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We go around the room introducing ourselves. I work in HR; I am creative; I’m a mother; I work in IT… Some stand at the back of the room, others come to the front. As my turn comes closer, I start to get butterflies in my stomach, my face starts to flush. Close your eyes…breathe…and go.

I boost myself up and sit on the windowsill so no one asks me to stand up even when I am standing (comedians!) and say: “My name is Christina Peikert and I am…a work in progress.”

There were so many things I could have said but none seemed to define me so perfectly…especially for my first coaching class.

Yup, after decades of being outside of the classroom, I have returned to my Alma Mater – Concordia – to start a new phase of my life. I am not sure where it will take me. Will it simply make me a better leader and person? Will it open doors into the world of HR? Or will it lead to an entirely new career, one where I make coaching my life’s work? I honestly don’t know. But I like the feeling of possibility.

I’ve tended to be a leap before you look type of person. Sure, after I’ve taken the plunge, I will plan the heck out of the journey but some of my greatest moments have started with an impulse and a certainty that I have to follow-through. Years ago when I heard about a job opportunity in London, I pounced. I did not spend sleepless nights analyzing the opportunity before I raised my hand. I wanted it, I went for it, and then just kept going. Then, when I had had enough of London, I just resigned. No lining up another job, no worrying about moving back home. I just walked in one day, handed in my notice, hopped on the tube, went back to my flat, drank an entire bottle of wine and boom, goodbye London, nice to see you again Montreal!

At about this time last year, as my world started to shift and I lost my footing, a good friend asked me what I loved to do most in my job. I stared blankly at first. But, driving into the office one day, it hit me. I was happiest and most energized when I was coaching others, listening to them and helping them find the answers they were looking for, seeing people blossom. I started to investigate this coaching stuff and really liked what I heard. Not only are there some outstanding schools out there to become certified but every single qualified coach I spoke with loved what they were doing. I envied their passion and was drawn to their mandates.

Coaching is essentially a relationship that helps individuals or groups discover who they are – their goals, their potential – and help them achieve the results they seek through a journey of self-discovery and personal growth.

It is a legitimate profession that is neither sports coach nor psychologist but that leverages some of the same elements – motivation, action, results, mindfulness, listening. You don’t give your playbook for their games of life; you help them find their own. And you don’t spend time analyzing the past to “fix” the present. Rather, you work with people to help them identify what they truly want, and then support, guide and challenge them to define and implement their paths toward achieving their goals. It is not about giving them the answers they want; it is about helping them find their answers.

I was drawn to coaching immediately. And, after my own year of self-discovery, I am even more enamoured with it. I have been blessed with so much support that I want to pay it forward by being of service to others.

Walking into Loyola campus after almost 20 years felt both familiar and surreal. I was nervous. Here’s a little secret about me: I’m naturally shy. Put me at a cocktail party with people I don’t know and I want to disappear. But, if someone breaks the ice or if I am forced out of my shell in order to achieve, I can play the part of extrovert.

So, at the start of the session, I wasn’t sure I was up to the challenge. I was out of practice, my mind was not as clear as it had once been, my confidence was shaky. But, by the end of the 2 days, I was energized, I was comfortable and I was sure this was a program that would help shape my future.

Time to get cracking. I have fieldwork to complete, a mentor coach to secure and coachees to find.

Peikert….

Leap!

 

 

This has been a year of goodbyes: some more dramatic than others, some more final than others, and some definitely more painful than others.  And, while goodbyes are never easy and regrets are difficult to get over, 2017 has been essential to improving my health, my spirit and my life…or so I keep telling myself.

When I first started outpatient treatment, I was asked to give away my scales. “No problem,” I thought. I proudly marched the 2 scales to my parents’ house and skipped home. For 2 days, I kept forgetting they were gone – absentmindedly going to my closet several times a day to step on my old friends in hopes of getting a number I liked. I felt haunted. Eventually, the feeling subsided, the once over-powering need for them dissipated and I stopped mourning their loss…Until…a few months later, when I was gearing up for the return to work that never happened, and I bought another scale.

Ok, not my smartest move. Within weeks, weighing myself became a fixation – so much so that, fed up one day with the hold it had on me, I deliberately smashed it in the garage. Glass everywhere…This time, goodbye felt good and I felt strong.

Scales gone for good, I also said goodbye to my Fitbit, my weekly runs (I miss you endorphins), to skim milk, low fat jams and all diet products I owned. Let’s be honest, they don’t really taste good anyway. 

I said goodbye to some fundamental parts of my life as well – like my career (at least as I knew it). Everyone tells me it is not over, just changing. And while it is hard to accept some days, there is no escaping it. Linked to this, I said goodbye to my workaholic self, the one chained to my blackberry with an almost Pavlovian reaction to the red flashing light. I cannot lie. She’s still here inside me and really wants to come out to play but this time away has helped me learn to limit her activity. Still, I miss her, miss my career and struggle with the unknown surrounding my return to work. 

My favorite goodbye was to insomnia. For as long as I can remember, my sleep was interrupted nightly by my thoughts. In high school, it was all about my course load, my grades, the exam question I got wrong. Later, it was about the work stress on my mind, the mommy failures, the comment someone made that hurt me, the plan I was drafting in my mind to ensure I accomplished everything that needed to be done, the tough discussion I needed to have…etc.

I won’t lie, it took medication to help me get here but now I sleep deeply and soundly, without the help of any crutch.

Of course, with goodbyes, come new beginnings. I said hello to help, acceptance and compassion, to new foods (yogurt? Who knew you were good), to larger portions (seriously, people eat this much every day? Really???) and to new friends. I’ve formed stronger bonds with the people in my life and I have discovered what it feels like to be truly present with my children. And, I’ve come to accept that I may not have a job to come back to; I may have to start a new career. A year ago, I would have said that this scared me more than anything. But, I now know that clinging to what was is futile because it no longer is. People move on, companies change…I’ve changed. After almost a year away (a year!!!!), I no longer value myself based on my work (past or future). I am my own jumble of pieces redefining my life puzzle. The work piece will probably be one of the last to be added but it will undoubtedly give a whole new shape to the picture. 

Several maybes exist in my life right now. Maybe I’ll start using my voice more often to assert myself. Maybe I will share myself more with others and feel the power of being understood again and again. Maybe I will turn this blog into something more. Maybe I will have a growth spurt at menopause instead of during puberty…no? Not medically possible? Sigh…

Well universe…I’m open to anything.

“Some of your biggest mistakes are worth it if they teach you important  lessons that you can pass on to your girls and save them pain down the road.” – Anonymous

Someone said this to me a little while ago and it really hit home. The past year has allowed me to teach my girls the things I have been discovering while embracing the lessons they have for me.

Perfection

“What did we learn about perfection girls?”

A soft voice from the backseat answers: “It doesn’t exist.”

That’s right my sweet Zoe. Shoot for the stars, apply yourself and always give it your best. But don’t spend your life beating yourself up if you are not the best at everything. And don’t limit yourself to the things you excel at. Persevere, try, keep trying but don’t go to the ends of the earth in pursuit of something that does not exist.

Be in the moment

“Breathe, my little Lily. Don’t worry about Daycare tomorrow. We are having fun coloring and cuddling. We can deal with Daycare in the morning. Stressing about it now won’t change anything. All it will do is prevent you from enjoying our time together, right now.”

This is a big life lesson. Worrying and getting worked up about something you either cannot change or is only a mere possibility robs you of living, steals away precious moments.

Be seen, be understood

This is something it took me decades to learn.  I have always known that people need human connections to survive and thrive. What I did not realize is that to connect with others – have true, powerful connections – you need to be seen for who you are and feel understood. There is nothing more lonely than keeping parts of yourself hidden and preventing others from understanding who you are and loving you – wobbly bits and all, quirky sides and all, faults and all.

Now that I know this, I encourage my girls to share their thoughts and feelings, to express who they are freely, to share their needs. Admittedly, I sometimes am too soft with them in my quest to embrace their true spirits but luckily I have a few people in my life that I can inspire myself from to find the right level of rigidity and authority. I am a work in progress here.

Zoe and Lily lessons

Just as I share my wisdom, I have now slowed down enough to see the lessons my girls can teach me. 

Laugh…ok, so they fight, they whine, they get angry, but our household is filled with laughter most of the time. The best laughter of all – deep belly-cramp giggles that are infectious and that make you smile when you hear them. The kind you would like to record and have as your daily soundtrack.

Forgive…there are times when the forgiveness starts more as a parental request. But young children generally do not bear grudges. They seem better at separating the act from the person. 

Embrace who you are. The other day, Zoe looked at herself in the mirror and said: “I’m fabulous” just as Lily ran through the house naked asking me to look at her big, big belly, beaming with pride. Really, need I say more about this? I wish we all kept this level of unblemished self-confidence, this lack of questioning ourselves and just knowing deep within our souls how wonderful we are. 

Do we have more to learn? Yes. Will we sometimes realize that some of these lessons are a bit Utopian? Yes. But something amazing happened this week. I was driving Zoe to school and explaining to her why Tuesdays were a bit stressful due to the weigh-ins. I told her I was ok for this week but was worried about next week. She looked at me and said:

“But Mommy, how can you be worried about next week when it is not even next week yet.”

And so the student teaches the master. Well done, Jedi Zoe!

Life with an eating disorder (ED) is very much like being in a fun house. You live in a perpetual state of distortion: physical, emotional and cognitive.

Body image distortions are typical of someone with an ED. It can happen when you look in the mirror; you see chubby when others see bone. It can happen when you look at yourself in pictures. It can happen when you are in the shower or getting dressed and you feel a little extra flesh. To be honest, it can even happen when you look at others. Either you see them as thinner than they are and you are envious; or you see them as bigger than they truly are.

One of the hardest things for me during recovery has been feeling my body changing – feeling soft flesh where I used to feel taught skin. Even though my weight gain has been relatively small compared to my first recovery 10 years ago, I mourn the loss of my angular body daily. I curse the curves I feel appearing. I look at pictures of myself when I was at a healthy weight and I think: big. I didn’t at the time, but now I do. And even though I can see the nonsense of it all, I cannot seem to find the right lens to look through. And, unfortunately, until I do, I live my days pushing away the unease I feel with how I look, knowing that I have to keep eating while desperately hoping my vision corrects itself soon.

Then there are the emotional distortions. As an insecure, conflict avoiding overachiever, I’ve long developed a habit of keeping negative thoughts and feelings inside, pushing them away, swallowing them whole. Doing this has been my way of avoiding certain feeling and thoughts, and generally from dealing with s**t. Just keep swimming, Peiky. Don’t think; don’t feel; just…keep…swimming. I’ve found that if you do this enough, without realizing it, you become numb, out of touch with who you are, what you want and how you feel.

For example, I felt angry when I was really hurt, restless when I was really lonely and anxious when I was actually afraid. I’m still untangling all this but I have recently expanded my emotional vocabulary from the 5 emotions featured in the film Inside Out (anger, joy, fear, disgust and sadness) to well over 25 different feelings. Take that Pixar!

Then we enter the chamber of cognitive distortions. These are the most damaging in my opinion because they can be deeply rooted in your psyche and span all areas of your mind. While I’ve fallen victim to several of these, Black or White thinking is one of my “favorites”. Miss a meal, the day is a right-off so why bother trying; have a tough time at work, time to find a new job; someone hurts your feelings, they don’t care about you so cut them out; hit another car, you shouldn’t be driving…well… maybe that one is more a reality than a distortion. (Is this driving humor getting old? Cause I could go on forever)

I’m also great at overgeneralizing. I have fat, so I am fat. I was impatient with my girls, I am a horrible mother; I went on sick leave, I’m weak, washed up and no one will want me.

These are all thoughts I’ve had but know deep down are untrue. Still, when you live in the funhouse, you sometimes forget what is real. You need to be strong to keep your eyes and your mind in focus. Some days are more successful than others.

So, I continue my way toward the exit of this house of mirrors I made for myself. I know it will take time and I will take a wrong turn here or there. But, when I do find my way out, I will not leave empty-handed. I will be wiser, more confident, more relaxed about the things I cannot control (which, let’s be honest, is a lot)…

Oh! And I’m totally bringing the mirror that makes me look 6ft tall as a memento.

I grew up watching baseball. My mom was a fan and she passed her love for the game to her two girls. We went to games, listened to them on the radio and – as we got older and the Expos got better – we watched every game on TV. The 1992 season will forever be etched in my memory – a winning team poised for greatness but overcome by circumstances beyond its control.

Being in the Day Program is a bit like baseball meets Big Brother.

We all know that in baseball, three strikes, and you’re out. Not of the game, but of the inning. Well, the weight contract at the Douglas is similar. If you miss your weekly weight target 3 times, you are out (with a few exceptions). Not of the recovery “game” but of the daily program you have come to rely on. It may sound unfair, and maybe it is…but this is what I signed up for. These are the rules of the game.

I got my second red flag last week so I am feeling the pressure. Just like the third batter in the ninth inning, down by a run with two outs, I am in my own personal hot seat. Turns out that gaining weight is not a perfect science. If you try to control how much you gain, it can backfire…badly. I am 4 weeks in and despite my increased food intake, my weight has gone down, up and then down – back to my original starting point a month ago.

But, if baseball has taught me anything, it is this. It ain’t over, till it’s over!!

To boost my weight gain, I signed up for extra dessert portions (I believe this is a first for the Program) and I may add an extra item to my afternoon snack. And, this weekend, on the road, I was put to the test. My brain was a jumble of questions. Should I have a snack even if it is close to lunch? Yes. Should I have wine with dinner? Yes! Should I have dessert? Yes, Yes, Yes! Should I have ordered the gingerbread pancakes? God woman! Yes! What is the matter with you? Gingerbread!!!

For every yes, there is always a voice telling you: no. Or, warning you that you should restrict the rest of the day to compensate. You have to keep battling this way, at every meal, at every snack, at every thought. And then you have to try to trick yourself into kicking the restriction can further down the street, delaying rather than succumbing to the desire to cut back, hoping that if you keep telling yourself you can restrict later and then don’t, that the urges will eventually go away and later never comes.

There is also an element of Big Brother in the Day Program. You essentially live in a house, with a group of people you didn’t know beforehand, being watched by a team of people – not a production team but a health care team. Stressful situations occur for others to see, friendships are developed and broken and, every once in a while, there is a shock departure.

Last week, we saw three people leave the Program. And, even if we knew it was a possibility, I don’t think we were prepared for it when it happened. It is hard to watch people go when they so clearly want to stay and heal but their bodies struggled to follow a linear weight increase. It makes you angry, outraged, scared, sad and tired. You share the grief and fear of your soon-to-be departed friends and you wonder, selfishly, if you will be next. What will happen to them? What will happen to you? No one is left alone – without support or access to treatment – when they are asked to leave the Day Program. But, while I have not lived it yet, in the moment, I imagine you must feel the most alone you have ever felt.

If I strike out of the Day Program, I still have the Day Hospital as an option. Same place, same group, you just stay until 7:30 pm every day (instead of 3:30) in order to eat a carefully portioned dinner with dessert. Sure, it will be inconvenient and it is by no means my goal, but it is reassuring right now to have that as an option. Because, even though I pretend to be Wonder Woman, I know I have not earned my wristbands yet. Though I did buy a pair of booths recently that would make her jealous.

The road to recovery is bumpy, with speed traps, roadblocks and detours. It can sometimes feel like driving around in circles or in a dense fog. But it is one road I will not get off, no matter what happens at weigh-in tomorrow, in the Day Program or, if it comes to it, in the Day Hospital. I’ll keep driving and see where this path takes me. Fingers crossed I don’t hit anything along the way.

Today, I am putting aside eating, weight and self-help issues. Don’t worry, we’ll come back to these soon enough. Right now, I have road trips on my mind.

I come from a long line of non-drivers (or late bloomers with regards to getting a license). We never had a car growing up, so apart from a few drives with my aunt and uncle from Toronto to Montreal, our vacations away always involved airplanes (Florida, Europe) – and I’m not complaining.  But I never really identified with the National Lampoon family vacations.

My first real road trip was in my late 20s – driving (not me.  Thank you Jacksons!) from London, to Manchester, then Newcastle and Edinburgh. Not a bad way to start…the views…the pubs!!

Over the years, I developed a newfound love of car trips. As the eternal passenger, I could do anything: enjoy the view, sing at the top of my lungs, snack, read, sleep. Nirvana! And we took some incredible trips driving to the Grand Canyon, New York, around Arizona and, ok Tymchuks, even Wildwood.

And then along came Zoe. My wonderful and magical baby girl – who rejected all naps and detested long car rides. New parents determined to show that a baby hadn’t changed us, we took to the open road with our four-month-old in search of adventures in Washington. I remember screaming, crying, frequent stops for feedings and even a few masterful car seat changes while Charles was driving (don’t tell social services). Oh, did I forget to mention? Princess didn’t like having a wet diaper. So I spent most of the drive in the back seat beside her, jiggling toys and reading Hello Monkey non stop. Six years later and I can still recite that book. The time in Washington made the trip worth it – love that city! But, for weeks after we got back home, I wouldn’t take Zoe in the car for more than 15 minutes. Call it post traumatic road trip syndrome.

She got better with age, but up until a year ago, boredom always kicked in eventually and the last 2 hours of any leg were always brutal.

When Lily popped into the picture, I hoped they would entertain each other. But despite having very different personalities – Lily the entertainer versus Zoe the lawyer – both girls have the exact same car aversion. Lily added a new quirk to the mix. She has a strong sense of touch and needed my physical presence to reassure her. She would scream if she could not touch me in some way. So, I’ll admit to having ridden for hours holding the only body part I could reach from the front seat: her foot!

Both girls like variety and like to move so long car or plane rides are a challenge. To ease things, we’ve developed a few tricks:

• Snacks…lots of snacks. We let them pack their own but I always have a full arsenal to back up their selections.
• Surprises…Before any trip, we go to the dollar store and buy a bunch of little blind bags, activity books, etc. The idea is to have enough for every hour of the trip so that they are frequently stimulated. The only problem is that Lily wants to open them all in the first hour and then starts eyeing Zoe’s. Thankfully, my little hoarder Zoe is usually willing to give some to her sister.
• Silly! I pretty much leave any rules and formality at home and pull out anything in my tickle trunk to entertain them. Funny faces, bad jokes, dancing… you name it, I’ve probably done it.

It doesn’t always work. And, I usually need a massage by the end of the trip due to all the back and forth between the front and back seats. You can usually gauge how the trip went by the size of my wine glass when we arrive at our destination.

This weekend we are heading to Boston. The girls packed their bags a week ago and are super excited. In truth, I am too. I love Boston – the people, the mix of new and old, the vibe, the activities and even the restaurants.

Ok girls, your caterer/entertainer/activities coordinator/ mediator/kindergarten teacher/mommy is ready. Let’s do this!

Um Charles? Are we there yet?

I like to say I was born picky; it helps explain away my eating quirks. And, while it isn’t exactly true, I did start demonstrating a discriminating palate at a very young age. I shunned eggs from the moment I started eating solids. 39 years later and my egg phobia is as strong as ever. Tears would flow if my mom tried to put a bit of butter on my toast. Fish sticks? Forget it! Lobster? A sea insect!? you’ve got to be joking. Custard? What the hell is wrong with you!!!

Many kids go through a phase of picky eating and then outgrow it. No such luck for my poor parents. As I got older, long before I discovered calories and fat grams, I became even more selective. Nice knowing you cheese, tuna fish and shrimp! Taste wasn’t just an issue; texture became problematic as well. So long pudding, yogurt and apple sauce! It’s not you, ribs and chicken wings, it’s me. Go find someone that will appreciate you for what you are – bones and all.

And then, of course, came anorexia – where entire food categories became verboten.

I tried to make light of it all, even coined my nickname: Picky Peiky. But it wasn’t fun being me; always worried when I went for a meal outside of the house; avoiding work functions because I knew I would spend the evening starving and grumpy.

And then…I married a foodie.

I won’t lie. Early on, I wasn’t sure we were going to make it – convinced that our mismatched eating habits would come between us. A few cases in point…There was the first time I went for breakfast with Charles’ parents. I had visions of Chez Cora. We went for Dim Sum! There was our first anniversary dinner when Charles suggested a restaurant to celebrate. I was scandalized because he hadn’t checked the menu to ensure I would eat there; he was shocked to learn that he would even have to. And then there was the time we went out for Chinese food and I asked him what he was eating. He chuckled and said “you don’t want to know.” He was right. I didn’t.

“This isn’t going to work,” I thought. “He doesn’t get me.” God knows what he was thinking but I’m pretty sure it was something along the lines of she’s crazy.

Still, we adapted over time. He now religiously checks menus to ensure his 3 girls will eat. I’ve found 5 things on the menu at any Chinese restaurant that I eat (pssst…steamed white rice is one of the five). I’ve even added things to my repertoire: steak, hamburgers, spring rolls, Pho.

Being married to a foodie has allowed me to try some of the city’s great restaurants, places I would never think of going. And I’ve enjoyed them – admittedly more for the ambiance than the food in some cases but still…That’s not to say there have not been a few fiascos – like the time we went to Joe Beef and the only 2 items I could eat were the 16-ounce filet mignon or roasted pigeon. I went with the pigeon, thinking it would be close to chicken. I didn’t expect the full bird – feet and all – to appear before me. Nor did I expect it to have the texture of very rare beef (I eat my steak well done). Still, I got a good story out of it.

Over the years, I’ve started to treat Charles to food dates for special occasions. This weekend, we went to Gibbys – something we’ve talked about doing for years. I was ready. I’d studied the menu beforehand so there was no anxiety about what I would eat. The food – from the bread to the salad and the steak – was excellent. The waitress was funny and extremely attentive. Calories were forgotten for the night and I even had more than one glass of wine. It was one of our best meals in a long time.

Best of all… there wasn’t a pigeon in sight.

 

What do you think? What restaurant should we go to next time?

 

 

I’m living a lie. Every day, I get up, put on my work clothes and beg, bribe, threaten, cajole my girls to get ready and off to school. I tell them I need to be on time because my new boss is super strict and won’t understand if I am late again due to hairstyle dramas and outfit tantrums. My girls believe I go to work every day and use my lunch hour to run errands, color pictures for them, and wash their favorite clothes so they can wear them the next day. I have really…really…long lunch hours.

I believe this lie is ok for several reasons:

• It helps them with their day-to-day. When they knew I was off work and seeing many doctors, they became extremely clingy and tried whatever excuse they could find to stay home. School drop offs were more difficult. Lily would go to bed every night begging me not to go to daycare the next day. And, while they never said it, I believe they were scared that I was really sick. I tried to explain my health issues in ways they could understand (“the doctors are helping mommy eat more”) and reassure them (“I’m not going anywhere”). I even involved them in making a sticker board to track my food intakes (6 intakes per day gets you a sticker). Still…it was a hard time for them. And, since I’ve “returned to work”, they are back to their old routine. Lily has settled back in to daycare. There are less tears, less hassles and it works for us.

 

• It actually isn’t a lie. I AM going to work every day. It may not be in an office and it certainly does not bring in a full pay cheque (though insurance coverage is admittedly good). The output of my work may sometimes be harder to see and the projects are more long term, but this is certainly work…hard, physically and emotionally draining work. Internal politics exist, power struggles – albeit of a different nature – abound and we get weekly performance evaluations – courtesy of the almighty scale. We give and receive constructive feedback, we lead discussions, we facilitate problem resolution and we team build. I’m still trying to figure out how to convince everyone, therapists included, to participate in a lip synch battle.

 

• It makes me feel better. I think that sometimes you have to dress the part. Over the years, I have developed my sense of style at work. The clothes and definitely the shoes gave me confidence, added a spring to my step. When I went off work, my uniform became yoga pants and sweaters. I started to wear my “skinny” like a wet blanket. My clothes reflected my spirit. I could feel my shoulders sag when I wore my comfy clothes and, at the time, it felt good.

 

But after I regained my fighting spirit in early September, I started to explore my closet again. Jeans, dresses, skirts and heels were all welcomed back in my life like beloved old friends. And, I started to see my mood shift; my swagger reappeared. I found the old – but also new – me. And then I started receiving comments from strangers about my appearance, my shoes, my looks. I’m not used to getting stopped on the street but it has happened more than once recently. And it was all down to my newfound confidence and the greater happiness I felt. And, like a positive cycle, these comments made me smile, sing a little louder, dance with a little more abandon. I’m not suggesting wearing a mask and pretending everything is ok. Doing that will crush your soul. And, this certainly won’t work for a person with depression. But, I am suggesting that, if you can, add a little color to the shadows you see. I still cry when I’m hurt, whether I am wearing yellow shoes or not. The idea is to find the things that help boost you, that tease out the authentic you and help you see the beauty in the world – even as you acknowledge your pain or voice your frustration.

 

So week three is well underway. I’ve reached my target weight for last week and done my celebratory dance. But, there is more to do. Time to put on my polka dot dress and orange pumps and head to the most important job (other than being a mom) I’ve ever had: healing.

Can’t be late, girls. I can’t…be… late.