My dog Freddie died last month very suddenly and unexpectedly at the too-young age of 10. Chronically anxious and high-strung, he wasn’t an easy dog to live with. But he was intensely loyal, affectionate, fiercely devoted to the family, and so smart he seemed almost human at times. In spite of–or maybe because of–his issues, we loved him dearly.
One of his most annoying habits was barking at the TV. We tried to train him to watch quietly–and watch he did, eyes fixed on the screen and head moving back and forth, taking in the action–but eventually we gave up, endured his loud objections during scenes containing sex and violence, and got used to relying on closed caption to fill us in on the dialogue he drowned out.
Over the years, as I wrote in a previous post, I longed to be able to relax in front of the TV with my dogs curled up quietly at my side. But as long as Freddie was with us, it never happened.
The night after Freddie died my husband and I sat down on the couch in the family room to catch up on the show we’d been following. We didn’t get past the credits before we had to turn it off. The quiet was deafening.
It was more than a week before we could bring ourselves to watch TV again.
A line from an old Joni Mitchell song comes to mind:
“Don’t it always seem to go
That you don’t know what you’ve got
‘Till it’s gone”
RIP, dear Freddie.
“Many People Taking Antidepressants Discover They Cannot Quit”
Does this headline concern you? If you read the accompanying article in the New York Times and you’re on medication for anxiety or depression, you might feel alarmed. And if you’ve decided to start a medication regimen, you might even change your mind.
The article reflects a bias many people still harbor towards mental health issues and medication: you should be able to deal with your problems by force of will; if you can’t just get on with it, you’re weak. As the Times article suggests, “Daily pill-popping leaves them doubting their own resilience…” Pill-popping? Seriously?
No medication is completely benign. Yet few would question taking drugs commonly prescribed for high blood pressure, seizures, muscle cramps, and infections, many of which can have discontinuation side effects. Clearly, a double standard applies to the pharmacological treatment of psychiatric conditions..
The writer acknowledges that “many, perhaps most, people stop the medications without significant trouble,” but then goes on to relate the personal anecdotes of a handful of individuals who attributed “all the symptoms of withdrawal,” including increased anxiety and insomnia, to medication discontinuation. He neglects to point out one of the most common reasons for deciding to go back on medications for anxiety and depression after trying to come off them: a resurgence of the symptoms being treated.
It’s true, as the article points out, that primary care physicians write the vast majority of prescriptions for antidepressant and antianxiety medications. Follow-up is not as rigorous as it should be, and office visits are typically too short for an adequate assessment of mood changes and side effects. But it’s very misleading to assume, as the writer does, that “a useless [my emphasis] prescription may be continued for years—or a lifetime” because “improvement…is based on the passage of time or placebo effect.”
I’m not in the pocket of Big Pharma. I can’t prescribe medication. I don’t get a kickback from my psychiatrist colleagues for referring patients to them. When someone in my practice expresses a preference for trying cognitive-behavioral therapy without medication, I’m more than happy to oblige—with the understanding that we’ll revisit the decision at a later date if the therapy yields less-than-optimal results.
I believe in helping people find the maximally effective treatment for them. If that means recommending a trial of medication, I’ll suggest a referral to a psychiatrist who can address their concerns fully, monitor them regularly, and work with me to provide the best care.
Medication isn’t a magic bullet. But it can be a powerful tool. Making any health care decision should involve weighing the costs and benefits–with the help of professional guidance and not anecdotal horror stories–to determine the course of treatment.
I’ve been meditating daily for over three years, half of that time with the popular app, Headspace. But recently,thrown off by jet lag following a trip to the West Coast, I unaccountably forgot to meditate one day and broke my streak.
I was upset by my lapse and tried, as any good CBT practitioner would, to challenge my all-or-nothing thinking. One day out of over a thousand is no big deal. Less than a drop in the bucket. It didn’t negate my progress.
But Headspace didn’t see it that way. It reset my stats back to Day 1. Even more aggravating, it started sending me motivational messages like: “A 3-day run streak is a great start to your practice! Next stop 5!” And, after 5 days: “Nice job. This is precisely how you build a solid meditation practice. Think you can make it 10?” At 10 days, they told me: “Your consistency is outstanding. You’re starting to build a lasting, healthy habit.” And today, 15 days into my new streak, I got: “Great work. Maybe everything changes except your commitment to meditation.”
I decided I needed to say something. Here’s an excerpt from the email I wrote to Headspace:
I had over 450 consecutive days of Headspace under my belt until a few weeks ago, when travel to the West Coast threw me off schedule and I somehow forgot to meditate one day. I was upset to have broken my “streak,” but I tried to practice what I preach to the many perfectionists I work with by forgiving myself for the brief, and ultimately insignificant, lapse.
But Headspace is making it harder for me to let go of my mistake! It reset my progress back to zero and is giving me motivational messages after three, five, ten, fifteen days of consecutive practice to tell me I’m on my way to a solid practice and a commitment to meditation. I suppose I could use those statements as a mindfulness exercise, treating them as if they were just random thoughts of my own creation, but coming from the “experts,” they are not at all helpful.
I have continued to use the app but now am having second thoughts. I’m not sure whether such a quantitative, competitive (albeit only with myself) approach is really how I want to frame my meditation practice. And I certainly will be less enthusiastic in recommending it to my perfectionistic patients.
You might want to pass this feedback onto your software engineers to see if there could be a way turning off the streak function, or sending out messages of self-compassion to those who’ve accrued a lot of hours but miss a day here and there.
I’ll let you know what they say.
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