Yes. Have you heard of something called “self-objectification”? It is the effect of moving through the world imagining how your body looks to others: perhaps checking yourself out in the mirror, adjusting clothing, taking selfies–the awareness of your body moving through space and the impact your “image” has on others. As if part of your consciousness is outside of yourself, looking in. Self-objectification is so so common. We all do it. Does my hair look ok? Can you take another picture? I wish my thighs were more toned. Do this ____make my ____ look _____? Remember when you were a kid and you just went to the beach? Or, maybe take a page out of Teddy’s book, in the first photo. She doesn’t care about her beach body. She just wants to be on the beach, running, free. Self-objectification prevents us from being present, from enjoying life. It blocks creativity and flow state. The remedy? Embodiment. Presence. Body neutrality (the art of worrying about other things—how you look is truly probably the least interesting thing about you!) Mindfulness. How does my body feel? What can my body do? Am I hungry? What food do I love to eat? Am I thirsty? What would I like to drink? How does the sun or water FEEL on my skin? How does the sand feel between my toes? Can I taste the air on my tongue? Do my muscles feel tense or relaxed? Am I breathing from my belly or my chest? Do I want to move or rest? And so on. No matter what, though, the beach is ready for you. I created a course to introduce you to these topics and more. It’s called you Weigh Less on the Moon.
Imagine that you’re stuck in the middle of the Amazon forest. You have no idea where you are. You’re terrified and hungry.
All of a sudden a man (or a woman) emerges from the bushes. They tell you, “I can help you get out of here. I can help you find your way home”. With relief, you follow them.
They slash through the bush with a certain confidence. They feel comfortable to be around. But after some time, doubt fills your mind.
A little while later you, still following this guide, but mind racing with doubt, both come upon someone else, coming from the other direction.
“That’s not the way out,” this new person exclaims, once you’ve greeted one another, “Follow me, I know how to get you out of here.” And there’s something about their scent or voice, you’re not sure what, but you like them better than the other guide, or maybe the same, you don’t know, but for whatever reason you choose to follow them.
And so you leave the first guide, thank them for their help (they really were helpful after all, but this new guide, well they’re really something) and all, and say, “My heart says I should follow this new guide”. And now you’re off, travelling in an entirely different direction, on what you hope is your way out of the jungle.
The truth is, every way is the way out. Perhaps some ways are faster than others, but one thing is certain, if you continue to travel in any one direction for a long enough period of time, you will eventually leave the dark woods.
What will keep you in the jungle, however, is switching direction, switching guides. Imagine you’re almost out of there: a few hundred metres away, and you find a new guide, turn around and immediately follow them further into the bush.
So it is with healing.
Sometimes we need to pick someone–a therapist, doctor, teacher, mentor, sometimes for no better reason than we like their voice or their website or we resonate with something they’re sharing from the heart–and we need to choose them and let them guide us.
No, we don’t need to do everything they say. We don’t need to follow them blindly. We can follow them with a sense of integrity and skepticism, of course, but if we choose their guidance, and their path towards healing, perhaps we need to see it through.
I find that, as it’s often the case with anxious patients, we constantly feel the need to reach for the new solution, the new single ingredient that will make us healthy and whole. That extra thing. That missing thing. That shiny new theory, or condition, or treatment.
“Perhaps I have histamine intolerance”
“Maybe I’m eating too many lectins”
“I think I need to test my oxalates”
“Maybe I’m zinc deficient”
“Maybe it’s my estrogen dominance”
It could be any one of those things, but if you find your wheels spinning, flipping from one therapist to another, and preventing any one of them from really getting a sense of who you are or what you need then I suggest you… stay.
Who do you stay with?
Stay with the one who listens.
If anyone is offering you a simple solution, a one-trick fix (and if any one is a one-trick pony, you know them, the ones who apply their theory to everyone they work with), then please run.
Your health and wellness does not boil down to one thing, one practice, one supplement, one root cause.
Stay with the one who listens. The one who repeats back to you what you said and adds more to it. The one who synthesizes and summarizes your problem in a way that clicks something into place.
Stay with the one who talks to you, not their team of followers.
The one who has your case information, not the yoga instructor you chat with after class while you’re putting your shoes back on, not the supplements salesperson who said “It’s probably your hormones” and hands you a bottle of 15 ingredients, not the documentary you watched on Netflix that applies one-size-fits-all diet advice to you and 6 billion others without even knowing your name.
Or, maybe stick with them… but stick with one of them. See their advice through to the end.
Maybe stick with the one who says, “Hm, this sounds like…” and proceeds to connect the dots for you, in front of your eyes. Who seeks to educate you. Who thinks about your case between visits. Who says things like “I consulted with my colleagues about your case to ask and…” and things like “I was thinking about/reviewing your case the other day and thought about…”
Stay with the one who refers you to other practitioners. Stay with the one who answers your pointed health questions with “It depends” or “Normally yes, but in your case…” or “A lot of the time no, but it’s possible that in your case…”
Psychoanalyst Francis Weller urges us to practice restraint. To pause. To reflect on our needs. He urges us to practice humility.
I love working with patients who show up humble, kneeling at the alter of their own healing, saying, “I found your website” or “My friend referred you” and then proceed to tell their stories, and receive my assessment.
They help me practice humility as well. To receive their cases with humility (not with my already always listening). To receive them with patience. To take my time. To do my research. To check in: “How does this sound…”.
I kneel at the alter of healing beside them.
We set an intention of working together–walking together—out of this wilderness.
Our beliefs come from external factors: our research, others’ stories, things we read, things we see, and internal factors: personal observation of our own experiences.
My beliefs about food have formed through reading scientific studies and nutritional studies, to an understanding of biochemistry and anthropological data, to my own embodied experiences and my clinical experience.
These beliefs inform the way I practice and form biases in the way I do further research or understand patient experience and my own experience with food. These beliefs informed the way I put together my foundational program and how I position food on Instagram and on Youtube–these are the beliefs that form the messaging and the medicine.
I thought it would be interesting to write them down to declare them explicitly and examine them.
What do you believe about food and nutrition?
I believe that food contributes to our health and to disease.
I don’t believe that food is the ONLY factor in contributing to these things, obviously. I think food plays more of a role in our health (much more) than conventional medicine would claim. But, I also believe it is less of a direct factor in our health than many Instagram influencers or nutritional salespeople (you know the ones I’m talking about, the ones who write books call “The Cure for X Disease” and things like that) would assert.
For example, I don’t think that you can cure cancer with carrot juice.
I also don’t think that, if you’re sick or know someone who is sick in some way that you or they got there because of your food choices. Chocolate cake didn’t give you diabetes. Gluten didn’t cause your depression.
But I do wholeheartedly believe that food plays a key role in shaping us: our physical and emotional and mental bodies. Food contains the nutrients we need to function. It feeds our cells, our microbiome, it shapes our bodies.
It’s crucial to recognize that while food is a significant aspect of our overall health, it’s not the sole determinant of our well-being.
Each person’s health journey is unique and multifaceted, encompassing not just dietary choices but also lifestyle factors, mental health, and environmental influences. This is where organizations like Buoy Health come into play, assisting individuals in navigating their health concerns and finding the right care tailored to their specific needs. By focusing on a holistic approach, this platform empowers people to understand the root causes of their health issues, helping them to develop informed strategies that incorporate nutrition alongside other vital aspects of health management.
Ultimately, acknowledging the role of food is essential, but it’s equally important to seek comprehensive solutions that address the entire spectrum of our health, ensuring we thrive both physically and mentally.
Food is one of the important ways that our bodies receive input from the outside environment. This information is communicated through specific plant nutrients, like resveratrol found in red grapes, or in the foreign compounds and toxins that pollute the regions where we live.
Through food we can heal. Through food choices, over time—nutrient deficiencies, or surviving off of too many things that aren’t really food—disease can start to form.
Food connects us to the earth.
2. I believe that our bodies are intelligent. Our bodies have evolved mechanisms that can communicate to us what they need–if we listen.
Our taste receptors tell us about the quality of the food we’re consuming. Freshly picked in-season fruits and vegetables taste very different than out-of-season, bland ones. The richness of flavour often corresponds to the richness of the nutrients present in the foods we eat.
We crave animal fat. We crave sugar. We crave salt.
We crave these things because they represent a density of nutrients that our bodies need.
We’re drawn to colours, because colourful foods represented foods that were fresh and ripe and packed with nutrition.
I look at a lot of things in medicine through the lens of evolutionary biology. A lot of people in my field and in science do. I trust that the way my body is formed as a response to an environment that is ever changing.
The humans who were most drawn to ripe, nutrient-dense fruit, or the saltiness of animal protein, or the delicious texture of fat, ate more of these foods. And eating more of these foods gave them an evolutionary advantage, allowing them to survive and pass on their genes to future generations who inherited preferences for these tastes.
Therefore I believe that consuming animal fat and sweet foods and salty foods is not bad.
Craving these foods is not bad. Cravings and taste preference represent a complex chemical system that evolved over hundreds of thousands of years to bring us to the things that helped us thrive.
I actually believe that we should listen to our cravings–they can be quite sophisticated. However, I also believe that:
3. Big Food has highjacked our taste buds.
There is something called “The Dorito Effect” where food companies high-jack these natural drives, these cravings, these taste preferences to get us to eat more frankenfoods. A Cheeto has been engineered to get you to consume the whole bag.
Therefore I don’t think we can trust our cravings when we’re consuming a high amount of “fake” foods–foods grown in a lab, foods made in a plant, foods that have 5+ ingredients that didn’t exist in 1913 or whatever.
How much of these foods is appropriate to eat? I try to minimize my consumption as much as possible. I’m not sure what the right answer is for you. I do know, however that I can’t let my body take the reins on what foods I might be needing if I consume too many of these processed foods.
How do I know I need more carbohydrates when I crave sugar or if my body is just chemically addicted to Sweettarts? I try to satisfy cravings with the whole food version of the thing and I find that that often works create an ongoing, trusting relationship (which takes time) between my taste receptors, the environment, my stomach, my mind, and my cells.
I believe that these relationships can help my body relax and know that it will be fed, like a crying baby who knows its caregiver will respond to its cries.
4. I believe that humans should consume a combination of plants and animals.
This may be a fairly controversial belief.
Of course there are many animal rights activists, vegans and plant-based diet advocates who would tell me that you don’t need animals to be healthy. There are many people who swear the Carnivore Diet cured their autoimmune disease.
And, maybe they’re both right. However, I believe that humans evolved eating some sort of combination of animal and plant foods and that there are distinct nutrients that are rare in plants and others that are rare in animals.
I can’t personally get enough protein on a plant-based diet. And, after eating a diet that is too meat-focused I start to crave salads, whole grains and beans.
High-quality protein, iron, choline, Vitamin D, EPA and DHA (marine omegas), zinc, tryptophan, B12, and other nutrients are hard to get enough of in a plant-based diet while preserving ratios, keeping the body’s hormonal systems (like blood sugar) balanced, and honouring cravings.
5. I don’t necessarily think, however that the Paleo Diet is the best diet.
I don’t think any diet is.
I think in principle Paleo was a cool idea: we humans spent the majority of our time in a hunter and gatherer before food processing and agriculture made things like grains and legumes digestible.
Therefore, like we should feed dogs like wolves, and we should eat like our primal ancestors, as our bodies haven’t evolved fast enough to keep up with high fructose corn syrup, etc.
I agree with the premise. But I also think that there is evidence that grains and legumes were consumed before agriculture, perhaps just not as in high amounts. Our bodies are different from the way they were when we were hunters and gatherers: we have more stress for example and higher complex carbs may help us manage this stress.
Also, animals fats, while good for us evolutionarily now exist inside of the context of an environment that is filled with thousands of chemicals. Animal fat is where chemicals are sequestered and therefore consuming lard, butter, and tallow as the main fats in the diet may not be as good for us anymore.
I’m not sure, but I think we need to appreciate our modern context and consume foods that are relatively unprocessed and well-digested that weren’t necessarily available when we were hunting and gathering our own food.
In essence, I think the research points to the fact that whole gains like oats and buckwheat and legumes like lentils are good for us.
6. Food is social. We don’t make nutrition decisions in a vacuum.
We use food to communicate: I love you, thanks for lending me your Back to the Future DVD set. Sharing food is an important part of our biology, of the human existence.
Humans are social creatures. And our socialness orients around food for a variety of reasons: celebration, socialization of children, peace-making, reward, pleasure, art.
I eat differently depending on who I’m with. I eat differently depending on the foods available at my local grocery store.
When I’m with my ND buddies I eat differently than when I’m with “muggles” or, non-NDs.
Navigating food in the social realm can be difficult–a balancing act between our own internal values around food and our values around connection–not offending someone, for instance.
I have suffered when my food choices didn’t fall into the realm of the society I was living (for example, being a vegan while living in South America) and trying to live with my Nonna, my Italian grandmother, while also learning that gluten was making me sick.
We may have conflicting values about food. But I believe that that’s ok.
I believe certain foods can contribute to inflammation but I also believe that they can help soothe my troubled emotions and overwhelm at times, and that that is anti-inflammatory.
To be honest, I don’t really like wearing socks and shoes–they feel weird on my feet.
I would rather prance around barefoot as the bonafide urban-dwelling earth-child I know myself to be deep down. But, I’m aware that we live in a world where the ground is sharp, and cold.
Sometimes it’s not safe, or socially acceptable to walk around barefoot.
And so I don’t. Because even though I love being barefoot, I can’t always do it. It’s not always appropriate.
And so it is with eating ice cream. Sometimes you’re trying to avoid it, but other times it’s appropriate to have some.
Under certain circumstances, eating ice cream might be the healthier choice.
7. Food obsession and shame have no place in health.
Of course eating well can bring is closer to health. However, steer the ship slowly. Be patient with yourself. Be curious about the process and learn to pay attention.
8. Embodiment is the key to bringing us back to nature and understanding our relationship with food again.
Sometimes we need help with our relationship with food.
Sometimes we need to unwind the years of food shame and diet culture to figure out what we even like, let alone what’s good for us.
I sometimes tell patients to have protein every time they crave something.
Just try it. See what happens.
Sometimes a craving for salty snacks means you need protein. It doesn’t mean it’s bad to satisfy a salty craving with popcorn, but if you do how do you feel? Is the salty craving gone?
Sometimes cravings for carbs and salt is the body asking for more protein. And then, in that case, it might be better to try having some protein. Just like sometimes you’re tired and food can help but so can a nap and a nap might help more.
It’s a process that involves trying things, from a place of curiosity, not judgement. And paying attention to how you feel.
If someone asks you for directions to a coffee shop in a language you don’t understand, and so, trying to be helpful you send them to a greenhouse.
They’ll love the greenhouse, you think. It’s beautiful there. And it is a beautiful place. But, they actually wanted a coffee and a piece of pie. And your intentions were pure. You were trying to help, trying to listen.
You just didn’t speak the language.
So I tell patients, have protein when you experience cravings and that might help you get enough protein.
Cravings aren’t bad. They’re essential. They’re a language.
Feeling stuffed isn’t bad. It’s another language. So is hunger. Hunger, satiation, cravings, mind-hunger, feeling stuffed to the gills, are all important syntax in the language your body uses to talk to you, to tell you how to feed it.
It’s hard to listen in a room full of shame, so it can take time to learn.
Is anyone else feeling wet dog in a bathtub-level lonely? With this pandemic loneliness is on the rise. And we already lived in an epidemic of loneliness. Humans are social creatures with attachment needs–and many of us are alone or surrounded by people who make us feel more alone. Sometimes loneliness doesn’t make sense.
This is a time when loneliness has turned from epidemic to global pandemic.
As we physically distance, the emotional distance between each other becomes greater.
I don’t have a solution to loneliness, but the great minds of neuroscience, psychology, literature, philosophy, and spirituality have written on it a great deal, and so I’m going to examine some of it in the following paragraphs.
1. “Saying Hello Again” When I first announced this project, many people reached out to me and talked about their grief: the loss of a spouse, a beloved pet.
Many more of us are grieving relationships with those who haven’t died, but who we don’t get to interact with as much anymore. Grief is a tricky subject. In our society we don’t have established rituals for grieving. In the DSM if you’ve lost a loved one more than two weeks ago, and your grief coincides with the symptoms for Major Depressive Disorder, you’re considered mentally ill.
Imagine losing someone important to you and not feeling depressed for more than two weeks…
In many instances we NEVER “get over” the pain of losing someone. And yet, in many ways, grief that interferes with our productivity and way of being is pathologized. Narrative Therapy invites us to grieve in ways that I have always felt were the richest and most helpful. It does this through a series of “Remembering Conversations”. (For more, I’ve linked to the paper “Saying Hello Again” by David Denborough.) You can speak remembering conversations out loud with a friend or therapist. You can write them down, or walk in the woods and reminisce. Find a quiet space where you can think of your loved one. It could be someone real, currently alive but not present–a religious figure, or a famous person. A stuffed animal. A pet. An ex-lover. Or someone who has passed away. Call them into your memory, and consider the questions. – What did [your loved one] see when they looked at you through loving eyes? – How did they know these things about you? – If they could be with you today, what would they say to you about the efforts you are making in your life? What words of encouragement would they offer? – What difference would it make to your relationships with others if you carried this knowledge with you in your daily life?
2. Feeling Lonely vs. Being Alone. “You come home, make some tea, sit down in your armchair, and all around there’s silence. Everyone decides for themselves whether that’s loneliness or freedom.” Surely solitude and loneliness are related but not equivalents. My patients and friends who are married with children crave alone time. My single friends who live alone crave company. What most of us want, however, is the feeling of freedom that comes with being ourselves. And we all know that this feeling can arise alone in the comfort of our own company or in the presence of those who fully accept us. The Dalai Lama has repeatedly claimed that he never gets lonely.
When he was asked the question “Do you get lonely?” at a speaking forum, it took the translator a while to convey the concept to him before he was able to answer. According to him, loneliness is not a condition of solitude. It’s a condition of mindset.
He weighs in: “We often are alone without feeling lonely and feel lonely when we are not alone, as when we are in a crowd of strangers or at a party of people we do not know. “Clearly the psychological experience of loneliness is quite different from the physical experience of being alone. “We can feel joy when we are alone but not when we are lonely… Much depends on your attitude. If you are filled with negative judgement and anger, then you will feel separate from other people. You will feel lonely. “But if you have an open heart and are filled with trust and friendship, even if you are physically alone, even living a hermit’s life, you will never feel lonely.” The loneliest I’ve felt is when I was in a relationship with someone whose love I couldn’t feel. But, I’ve felt completely at home and accompanied while traveling with strangers. When do you feel you can truly be as you are?
3. On being socially awkward and telling ourselves stories. We were in the midst of … isolation and so my friends cancelled their baby shower. They asked for books (if we were compelled to send gifts) and something else, I don’t remember…(clothes?) So I hopped on Amazon and happily ordered a few books I remember loving as a kid: Amos the sheep who doesn’t want to give up his wool, Frances the badger who gets conned into giving up her porcelain tea set in lieu of a plastic one, and so on. My friend is a therapist and I was sure he’d appreciate the psychotherapeutic subtext of these stories: finding self-worth, developing boundaries, etc. Anyways, I sent the books off and forgot about it. Then, one lonely evening I sat on the couch alone and let my Default Mode Network run rampant. I started ruminating on the books–they must have arrived. I hadn’t heard from my friends. Maybe they were going to send out more formal thank you card.
Or maybe something was wrong. Then I realized that they were about to have a BABY, a mere fetus+1 day. And I realized in horror I had sent them a pile of children’s books–for 3-5 year olds.
I felt out of touch, self-absorbed–I felt ashamed. And then I felt ashamed at my shame–surely this wasn’t such a big deal? What was wrong with me? I tried to Cognitive Behaviour Therapy my way out of this thought trap–this story about being weird and disconnected. I couldn’t do it. I eventually reached out to another friend who has two kids. She played the role of my prefrontal cortex (using others for emotional regulation is extremely helpful). She assured me that babies can’t read anyways and so, whatever, any kind of book is fine. Duh… then I realized: this is the collateral of isolation.
If the gifts had been unwrapped in person, I might have realized they were slightly age inappropriate and would have made a joke. People would have laughed, we would have moved on. Instead, my mind was free to fill the silent void with stories. Eventually I confessed my neuroticism to my friends, embarrassed. They laughed and thanked me for the gift. We tell ourselves stories about how others see us all the time. About their judgements and prejudices, motivations, anger, hostility and failings.
What story are you telling yourself about the people in your life?
4. The Power of Art. Remember this scene from the movie Good Will Hunting? Sean : [during a therapy session, after coming from the job interview with the NSA] Do you feel like you’re alone, Will? Will : [laughs] What? Sean : Do you have a soul mate? Will : Define that. Sean : Somebody who challenges you. Will : I have Chuckie. Sean : You know Chuck; he’s family. He’d lie down in fuckin’ traffic for you. No, I’m talking about someone who opens up things for you – touches your soul. Will : I got – I got… Sean : Who? Will : …I got plenty. Sean : Well, name them. Will : Shakespeare, Nietzsche, Frost, O’Connor, Pope, Locke… Sean : That’s great. They’re all dead. Will : Not to me they’re not.
This exchange has always come to mind when I think about the loneliness of trying to find a soulmate–someone who knows the secrets and truths that lie deep in our hearts. Do our soulmates need to be living people who we share our lives with? People we can converse with on a daily basis? Ideally yes. However, many people in literature will speak of the phenomenon about feeling alone in a crowded room, with no one to share their private thoughts. When we read someone’s deep thoughts and feelings and relate it… makes us feel less alone, especially if what we’re reading speaks directly to our own hearts. You know that sensation, when you’re feeling something really deeply and then you read or hear someone else (maybe someone you know, maybe someone famous, or dead) describe that phenomenon in a way that is far more eloquent and articulate than you feel you ever could?
That feeling of being deeply validated and understood. Literary soulmates. People who have thought long and hard about this particular existential human experience you’re going through right now.
Not only have they lived it, but they’ve taken the trouble to put it into words, images, music. To remind you that you’re sharing a nervous system with 8 billion other living human beings . To remind you that you’re not alone.
5. Making Friends as an Adult aka Going After What Lights You Up. “You can’t make friends in your 30s”.
My friend’s brother is an investment banker in Manhattan and this was his claim a few years ago. My friend, a bonafide hippie (they are hilarious opposites) and I wondered if it was true. I’ve spent pockets of my adult life wishing I had more friends. I’ve had long conversations with patients who wish they had more friends, or are looking to date and having trouble meeting people. One of the things I was grieving during the last few months was loss of the spontaneity of meeting people.
No more picnics on the Island where a random group of people invite me to share their wine and then write letters to my Nonna.
No more “networking” events I decide at the last minute to drop in on, where I meet a friend who introduces me to someone who would soon be a best friend. No more of that randomness. A contraction of possibilities. The same friend wrote to me, in an email we sent to each other in our early 20s when we were out of school and trying to find our way. “I don’t even know what it is about making friends. It can just be so random the way you meet someone in passing you might really connect [with] or you might ignore each other after 5 minutes and never speak again.
“The philosophy is right — if you go after what lights you up you are bound to stumble upon someone else who is lit on that in their own way and for their own reasons so you are bound to connect on some level!” And, of course we’ve heard this so many times: go after what you’re passionate about and the people will trickle in, like a kind of osmotic current. And it’s easier said that done, finding out what lights you up. I suppose it starts with creating an open question and waiting for the answer to show itself. Lake surfing was one of the answers that manifested itself to me. It’s been a blessing for me in so many ways–from even finding out it existed, to randomly meeting people in the line-up to my regular surf buddies, to the photographers who celebrate us on social media, the sport, although technically a solo one, is all about connectivity. Water is sticky. so are we.
6. Self-Soothing. Will scientists and drug companies create a pill for loneliness? Hormones like oxytocin, endogenous opioids (our body’s own morphine) and allo-pregnenalone, a steroid hormone related to estrogen, progesterone, testosterone, and cortisol, are all common targets for “medicating” loneliness. We can medicate loneliness ourselves, however through self-soothing. Self-soothing behaviours include: – talking about your emotions with others – social and physical warmth (getting cozy and Hygge) – Touching, including self touch and self holds – Soothing music – Satiety through consuming high-calorie foods (chocolate, anyone?) – And even drugs, although engaging in the above self-soothing behaviours tends to protect against drug addiction in the research–if you’re able to reach for a cozy sweater and a puppy in order to self-soothe you’re probably less likely to turn to alcohol. Self-soothing behaviours increase oxytocin in the brain. They calm areas of the brain like the insula and amygdala that are associated with anxiety. Self-soothing boosts endogenous opioids (research shows that opioids like morphine help calm the sting of social rejection, which our brain perceives to be the same as physical pain), and serotonin and dopamine. Self-touch or self-holds is an excellent way to self-soothe. In my podcast on Polyvagal Theory with Dr. Steph Cordes, we talk about self-touch: things like putting a hand on your chest, wrapping your arms around yourself, child’s pose, or cupping your face in your hand. Sometimes speaking your own emotions can be helpful (“I feel sad right now” or “This is hard”). Also, particularly where these emotions pertain to loneliness, invoking a common humanity can he a helpful tool for feeling less alone and can help soothe and process hard feelings. “Everyone feels this way sometimes”, or “Suffering is a part of life”. In Mindful Self-Compassion, invoking a common humanity is an important step in taking the burden of our feelings off of ourselves and recognizing that we’re all interconnected in the emotional space. How do you self-soothe?
7. Attunement. “[Attuning with others] is at the heart of the important sense of “feeling felt” that emerges in close relationships. “Children need attunement to feel secure and to develop well, and throughout our lives we need attunement to feel close and connected.” – Dan Siegel, MD Attunement is the process of responding to another’s emotional cues. Infants first learn attunement from their parents. When a parent can read a baby’s expressions or hear her cries and respond appropriately: with comfort, food, warmth, a diaper change, it builds a sense of trust in the infant’s body. The baby feels seen and understood by the world. A lack of attunement can cause attachment insecurity: leading to feelings of anxiety, distrust, emotional avoidance, depression, and relationship dissatisfaction. It’s ultimately lack of attunement that results in mental health challenges in an adult’s life. Attuning to others can be hard if you didn’t receive the proper attunement from your parents. However, we can still learn to attune to ourselves and others as adults.
Here are some tips for learning how to be more attuned: – Attune to yourself first: starting by recognizing what you feel in your body: what thoughts, emotions and feelings are present? How are you breathing? – Practicing mindfulness can help you understand what is going on in your body and mind, as you learn to attune to yourself emotionally. – When trying to attune to another, limit distractions (turning off the TV, putting away cellphones, etc.) so that you can fully pay attention to the emotional space. – Make eye contact and mirror the others’ physical cues: mimic their postures, gestures and even tone of voice. Physical mirroring is a hallmark skill of attunement. – Listen carefully with compassionate curiosity: seek to understand before seeking to be understood (a useful cliche). Can you give the other person the benefit of the doubt? Can you try your best to relate to what they might be staying and hold them in what Carl Rogers called “Unconditional Positive Regard”? – Can you try to identify what emotions someone might be experiencing as you talk to or sit with them? What are you feeling in your own body?
8. Sharing the Things that Matter “Loneliness isn’t the physical absence of other people – it’s the sense that you’re not sharing anything that matters with anyone else.”
— Johann Hari, from his book Lost Connections. Johann also writes: “Be you. Be yourself… “We say it to encourage people when they are lost, or down. Even our shampoo bottles tell us—because you’re worth it. But what I was being taught is—if you want to stop being depressed, don’t be you. Don’t be yourself. Don’t fixate on how you’re worth it. It’s thinking about you, you, you that’s helped to make you feel so lousy. Don’t be you. “Be us. Be we. Be part of the group. Make the group worth it. “The real path to happiness, they were telling me, comes from dismantling our ego walls—from letting yourself flow into other people’s stories and letting their stories flow into yours; from pooling your identity, from realizing that you were never you—alone, heroic, sad—all along. “No, don’t be you. Be connected with everyone around you. Be part of the whole. Don’t strive to be the guy addressing the crowd. Strive to be the crowd. So part of overcoming our depression and anxiety—the first step, and one of the most crucial—is coming together.” And, “Now, when I feel myself starting to slide down, I don’t do something for myself—I try to do something for someone else. I go to see a friend and try to focus very hard on how they are feeling and making them feel better. “I try to do something for my network, or my group—or even try to help strangers who look distressed. “I learned something I wouldn’t have thought was possible at the start. Even if you are in pain, you can almost always make someone else feel a little bit better. Or I would try to channel it into more overt political actions, to make the society better. When I applied this technique, I realized that it often—though not always—stopped the slide downward. It worked much more effectively than trying to build myself up alone.” I think what Johann is saying is that a sense of meaning, purpose, belonging can’t coexist with loneliness.
Psychoanalyst Francis Weller says it another way,
“at some point we have to stop being the one looking for homecoming and be the one offering it.
“As long as I identify as the homeless child who didn’t get welcomed back I need to make a pivot and say ‘I can also, because of that wound find the medicine of welcome’.”
In what way does being of service help you feel more connected?
How have you learned to deliver what Francis calls “the medicine of welcome” to others?
9. Needs are the doorway to the Inner Child, Imagination, Desire and Purpose. James Hillman, the great Jungian psychoanalyst urges us to use our needs–loneliness being one–to explore the depths of our soul. Loneliness, according to Hillman is, like any other need, “a voice that demands to be satisfied”.
We believe that loneliness represents a void that can be filled by something external: a person’s physical presence, or the actions or words of another that fills the space inside. But a need is actually a doorway: to the Inner Child, who opens the door to the imagination. The need represents something much more, not just love but a kind of archetypal, “divine” love. Not just company, but the deep longing to be whole, to unite with “the beyond”. When we feel needy, or lonely, our Inner Child, according to the Jungians, is crying out. It doesn’t just want to complain.
Hillman says, “The intensity of the need reflects the immensity of the world beyond from which it comes.” The child can help us imagine–when we articulate the need, speak it out loud and feel deeply into the body the sensations that that need creates (where do you feel the need? Where do you feel loneliness?), we let it come up fully. We turn towards the child. We can then be specific about the need. What are we fantasizing will fill this loneliness? Who do I want with me? What would they say? What would they do? Are we riding horses in the sunset?
Allowing the images to come.
Allowing the needs to become wants. When we stay with the loneliness long enough, this voice crying to be satisfied, until it becomes a want, something interesting happens. The emptiness of the need, the lack that represents loneliness begins to become filled: with wanting, with desire. The writer DH Lawrence tells us that “Desire is holy”. It is hot, fiery, passionate. It fills us: “I am filled with desire”. It motivates us. It makes things happen. Desire connects us with the beyond. It moves us towards our purpose.
According to Hillman, a fear of desire stands in the way of finding one’s purpose.
We are afraid of the Inner Child: the weakness that being needy represents.
We feel shameful at our weakness, at our neediness. We deny the needs, or try to fill them some other way. Or we criticize ourselves, punishing the child, or ignoring the child.
But what if this deep, existential loneliness, this longing to be united with what “lies beyond” or what lies deeply in our soul is really the doorway to purpose, to fire, to passion, to an integrated and complete psyche.
What if this neediness is not asking to be filled by external factors: parties, social media likes, validation, but with this deeply felt sense of desire that fuels us in the direction of our dreams?
What is the loneliness asking of you?
When you let the loneliness cry out, when you allow it to provide you with images, and when you allow the loneliness to become a want, what does it drive you to do?
What does it fill you with?
What does it inspire you to do next?
10. Getting To Know Yourself. “If you’re lonely when you’re alone, you’re in bad company.”
— Jean-Paul Sartre. Through this series we’ve explored the concept of feeling alone while surrounded by other people, and feeling utterly content while in complete solitude. And, so loneliness isn’t so much about being physically isolated, but in our deeper inner feelings of connection. The Stoics and the Buddhists tell us that, when we feel lonely it’s because we’ve stepped out of the present moment.
We’ve turned our thoughts to what we lack; we’ve identified with our suffering.
And, according to James Hillman and many other thought leaders on the psyche, we’ve decided that the solution to our suffering is located “out there”, in the external world. But no, say the Buddhists, Stoics and other philosophers. The solution to our suffering is internal. It lies within. And so, they say, when you’re lonely, you need to spend even more time alone–getting to know yourself. When we know ourselves, we feel relaxed in our own company. When we know ourselves, we can share ourselves with others when we’re blessed with their company, thus feeling more connected to them and less alone. Perhaps loneliness isn’t being isolated from others—not all the time.
Loneliness is the feeling we have when we’re isolated from our true selves. So, how can we get to know ourselves? The Buddhists say, sit.
Pay attention to your thoughts, your emotions and your body sensations in the present moment.
James Hillman tell us to watch our pain turn into desire, which tells us what the soul deeply wants. This time of year is hard for a lot of us. Add on a global pandemic, and this year is looking like a challenging one for most. Can you spend some quiet time alone with yourself?
Can you watch the feelings of loneliness arise and fall in your body? Can you deliver yourself a little self-compassion? In those private moments of emptiness, say: “Loneliness is here”. “Everybody feels this way sometimes”. “May I be kind to myself”. And, can you say:
That feeling that you can’t settle. You can’t eat. You can’t relax. Your muscles are tense.
Not all is right with the world. Many people who live with chronic low-grade anxiety don’t even realize it’s there.
I see this all the time in my patients who experience panic attacks (when a couple of straws “break the camel’s back” so to speak, the “backs” being a nervous system that is already tightly wound up), or dissociation, even depression, or chronic exhaustion.
Chronic low-grade anxiety can occur if something happens to us that our nervous systems don’t yet understand. I was babysitting a dog for a few days and she and my dog got into a fight. It was nasty and it rattled my nervous system.
I found myself feeling wound up… needing to be soothed, to be settled, for someone to tell me that it wasn’t going to happen again. My response is to go into “information” mode, to poll people, to get an authority’s perspective.
But, of course, it’s impossible to have certainty in this world. And so, my nervous system was asking for something: either that the situation wouldn’t happen again, or that I would know how to handle it and make things alright if it did.
Those with a history of childhood trauma may live in a state of hypervigilence and chronic anxiety–for you it might be your default state, like oxygen, anxiety is always there, at the very baseline of your experience.
The experience of low-grade anxiety is terrible. You’re always vigilant. You’re obsessing, you can’t relax. Your startle reflex is completely uptight.
You have nightmares, you don’t feel hungry. And yet you suddenly feel light-headed and starving.
Everything feels like too much.
Symptoms of chronic low-grade anxiety:
brain fog
overwhelm
disrupted sleep
feeling jittery or shaky
nausea
lack of hunger
extreme hunger
tense, sore muscles
digestive issues, IBS, bloating, diarrhea
generalized sense of dread
shortness of breath, or difficulty getting a full breath
sweating
fatigue
and so on
How do you heal it? Well, it’s tough because ultimately the nervous system wants you to REASSURE it that the world is a SAFE PLACE.
And… it’s not.
Shit happens.
It’s a bumper sticker for a reason.
Shit happens and when it does we need resources.
These resources come in the form of physical nutrition: literally salt, glucose and water. They come from stable hormones (related to blood sugar, a properly functioning circadian rhythm), managed inflammation.
They come from restorative practices: exercise and rest, time where you feel into your body. And they come from understanding the situation: storying it.
In the case of the dogfight, it helped me to learn about dogs, to know how to keep them calm and happy, to understand their particular language and establish myself as the dog leader (also lots and lots of exercise and a bit of CBD oil).
Once they were calm I was calm too.
In the case of childhood trauma it might involve working with the story through the support of a trusted therapeutic relationship, and maybe after working on building resources and engaging in stabilizing practices that help you feel embodied.
Therapies to treat chronic low-grade anxiety:
nutritional practices focused on obtaining essential nutrients like fat and protein and stabilizing blood sugar
support circadian rhythms, sleep and cortisol responses in the body
support neurotransmitters and cell membranes
trauma-informed therapy, or Cognitive Behaviour Therapy
movement
meditation and self-compassion
breathwork
emotional regulation, self-soothing and other embodiment practices
time in nature
plenty of rest
regular routines and self-care-informed habits
plant medicines that can help access deeper seated trauma or regulate the nervous system, hormonal systems and brain chemistry.
And so on.
Our nervous systems are beautiful things. They’re trying to tell us something.
A nervous system on edge is telling us that all is not harmonious with the world: perhaps our internal world, or our external one.
One of the reasons I love dogs so much is that we share a fundamental understanding: walking is healing. I love walking. My body craves walking. I walk to strengthen my lower body, to stretch my psoas (hip flexors), to stabilize my core. I walk to self-soothe, to process emotions, to move anxiety. I walk to boost my circulation, to stimulate lymphatic flow, to lay down bone density. I walk to think, to dream, to create. I walk to roam. Our hunter gather ancestors walked 12-18 km per day (approximated from studies on the modern Hadza). Walking is probably the most therapeutic practice (besides sleeping) that there is. I start every day with a walk to prime my brain for cognitive and emotional work. In the winter it feels particularly therapeutic as it exposes me to cold, to fresh air and to sunlight. Exposing my body to cold helps to regulate my temperature, and prevent Seasonal Affective Disorder (not to mention the sun exposure, on a sunny day, which provides light therapy). I’ve been prescribing walking to many of my patients. To calm anxiety, to heal depression, to regulate the nervous system and to stimulate dopamine–our body’s “seeking” chemical. Many of us have noticed our worlds contract: we’re not travelling, we’re not roaming. Long walks help us feed the roaming instinct that we share with our canine companions. They fill our need to explore, to see people, to experience. Winter walks, while initially uncomfortable help our bodies transition to the colder climate. Cold exposure is also extremely anti-inflammatory, boosts our body’s natural antioxidants and stimulates feel-good chemicals in the brain that support our mood, cognitive function, and energy. I walk when I’m sad. I walk when I’m anxious. I walk when I’m bored. I walk when I’m restless. I walk in silence, with music, with a podcast, while recording voice audio to a friend. I walk alone. I walk with others. I walk with Coco. My body has begun to crave walks. Coco’s body never stopped craving a walk. I walk to reunite with my wild self.
She told me that lately, all the children she works with have a label. “Meredith can’t attend your online class because it’s her first day of school and she can’t handle more than two things because of her anxiety”, one mother wrote in an email as she backed out of a private class my friend had created by special request.
“Everyone is nervous on their first day of school”, my friend remarked, as she recounted the story to me.
“I need everyone’s microphones muted”, a 10-year old student exclaimed during an online class, “I have sensory overwhelm and attention deficit disorder and can’t handle background noise”.
My friend spent three years teaching in a rural school at the edge of a volcano in Guatemala. She worked in a private girls’ school in Colombia. And she taught grade 1 at an outdoor jungle school on the Pacific Coast of Mexico. “I’m not used to these North American kids”, she reflected.
“I wonder what diagnoses we’d have gotten in university?” I mused. I remember our Revolutionary Wall–pictures of Noam Chomsky, Victor Jara and Ghandi plastered on the wall that welcomed us into the entrance of our dirty apartment.
That year we’d worn our sweaters backward because it “felt right” to rest your chin on your hood, stopped washing our hair to “let the oils moisturize our roots”, and spent a week on a 1000-piece puzzle instead of going to class.
It was our last year. We were done.
My other friend was diagnosed with cancer, which would soon turn terminal. I was suffering from some sort of unacknowledged eating disorder–there were no body positivity Instagram feeds at the time. I could have used some.
It was a painful year.
For those and many more reasons, I’m sure, I was depressed.
I remember at some point during that year heading to a walk-in clinic because I was gaining weight, depressed, exhausted and completely shutdown. The walk-in clinic doctor told me “it wasn’t my thyroid” and to “eat less” so that I would lose weight.
I never got a diagnosis.
I was never offered an antidepressant.
I remember feeling hopeless. Desperate for an answer, but most of all, a solution.
If she had offered me an antidepressant, I’m certain I would have taken it. In fact, I did end up taking one about a year later for a brief period when living in Colombia (before the side effects made me stop).
I escaped a label.
My journey forked in the road and I took the one less traveled that led me towards naturopathic medicine.
Before that, though, I saw my own natural doctor who listened to me and put together the puzzle of my symptoms (who knew that skipping class to put together our 1000-piece puzzle would figuratively prepare me for my future career).
Rather than diagnose me, he listened to me and told me the underlying causes of my symptoms–not just what they were called.
And then, because we knew the cause, we also had a solution. And I soon felt better.
Of course, when I started naturopathic school, another 4-year full-time program with full days of classes (sometimes 10+ hours a day) and millions of exams and assignments, the underlying hormonal conditions that drove the original depressive episode I experienced at the end of my undergrad resurfaced.
I ended up seeing a fourth year naturopathic intern and she put me on something called adaptogens.
Adaptogens are class of plants. They support our Hypothalamic-Pituitary-Adrenal (HPA) response, which orchestrates the stress response. They are studied in rats who, when given adaptogens can perform longer on swim tests, producing less cortisol (our stress hormone) in the process.
These rats can tread water longer, without as much stress hormone and therefore, with less damage from stress. Depression is one of those side effects from the damage of psychosocial stress.
Stress leads to shutdown, inflammation and further hormonal imbalance, causing a wide variety of symptoms that seem disconnected but arise from the same source.
After all, isn’t depression, anxiety and burnout just us trying to keep our heads above water?
Oh man, did I ever wish I’d known about adaptogens in undergrad!
If I could have, I would have shouted about them from the rooftops, thrown bottles of them out of a plane, put them in the water supply.
I can’t do those things, but I can put many of my patients on them. Many of my patients suffering from depression and anxiety, caused by problems with their HPA axises, end up taking adaptogens.
I prescribe them when those I work with experience things like low mood, fatigue, sleep issues, inflammation (pain and swelling), hormone imbalances, particularly PMS or peri-menopause, sugar and salt cravings, delayed muscle recovery, tension, panic attacks and anxiety, dizziness and weakness, low motivation, and other oh-so-common symptoms often labelled as Major Depressive Disorder or other psychiatric illnesses.
Did I ever wish I’d known about adaptogens when I was in undergrad.
Instead I remember taking a crappy B vitamin complex from the local drugstore that a roommate’s mom gave me because I was on the birth control pill and “you need B vitamins on the birth control pill”. (Which is true: you need more vitamin B6 on the pill, but probably not one from a local drugstore multivitamin).
It didn’t do much.
I really really wish someone, a fairy godmother, the walk-in clinic physician, a man on the street, an article somewhere on the internet (like this one), had told me, “You have these symptoms because you are suffering from HPA axis dysfunction, as a result of significant psychosocial stress. This makes you suffer from the symptoms you’re dealing with, depression not being a condition of its own, but just another symptom of this condition.
“Adaptogenic herbs can help you get through this, as well as some important foundational lifestyle pieces that someone like a naturopathic doctor can help you with.
“There is a reason for your suffering. A context behind it. There is a cause we can identify.
“And, most importantly, there is a solution.”
But, I didn’t have anyone to tell me that.
I really wish someone had told me about adaptogens, but I haven’t ever wished that someone had diagnosed me with depression.
Now, a diagnosis can be extremely validating for some.
It can be lifesaving.
Medical intervention can also be really helpful for some people. But, like adaptogens (I should add), medications aren’t a one-size-fits-all solution.
We don’t know what causes depression and anxiety (likely many factors, HPA axis dysfunction being one of them), but we do know it’s not caused by a chemical brain imbalance.
And medications are designed to correct the brain imbalance that doesn’t exist, which is why they don’t work in everyone.
However, they do do something in some. Because, even though they don’t really solve the problem they’re supposed to (at least not in that simplistic way), they might be doing something else, which solves a problem in a few people.
The problem is, antidepressants make some people feel worse. In others they do nothing. And, in some of the people they do help, they don’t do enough. We’re still suffering.
And labels, while they can be helpful and lifesaving in some cases, can do damage in others.
Take my friend’s student with anxiety. What if her story of “I get stressed out on the first day of school because I have anxiety” turned into:
“I get stressed out on the first day of school because a lot of people do. It’s normal to feel nervous and anxious on the first day of school and want everything to go right.”
Now, of course, I don’t want to insinuate that anxiety isn’t a real thing. Of course it is!
There are many of us who suffer from anxiety disorders–a higher amount of anxiety than is common. Rather than first-day jitters, they might experience severe panic and complete dysfunction that make life miserable.
However, in the first example, the power is out of this student’s hands. It lies in her identity. In her dysfunction.
In her label.
In the second, it becomes a shared human experience, which she might be able to externalize and work with. Because it’s a common experience, she might find support, kinship, and understanding in those who experience the same.
Of course, I don’t know her case specifically. Maybe her diagnosis has helped her. Maybe her anxiety is well labelled and managed. Maybe she doesn’t need help. Maybe she is doing just fine.
All I know is, I wonder what I would have been diagnosed with, with my sweater on backwards, my hair full of grease, my body heavy like lead, a million puzzle pieces spewed all over the kitchen table in my dirty apartment with the revolutionary wall.
I have no idea what my diagnosis would have been, but I’m personally glad I never got one.
Instead, I wish I had had the permission to go through what I was going through.
I wish I’d had context for my suffering.
I wish I’d been given hope that things would get better.
I wish someone had empowered me through understanding the underlying causes of my symptoms and, of course,
I talk with Dr. Kara and Dr. Dave of That Naturopathic Podcast, rated in the top 6 Canadian Medicine podcasts, about taming the tiger of anxiety. Click to learn about your HPA Axis, the stress response and how we can “tame the tiger” by providing our body and mind with the assurance that we’re safe. Listen on Spotify.
I talk to Taylor Morozova of the Weird Waves Podcast about how I became a naturopathic doctor, surfing, immunity, vitamin D, and how to stay safe in the age of Corona. Listen on Spotify.
In September of 2019, Jakobsen, Gluud and Kirsch published a review in the British Medical Journal: Evidence-Based Medicine entitled “Should antidepressants be used for major depressive disorder?” (1)
Their conclusion was this:
“Antidepressants should not be used for adults with major depressive disorder before valid evidence has shown that the potential beneficial effects outweigh the harmful effects.”
Now, before we move on with what drove them to make this seemingly radical conclusion, I want to be clear:
I am not stigmatizing medication.
All of those who take medication for depression have asked for help.
Asking for help is important.
Asking for help is brave.
And, whatever help works for you is the right kind of help.
But imagine this; imagine you are a pretty decent swimmer.
You’ve practiced swimming all your life. You’ve gotten lots of experience swimming in pools, lakes, and oceans. You know how to swim, just like you know how to cope with turmoil. But, despite your strength, one day you find yourself drowning.
“No, I’m not drowning,” you might say at first. “I can’t be drowning. I know how to swim! If I’m drowning, it means I’m a failure…
“What will everyone think?”
And so you continue to splash around a bit, until it becomes undeniable. You gasp some water-filled air. Your head submerges and you think, indeed, “I’m drowning.”
When you get your head above water you call for help.
This takes a lot.
It’s not easy to admit that you need help.
It’s not easy to overcome that little voice that tells you that asking for help is troubling other people, admitting defeat, showing weakness—and whatever else that darned little voice thinks it means.
“HELP!” You exclaim, louder this time—little voice be damned.
“HEEELP!”
And someone on shore sees you. They have a life-preserver in their hands and they throw it your way.
Your shame is peppered with relief—and gratitude: there’s an answer to all this suffering. You thrust your hand towards the life preserver, grasping it with a firm bravery.
Only, it starts to sink. It’s full of holes.
“What’s the matter?” The person waiting on the shore exclaims, as you continue to struggle, “Don’t you want help?”
The shame returns. Hopelessness joins it.
I advocate for mental health awareness. I advocate for perpetuating the message that it’s ok to talk about mental illness. It ok to admit you need help.
I believe the following:
Depression is not a a sign of weakness.
It’s not a sign that you are defective.
It’s not a sign that you haven’t learned proper coping skills, or that your coping skills are defective, or that you’re fragile.
It’s also not fixed by simple solutions like eating salad, running or putting “mind over matter”.
Depression happens to a lot of us.
It affects 300 million people globally. It is the leading cause of disability world-wide, with a lifetime prevalence of 10 to 20%. This means that 1 in 5 people will experience depression in their lifetimes.
We all know someone who suffers. Maybe you suffer.
And a lot of people ask for help. The National Health and Nutrition Examine Survey (NHANES) in 2017 found that 1 in 8 people over the age of 12 are taking an anti-depressant, a 65% increase over the last 15 years.
This means that 65% more of us are asking for help.
That’s a lot of life preservers.
So, just how effective is this help?
First, we need to understand how the efficacy of anti-depressants are measured.
The symptoms of depression are subjective. This means they are not observable. There is no imaging that shows if someone is depressed. There are no blood tests for depression. There are no physical exams.
Therefore, to assess the presence and severity of depression, clinicians use questionnaires. The most commonly used depression questionnaire is The Hamilton Depression and Rating Scale (HDRS), a 52-point checklist that assesses various symptoms of depression and rates them on a scale of no-depression to severe.
When patients with depression first see a family doctor or psychiatrist they are often issued the HDRS and given a score.
Let’s use Janet’s story as an example. Janet first came to see her psychiatrist two years ago. She wasn’t sleeping and yet felt sleepy all the time. She’d gained weight but had no appetite. Her entire body was sore, as if she had the flu. She’d lost interest in all of the activities that used to fire her up. She’d lost interest in everything.
After a few weeks of feeling progressively worse, Janet began to be plagued by thoughts of suicide. This scared her. She went to her family doctor, who referred her to a psychiatrist.
Janet’s HDRS score was 25. This meant she was moderately to severely depressed.
Janet was given an anti-depressant, a Selective Serotonin Re-uptake Inhibitor (SSRI). She was told it would correct her “brain imbalance”, and treat the cause of her symptoms. Janet was relieved that there was a solution.
If an anti-depressant can decrease the HDRS by 3 points, then the medication “works”. Or at least the results are statistically significant.
However, if Janet’s symptoms improve by 3 points, from a score of 25 to, say, a score of 22, how does she feel?
Not much different, it turns out.
To experience “minimal improvement”, a decrease in symptoms that someone with depression would notice, say an increase in energy, an improvement in sleep, or a change in mood, a patient’s HDRS score would need to decrease by at least 7 points.
This means the Janet would need to bring her HDRS down to 18 or lower before she starts to feel noticeably better.
Studies show that anti-depressants, on average, don’t do this.
Some randomized control trials do show that anti-depressants decrease the HDRS score by at least 3 points, which is still registered by patients as having no perceptible effect, but the results are mixed.
A large 2017 systematic review showed that anti-depressants only decreased patients’ HDRS by about 1.94 points (2) and another large study published in the Lancet (3) also failed to show that anti-depressants produce a statistically significant effect, let alone a clinically significant one.
In addition to the minimal changes in symptoms, anti-depressant research is also polluted with for-profit bias. Most studies are conducted or funded by the drug companies.
This makes a difference: an analysis showed a study was 22 times less likely to make negative statements about a drug if the scientists worked for the company that manufactured it (4).
Studies at high-risk of for-profit bias were also more likely to show positive effects of a drug (5).
Another limitation of anti-depressant trials is the lack of active placebo control. In Randomized Control Trials, participants are sorted into two groups: an active group, in which they receive the medication, and a placebo group, in which they receive an inert pill.
The goal of this process is to control for something called the “meaning response”, or “placebo effect” where our expectations and beliefs about a therapy have the potential to affect our response to it.
Remember that depression, as I mentioned before, is a condition made up of subjective symptoms.
If I asked you to rate your energy on a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate it? What if I asked you tomorrow? What if I asked you after giving you a drink of something that tastes suspiciously like coffee?
Because of its subjective nature, and the subjective questionnaires, like the HDRS, that measure it, depression is very susceptible to the placebo response.
Therefore, it’s important to control for the placebo response in every trial assessing anti-depressants.
But it might not be enough to just take a sugar pill that looks like an anti-depressant.
SSRI medication produces obvious side effects: gastrointestinal issues, headaches, changes in energy, and sleep disturbances, to name a few.
When a patient taking a pill (either placebo or active treatment) starts to feel these side effects, they immediately know which group they have been randomized to, and they are no longer blinded.
This can be solved by giving an “active placebo”: a placebo that produces similar side effects to the active medication. Unfortunately anti-depressant trials that use active placebo are lacking.
But what about the people who DO benefit from anti-depressants?
Janet knew a few. She had a cousin who also suffered from depression. He took medication to manage his symptoms. He’d told her many times that he just wasn’t the same without it.
Perhaps you, reading this article have found benefit from an anti-depressant medication. Perhaps you know someone who has: a family member, or a friend. Maybe it was their lifeline. Maybe it’s yours.
According to Jakobson et al., there are indeed some people who benefit from anti-depressants. Anecdotally we know this to be true. However, the results of large studies show minimal to no benefit from medication, on average.
This means that some people might benefit; we know that some do. It also means that an equal number of people are harmed.
In order for the net effect of anti-depressant medication to be close to zero, an equal number of people experience negative effects that outweigh the positive effects seen in others.
So, while some may have already tried medication and benefited from it, those considering medication won’t know if they’ll be in the group who benefits, or the group who is harmed.
The side effects of anti-depressant medication are often underrepresented. In the Lancet study, adverse effects were neither recorded nor assessed (3).
The most common side effects include gastrointestinal problems, sleep disturbances, and sexual dysfunction. More serious side effects, like increased risk of suicide, are also possible. Some of these effects may persist even after the medication is stopped.
Anti-depressant trials are short-term. Most trials assess patients for 4 to 8 weeks, while most people take anti-depressants for 2 years or longer.
Anti-depressants also put people at risk of physiological dependence and withdrawal.
Withdrawal symptoms can occur a few days, or even weeks, after tapering anti-depressant medication. They sometimes last months.
Withdrawal symptoms are often mistaken for depressive relapse. This can make it difficult, or even impossible, for patients to come off medication. This is worrisome considering the lack of research on long-term medication use.
It is sometimes argued that anti-depressants are more effective, or even essential, for severe depression, however the evidence for this is lacking (4).
In their paper, Jakobson, Gluud and Kirsch conclude that, based on the evidence, anti-depressants show a high risk of harm with minimal benefit.
Before prescribing them, Jakobson et al recommend more non-biased, long-term studies that use active placebo, and honestly assess the negative effects of the medications.
They recommend that studies use improved quality of life and clinically meaningful symptom reduction, not just statistical significance, as standards for treatment success.
Despite these conclusions, SSRIs remain a first-line treatment for major depressive disorder. They are also prescribed for conditions like severe PMS, IBS, anxiety, grief, and fibromyalgia, or other pain conditions. 1 in 8 adults in North America are taking them.
As a clinician who focuses in mental health, I am not against medication.
I have seen patients benefit from SSRI or SNRI medications. Sometimes finding relief with medication when nothing else worked.
My clinical practice keeps me humble.
If a patient comes into my practice on medication, or considering medication, I listen. I ask how I can support them. I answer questions to the best of my ability. I trust my patients.
Patient experience trumps clinical papers.
However, for every patient who benefits from medication, just as many experience negative side effects, or no effect. I trust their experiences too.
I also trust the experiences of the patients who have been trying for months, or years, to wean off medications.
Let me repeat it again: depression is real. Asking for help is hard. And it’s important.
Depression is a multi-factorial condition.
This means that it stems from hundreds of complex causes. This is why it’s so difficult to treat. This is why so many people suffer.
Let me also repeat: depression is not easily fixed.
There is no one solution, and there are certainly no ONE-SIZE-FITS-ALL solutions.
So, if you or someone you care about is suffering from depression, what can you do?
First, get help. This is not something you can get through alone.
Second, seek lots of help: gather together a team of professionals, family and friends. You can start with one person: your family doctor or a naturopathic doctor, and then assemble your support network.
Choose people you trust: people who listen, provide you with options, and seek your full informed consent.
It is important to work with a healthcare team who take into account the factors that may be contributing to your symptoms: brain health, gut health, life stressors, nutrition, inflammation levels, presence of other health conditions, sleep hygiene, family history, contributing life circumstances, such as grief, trauma, or poverty, and who lay out various treatment options while filling you in on the risks, benefits and alternate therapies of each.
Medication may be part of this comprehensive treatment plan, or it may not.
It is brave to ask for help.
And I believe that bravery should be rewarded with the best standard of care—with the best help.
References:
Jakobsen JC, Gluud C, Kirsch IShould antidepressants be used for major depressive disorder?BMJ Evidence-Based Medicine Published Online First: 25 September 2019. doi: 10.1136/bmjebm-2019-111238
Jakobsen JC, Katakam KK, Schou A, et al. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors versus placebo in patients with major depressive disorder. A systematic review with meta-analysis and trial sequential analysis. BMC Psychiatr2017;17:58
Cipriani A, Furukawa TA, Salanti G, et al. Comparative efficacy and acceptability of 21 antidepressant drugs for the acute treatment of adults with major depressive disorder: a systematic review and network meta-analysis. The Lancet2018;391:1357–66
Kirsch I, Deacon BJ, Huedo-Medina TB, et al. Initial severity and antidepressant benefits: a meta-analysis of data submitted to the food and drug administration. PLoS Med2008;5:e45.doi:10.1371/journal.pmed.0050045
Ebrahim S, Bance S, Athale A, et al. Meta-Analyses with industry involvement are massively published and report no caveats for antidepressants. J Clin Epidemiol2016;70:155–63.doi:10.1016/j.jclinepi.2015.08.021
