part of you still seeks the comfort of your disorder. The battle is bigger than ever before because you are now tackling your issues head-on, living with quite a bit of distress while no longer being able to use your default coping mechanisms like restriction to cope and live through it. Ouf…

Reading this, one might think, “good grief…this is complicated. Maybe it is best not to engage  with these people at all.”

And sure, that might be easier. But then everyone misses out.  Because human connection is precisely what is required during this process. Here is what I suggest instead.

Listen!

You don’t have to be a cheerleader by commenting on someone’s size, looks, food consumption. If you do want to encourage, sentences like “you are strong”, “you can do this”, “I’m here for you” are all good.

One of my good and most precious friends often reminds me that food for me is like chemo for someone with cancer. Sure, it comes with all sorts of side effects but I would not hesitate to undergo chemo regardless of its impact. By doing this, she is helping me stay motivated without even seeing or knowing what I look like or what I eat.

And, when in doubt, simply ask the following: “is there anything I can say right now to help you with your journey?”

And, if you step on a mine…I promise there will be no casualties. Afterall, everyone I know is still alive 😊

 

Over the past few months, I have lived several firsts.

• I  won the professional lottery and found a unicorn job in an organization where I routinely exclaim after talking with someone: “I love him/her” ;
• I have fallen in love with the wonderful city that is Vancouver…sheer genuine love that I have not felt for a location since I touched down in London for the first time 2 decades ago;
• I have driven a rental car on my own in multiple new locations without disastrous consequences;
• I have discovered parts of Canada I had not seen before – such as Burlington and Edmonton (note to all: Edmonton is cold…pack your thermals if you go in February); and
• I have finally accepted the realities of chronic anorexia and stopped blaming myself for my relapses…particularly my most recent one.

Oh…she used the “R” word…

Relapse.

I have alluded to my recent relapse in other posts. What I did not share is the extent of it.

It is severe. I believe it is the worst one I have ever experienced.

Jaw drop… It has certainly shocked me, though it should not have. The signs were there and I spoke about them. Many people tried to help. I am and continue to be blessed by the most amazing group of people – from the best partner I could ask for to the most supportive family, friends and colleagues.

That said, my denial was strong (cue Amy Winehouse). And I was great at going through the motions of taking steps to change. Turns out I was lying to myself…out of shame, out of a false sense of self confidence that I had this in hand; and out of guilt for letting down my team at work. It was not intentional and I certainly never meant to mislead anyone. Still…I did…but only because I was incapable of being honest with myself and then accept and forgive where I was.

But denial is no longer an option. Last week, something happened that I truly and honestly never thought would occur. I sat in my doctor’s office and heard a diagnosis I never dreamed would come. After a 20-year battle, my body has finally crumbled under the effects of a lifetime of restriction – with phases of severe starvation. To listen to the words: “very concerned by your test results”, “immediate action”, and “possible death”, was a much-needed wake-up call.

And so, I embark on another first for me. On May 6th, I am starting intensive treatment at Montreal’s only private clinic for eating disorders – where I will undergo the most extensive, customized and integrated anorexia treatment that I have ever completed before.

I will embark on this challenge privately. Not because I don’t see benefit in sharing my experiences on this blog. Rather, I know that I need to focus  on my treatment right now. Where will I wind up? That remains to be seen. However, a few things are certain: I am in good hands, I am not alone and resistance is futile.

I hope to see you on the other side.

“It’s not your fault…”

I first saw Good Will Hunting over 2 decades ago and still remember the “It’s Not your Fault Scene.” It  was such a powerful moment that reflected the blame and burdens we carry and how hurtful these can be.

Early this week, I meet with a physician who specializes in Anorexia. We talked about my history with the illness – including my current, severe relapse.

“It’s not your fault Christina,” she said. “Anorexia is genetic which means that you were genetically predisposed to it. The gun was already loaded when you were born and life events simply pulled the trigger.”

“Oh I know…I learned that at the Douglas, but…”

She looked at me in the eye: “Christina, it’s not your fault….pause…it’s not your fault…it’s not your fault…”

Cue the Kleenex.

I have never blamed myself for falling into the initial Eating Disorder trap. It can sneak up on anyone. But, as I wiped my eyes in the doctor’s office, I realized that I have and continue to blame myself for the multiple relapses I have had, especially recently.

And, to be honest, I sometimes feel that others, without meaning to, blame me for not being able to change my behavior. “Just eat,” “you have to have dessert/protein/etc,” “we are here again?”…

I knew that long-term anorexia could chip away at your body and have long-term physical effects.  What I failed to truly grasp until this week was that it also had long-term effects on your brain. Persistent starvation not only starves your brain but it also alters you neurological functioning, making your brain more resistant to treatment.

As a result, what worked previously to reboot, often no longer works because the brain has changed since the last time.

“You need to approach your illness like any other chronic illness,” the doctor said to me. “If you had leukemia, would you blame yourself for a relapse? Would you tell yourself it was a mind-over-matter issue and think you could get better with medical treatment? Would you delay treatment because it was not a ‘good time’?”

Hmmm…all great questions… no matter the illness, knowing me, I would likely take a moment to debate all the pros/cons and timing/financial considerations. Still, even I had to admit that I was swayed by the stigma around mental illness being less “serious” than physical illness.

Still, the message eventually got through enough that I acknowledged I had to seriously think about treatment.

But the added challenge about chronic Anorexia is that the vital tool required to make informed decisions in your best interests is now hard-wired against recovery. A large part of my brain negatively perceives any decision that will help me stop the unhealthy behaviours as a threat – to its wiring and to the buzz it receives from the illness.

So now I have to rely on the healthy brains of others to help me and we all know that accepting help is a challenge for this self-proclaimed Wonder Woman.

Still, as any comic nerd would remind me, even Wonder Woman had the support of the Justice League.

 

 

I imagine it starts in a similar way for an alcoholic. You’ve acquired the tools, you’ve cleaned up your act and your are going to « meetings/therapy ». You are feeling good, healthy – you let your guard down.

Then comes the trigger – the thing that catches your attention and sets you off on an unhealthy, yet oh so comforting, path. 

For me, there were 2:

• Coping with the challenges, insecurities and loneliness involved with starting a new job; and
• Trying to get through the Christmas holidays without gaining weight.

These 2 stressors were difficult to deal with. So much so that I struggled. In the past, when I struggled, I turned to restriction to cope. I knew restricting was not the answer…

But I convinced myself it would be ok if I just did it a little. « Nothing bad will happen, » I told myself. « You are different  now. You are stronger, you know better than to lose control to restriction. You wrote a book about it! »

Hmmmmmmm

So just like the alcoholic, you have your first taste, confident you can remain in control…just a little bit and I will stop.

You are fooling yourself but you don’t realize it. And as with someone who is recovering from substance abuse, one sip becomes one drink, becomes many, and nothing ever seems enough. Just cut out one more food, just lose another pound, just…

THEN, then, you’ll stop.

At this point, the illness has spread like a cancer throughout your body and taken over your brain. Your weight plummets to levels you have not seen since your twenties. You wake up on day, look back and wonder how everything unravelled so quickly. Still, you can’t stop. You don’t know how and you are petrified of trying. 

You wake up in the middle of the night, doubled over in pain, a heaviness on your chest. You are afraid. Is your heart giving out?

You panic; I don’t want to die. You contemplate knocking on your sister’s bedroom door to beg her to take you to the hospital. You tell yourself to eat something and see what happens. You go back and forth until the strong soothing voice inside your head says: « shhhh, don’t do anything, just sleep. »

And so you do what you are told.

You know you need help but are in denial about how badly you need it. Help will likely mean going into treatment, which will topple your world yet again. The girls need me at home; I can’t leave work AGAIN; my team needs me; I can’t disappoint family and friends even more than I already have…all those proud faces  at the book launch.

The logic is flawed. There are no proud faces at a funeral; the kids and the team won’t benefit from my help if I am gone. I know this…I know…

This is the time to dig deep and turn it all around. This week, we are leveraging our vacation to try a reboot. If that does not work, Charles and I will have some tough decisions to make.

Let’s hope some of Disney’s magic sticks.

“Do, or do not, there is no try.” – Yoda

Hmmm, hang on a minute there Yoda. I am not sure I agree.

When it comes to anorexia recovery, trust me, there is a lot of trying. Sure, there are black and white metrics you could base yourself on to gauge performance: weight gain vs weight loss, eating vs restricting. But, applying the Green Jedi Master’s philosophy to my recovery would be unfair and simplistic.

To be clear…every morning, I wake up determined and trying. And, every night, I go to sleep vowing to try harder the next day. The level of daily effort required in recovery is extensive. And, because the constant battle happens only in my mind, no one – not even those closest to me – can truly see the extent of my struggle.

While it is hard to admit – especially after self-publishing a book about getting an edge on recovery – I have been having a bit of a hard time lately. The challenges and loneliness associated with starting a new job from scratch combined with the return of my depression made things difficult. But, I’m a fighter, I’ve lived through bigger changes. I moved to London at the drop of a hat, weighing 70 pounds, and survived. For years, I tackled every challenge Bombardier sent my way without batting an eyelash. I have proven I am strong.

Of course, this time, I know that I am not supposed to fall back on my default coping mechanism of control and restriction to get through the day. I know this like I know you need to eat, sleep and breathe to live. And yet…the current of temptation is strong and overpowering at times.

So what do I do? I make plans. I bargain with myself and use pep talks to motivate myself.

“Here’s what you are going to do, Christina. You are going to buy a Starbucks muffin today…or…you are going to follow a meal plan…or…you are gonna send out an SOS to your friends.”

And in that moment, when the plan forms, I feel energized, exhilarated. Hell yeah…let’s do this!!

And then a voice…my voice…starts to poke holes in the plan. And before you know it, I have talked myself out of the plan, deeming it impossible, silly and unrealistic.

Why?

Because a part of my brain has a different plan…a restriction plan…a lose weight and you’ll feel better plan.

Having anorexia is like having a cancer in your brain. Rather than attack your physical cells, it spreads like a wave over your thoughts. And it fights to the death to maintain its hold no matter what you throw at it. And just like cancer, sometimes the treatment doesn’t work; and, even when it does, sometimes it comes back, more resistant than ever.

But anorexia is viewed very differently than serious physical illness. People rarely say the cancer came back because you did not try hard enough to stay healthy. Why would they? It wouldn’t be fair to the patient, would it. And yet, I am the first to blame myself entirely for any regression I succumb to. Therein lies one of the biggest differences between mental and physical illness.

But blame gets us nowhere. Only action moves us forward.

So, I continue outpatient at the Douglas (at least for a few more months), I keep looking for other treatment options and I do my best to eat as much as possible to keep me from slipping backward.

Sometimes I do. Sometimes I do not. But, every day, I try.

The Netflix film, Bird Box, is getting a lot of hype these days.

If you have not heard about it, here is the basic premise. An unknown phenomenon starts to take over the world, causing people to turn violent, go mad and, ultimately, end their lives. The only constant is that people commit suicide after seeing “something” – a creature, an unknown force, it is a mystery. As a result, the world is forced to hoard supplies, shut out life, and wear blindfolds whenever they dare to go outside.

Much of the flak the movie is getting these days centers around its depiction of mental illness and suicide. I won’t go into the details but suffice to say that my interest in the story was piqued while my desire to watch the movie significantly waned.

So I read the book…

…in 2 days.

I was captivated from the start, hungry to learn the cause of the phenomenon, to better understand how the protagonists got to where they were, and eager to see if they would be successful in their mission to reach “safety.” The story didn’t just entertain me, it got me thinking.

First, while there has been much negative press about the fact that the characters in the film with mental illnesses are immune to the “evil creatures,” I see it a bit differently than most.

Sure, I suppose you could focus on the fact that the story implies that people with mental illnesses are already “crazy” so the creatures cannot affect them. And perhaps the film portrays people with mental illness unfairly. Having no intention of watching it, I cannot comment. What I will say is that I find the fact that the one character in the book who may have a mental illness does not “go mad” is a testament to his strength. Anyone who has battled a mental illness is a gladiator – whose strength is demonstrated every day. So I like to think that the reason the aforementioned character can live freely with these evil forces without losing his mind is not because his mind is already lost. Rather, it is because he has built up a mental, emotional and physical strength through his own battles that enables him to keep the demons at bay. Put simply, he is stronger than most.

Still, I’ll leave this debate to the Internet “gods”.

Beyond this point, reading the book triggered a few other thoughts – particularly about Anorexia recovery.

There are days when I feel like the characters in the book, fighting to keep a powerful destructive force out of my home and, definitely out of my sight. In my story, the negative creature is Anorexia (anorexic thoughts, behaviours and the tiny voice inside my head that whispers….restrict!). I am always at risk of “seeing it” and losing my healthy self.

Some days, I am tempted to do what the protagonists do in the book, shut out the world. Blacken the windows, lock the doors and shelter myself from everyone and everything. It feels safer.

This is when depression sets in.

Other days, I go out into the world, refusing to let anything stop me from living. But, in a sense, I always wear a blindfold to try to keep me from “seeing” my old friend anorexia and running into its comforting arms. My blindfold takes on many forms, distraction, therapy, family and friends – anything that can help me from falling into the trap I know so well. And the trap that has caught many around the world.

I’ve been thinking a lot recently about finding a magical pot of gold and going to a treatment center for 3 months. Few would probably see the appeal. You leave your life behind and move into an unknown place with strangers and work on healing. For me, I think it represents an opportunity to take refuge in a recovery haven where you look Anorexia right in the eye every day for months, with no opportunity to fall into its grasp. Some would say it is running away and there are no guarantees it will be successful. Others might say it is selfish – to leave my family when outpatient options exist. Certainly, my bank account and my current employer would say it is less than ideal.

And maybe all those things are true.

What I do know is that, like the lead character in the book, Malorie, I cannot stay in my current state forever. Eventually, something will have to change in order to attain a better, healthier existence. Making this change will require more strength and courage than I have ever had to muster. It will be petrifying at times and it will hurt. But, I will look Anorexia in the eye at some point…and I won’t blink, I won’t fall backward.

Keep rowing Malorie…I am…