Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, LMFT, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

If my clients know anything, it’s that I’m a therapist who loves a metaphor. While there are a lot of different analogies that evoke the relationship between a client and therapist, one has kept coming up for me recently— I’ve been thinking about my role in supporting my clients’ healing as if I’m helping them out of a really tight parking space.

They’re in the driver’s seat, maneuvering forward and backward over and over again, while I guide them to make as much movement as possible. I run back and forth, from one side of the car to the other, helping them shift in another direction. We repeat that process over and over again, sometimes feeling like there isn’t any movement at all. Finally, after what can feel like an absurd number of times that they’ve spun the steering wheel each way, the car has enough room to get out of the spot, hopefully without having caused too much damage in the process. The sense of relief and freedom is palpable. It’s not that they’ll never find themselves in another tight spot, needing me or someone else to help guide them out again, but they also likely have new insight and skills to at least get somewhere on their own. Oh yeah, I should have mentioned that I also love to torture a metaphor. But I do find this one pretty apt.

I know, that’s a very annoying way to look at things. It’s not especially enticing or motivating. I totally understand why, especially in this culture that is increasingly geared toward optimization and instant gratification, many people want something that will make them feel better as quickly as possible. If you’ve found a method that works that way, that’s awesome (and I’d love to hear about it). But my understanding is that if you actually want to heal from all of the challenges and traumas you’ve faced, you can’t expect that to happen without both earnest effort and unhurried time.

Like I’m sure most therapists practicing in the year 2026, I’ve been thinking and reading a lot about the state of the mental health field, the changes we’re facing as clinicians, and all of the variables impacting the way that people are currently seeking support. With the rise of AI and an increasingly broken healthcare industry, therapists are trying to figure out our place in all of this. We’re also perpetually recommitting to how we conceptualize the processes of change and healing, to justify why we continue to believe in this work.

I recently stumbled across “The Age of Mental Health Products" by fellow humanistic practitioner (by way of a restack from ), and resonated so deeply with so much of what he wrote. Moyer reflects:

Therapy, by its nature, asks you to enter a long-term, asymmetric, and often uncomfortable bond with another person and to remain in it precisely when you don’t want to — when the work is slow, when progress is mostly invisible, when the relationship itself becomes the material. But the retreat from that commitment runs deeper than impatience. Many people arrive seeking help as though their suffering is an information problem — as though the right framework, the right insight, the right technique will resolve what is wrong. What they cannot see from inside that frame is that the problem is rarely what they think about their situation. It’s how they are in relationship — with others, with themselves, with reality itself. That’s not correctable by data. It can only be addressed by experience, specifically the sustained experience of a relationship that gradually makes visible the patterns that are invisible from inside one’s own perspective.

This is such an excellent distillation of how and why I believe therapy works. I am convinced that psychological healing is not about finding a solution to a problem; it’s about reconfiguring your ability to connect with yourself and the world around you. That takes time. It takes trying things and determining that they don’t work for you, and then trying new things. And sometimes that process sucks. It’s not flashy, it’s not exhilarating. It can be exciting, but mostly only in bursts and in retrospect. Mostly, it’s pretty boring and tedious. Just like healing from a physical wound or injury, it takes a lot of patience and trust that eventually things will feel better. Then suddenly, you realize how far you’ve come. You notice how much relief and freedom you feel, at least compared to when you started.

I wish I could tell you how to make the process of improving your mental, emotional, and psychological health faster or easier, but I think that would be counterproductive and against the entire point. Healing isn’t something you can rush, it requires trusting the process. What I can do is give you a few tips that I think make healing in therapy a little less boring, and maybe even a little more satisfying along the way toward feeling better.

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Find a therapist you genuinely enjoy talking to

Research shows that the single most important predictor of a positive outcome in therapy is the therapeutic relationship itself. Yes, there are certain modalities and interventions that may be shown to be more or less effective with certain presenting problems and populations, but even those things are less important than the dynamic between the client and therapist. That is why feeling out the vibe with your therapist is so crucial.

I know that finding a therapist who feels like a good fit can be really challenging, and that starting over with someone new can feel daunting and not worth the logistical or emotional effort. But I believe that the process of sharing yourself with someone new, if they’re a good fit for you, can be part of the healing itself. There is nothing quite like the sensation of feeling seen and heard, and that is how your therapist should make you feel. Trust takes time to build, so don’t feel like you need to share the deepest parts of yourself right out of the gate. It’s more than okay to go slowly at the beginning, and to really take your time getting a sense of whether or not you want to move into deeper work once you’ve gotten a sense of the rapport.

While the work is often hard and uncomfortable, I also tend to have fun with my clients. We laugh and resonate and complain and celebrate and dream together. We talk about pop culture, movies, books, music, TV shows, food, you name it. We notice if things are flowing less naturally, or when sessions aren’t flying by as quickly, and we talk about it. I’m not saying any of that makes therapy any less arduous, but I do think it makes it more interesting, engaging, and cathartic. You might not look forward to therapy every week, but with a therapist you actually like talking to, it might happen more often than not.

Check in on your progress periodically

One of the things that can make therapy feel a bit tedious is that the slowness can make progress hard to notice. If you’re feeling this (or preemptively concerned about it when starting with someone new), you can ask your therapist about creating a routine around touching base about your development toward whatever goals you’ve set. This can be a great opportunity to reevaluate the goals, since maybe they’re the same, but it’s also possible that they’ve shifted. There’s no right way to do this, but you can start by picking a schedule (quarterly, semi-annually, whatever feels good) and collaborating around what you might want these check-ins to look like.

With most of my clients, these evaluations tend to be fairly informal and not on a set schedule, but if more structure would feel supportive to you, you can say so. You can also ask your therapist if they would be open to using an Outcome Rating Scale (essentially a little survey you take to track changes in whatever you’re experiencing) to formalize the check-ins more quantitatively. There are existing ones, but you could also work together to come up with the questions you’d like to use. This might not help therapy feel any faster or more interesting in and of itself, but it can sometimes help with the sensation of stuckness when you realize that you have experienced more change than you realized.

Create a therapy ritual for yourself

Therapy is self-care, and I believe that it should feel like it. I get that you might need to be squeezing a session into your day (I often see clients on their lunch breaks in their cars, for example), and that you might not have time to really milk the situation. Even if that’s true, I think it’s worth considering whether you might be able to create some sort of ritual for yourself that acknowledges the work you’re doing. You could pack an especially good lunch or bring a favorite beverage to session (your mileage my vary with others, but I am always cool with my clients’ eating and/or drinking in session, as long as it’s not too distracting). Maybe you do have a little time to spare and can make a habit of going for a walk after session. Some people like to journal right after, while everything is fresh. You could plan to watch an episode of a soothing show or read a chapter of a feel-good book. I’ve had friends and clients tell me about all kinds of rhythms they get into around their therapy, there are no wrong answers. I just think it can make the whole thing feel more significant when you treat it intentionally— less like an obligation and more like something you’re doing to show up for yourself.

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I get that when you’ve taken the step to seek support, you want to feel better as quickly as possible. It can be so disappointing to realize that you might not feel complete relief as soon as you’d hoped. But I believe that true healing not only deserves, but demands patience and gentleness, with both the process and with yourself. Easier said than done, I know, but I think you’re worth the investment.

What do you think? Do you sometimes find the healing process boring? Or have you had major shifts that have happened quickly? I’m curious about any and all experiences. I’d love to hear your thoughts!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, LMFT, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I had no choice. It was absolutely mandatory for me to drop everything and get my ass straight to see John Early’s directorial debut (which he also wrote and stars in) Maddie’s Secret (2026), as soon and I heard Lindsey Weber and Bobby Finger discussing it on a Patreon bonus episode of Who? Weekly. I also knew, even before seeing it, that whatever else I’d planned to write about this week was getting bumped for anything I wanted to say about this movie. Because not only am I an eating disorder therapist with a Substack and a fan of John Early’s particular vintage of irreverently silly alt-comedy and a major food nerd and a lover of the exact type of Bon-Appétit-test-kitchen-circa-2020-style cooking content getting parodied here; I was also a film studies major, and the idea of getting to dust off my pretentious lil movie geek hat was almost too enticing.

I read a lot of reviews and interviews with Early, and their perspectives are all very much dependent on the readership of their specific publications. The food ones focus on Early’s take on food trends, the movie ones highlight his allusions to filmmakers like Douglas Sirk and John Waters, the comedy ones wrestle with the nature of the laughs elicited. I feel uniquely positioned to discuss this movie with an emphasis on its central conflict: what, if anything, I think it’s actually saying about eating disorders.

Here’s where I should insert a big SPOILER WARNING. Got that? Okay cool. And my incredibly quick summary is that Maddie’s Secret is the story of Maddie Ralph (Early), a syrupy sweet and culinarily creative test kitchen dishwasher who gets suddenly thrust in front of the camera, simultaneously fulfilling her dreams and sending her spiraling back into her latent bulimia nervosa. Yes, he named his bulimic title character a synonym for puking. That in and of itself sets the tone we’re taking here. I guess feel free to keep reading if you haven’t seen the movie, but if you’re going to do that, maybe read a more comprehensive plot summary first? I do recommend seeing it though.

At least from everything I’ve read, it seems that Maddie’s Secret was never really meant to be a movie about eating disorders themselves; it’s a modern melodrama commenting on food culture, and eating disorders are the obvious dark counterpoint to that commentary. Early is making fun of the eating disorder subgenre of 80s/90s made-for-TV movies and their treatment of these conditions. It’s a movie about those movies and the surreal intensity with which they deliver their cautionary tales. That said, I don’t really believe that you can make a movie about someone struggling with an eating disorder without saying something about eating disorders in the process.

Early’s greatest instrument in Maddie’s Secret is the deadpan he uses to explore absurdity. With genuine commitment to every bit, he highlights all of the unreasonable, irrational, and incongruous qualities of his subjects: millennial food discourse, made-for-TV melodramas, influencer culture, queer stereotypes, the commodification of therapy speak, and yes, even eating disorders. While Early is poking fun at the medium to which he’s paying homage and its dated, sensationalized portrayals of eating disorders, he’s ultimately also showcasing that at the end of the day… the cultural conversation around eating disorders is still ridiculous.

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To be clear, I certainly don’t mean that eating disorders shouldn’t be taken seriously, or that their suffers deserve mockery. I also don’t believe that developing an eating disorder is an unreasonable response to dealing with the stresses of life with the backdrop of rapidly narrowing beauty standards. But the fact that our culture has created a venue that not only facilities, but often outright encourages food behaviors that have a high chance of harming us is wild. And then only labeling these practices “disordered” when someone becomes visibly and/or medically undeniably unwell… that’s absurd. How can something be a “disorder” when it’s also a cultural norm? That is what deserves ridicule. The concept of “eating disorders” in a culture that treats the same behaviors as scary in one person and celebratory or even necessary in another, based primarily on visual assessment… that’s nonsense and it merits examination, comedic or otherwise. Because sometimes we have to laugh at things when we need a reprieve from being sad and angry about them.

A couple weeks ago, I read touch on this in her post What If We’re Not Actually Worried About Ariana Grande and haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. She’s sums up the demand on women (though I’d argue that it applies across the gender spectrum, perhaps with slight tweaks): “take up less space, but don’t disappear; be beautiful, but don’t look like you’re trying; remain desirable, but make it effortless.” Maddie is a fantastic representation of that tension. Her job (based on apparent desires of a large audience) requires her to be quirky, relatable, and endearingly food-obsessed, while she is increasingly exposed and judged with the same scrutiny from which she’s been trying to free herself since childhood. And this dichotomy almost kills her. I can relate; my own eating disorder peaked while I was the face of a gourmet pudding food truck.

In the film, Early is obviously satirizing (often pretentious and elitist) millennial food culture, a tradition in which both he and I are very much steeped. Apparently (according to his NYT interview with Priya Krishna), he scours best restaurant lists and watches Top Chef just like I do. The idea that we’ve got people simultaneously obsessed with looking at and talking about food, yet often too afraid and ashamed to actually eat it (at least without compensating) is ludicrous. In several of the interviews I read, Early comments on the increasingly sexual nature of internet food content, and it’s very easy to glean where that comes from. In our puritanically rooted culture, sex is illicit, and that makes voyeurism all the more exciting. The same applies to food. Eating (especially for pleasure, and not just “fuel”) is reprehensible, but watching other people touch and consume and create with food? That’s hot.

Early’s commentary on the pornification of food content extends to the way we view culinary influencers. They need to be sexy (perhaps with sauce perpetually running down their faces), but also relatable and aspirational. In a particularly harrowing moment, Maddie’s dishwashing replacement compliments her for her “actually healthy body,” essentially thanking her for modeling a positive connection to food without a care about trying to shrink herself. While Maddie’s body is more exposed for commentary than ever, her on-screen persona expects that she shouldn’t care. Definitely got me thinking on assumptions I make about creators toward whom I feel similarly. The truth is (as I wrote about recently and is also demonstrated here), we have no idea what someone’s actual relationship to their body and food is just by viewing the content they put out.

How better to evoke the discrepancy between who we assume eating disorder sufferers to be and the diversity of people who actually experience eating disorders than for Early to portray Maddie himself? Early has stated emphatically that this performance is not drag. For him, it stemmed from his earnest desire to play an ingénue. Yes, the movie is campy as hell. But as Joshua Rothkopf for the Los Angeles Times put it, “you may miss Early’s savvy in making everything heightened, so Maddie can seem like the most real thing on screen.”

In an interview with the real Bon Appétit (as opposed to the film’s “Gourmaybe” stand-in for the Condé Nast publication), Early said:

What’s so funny about this movie is I thought I was doing a genre experiment. I was doing satire, cultural commentary, whatever. And then, before I knew it, I was like, “This is embarrassingly personal.”

I obviously don’t know Early’s own relationship to all of this and whether he considers himself to have struggled with disordered eating, but either way, it sure seems like he gets it. Especially how the pressures of being perceived as “perfect” (a through-line in the film) can push someone toward an outlet that challenges that notion. Whether or not Early’s ever had an eating disorder, it feels pretty clear that he’s felt like a duck.

Maddie’s Secret also applies its goofily scathing observation to eating disorder treatment, and especially inpatient recovery programs. While my own healing has been outpatient, and I was never employed in a hospital or residential facility, my experience of working at the partial hospitalization/intensive outpatient levels of care was certainly conjured here. I personally loved the empathetic skepticism with which the film treated widely utilized treatment models. The nurses in the program are portrayed as compassionate, even while the film emphasizes the preposterousness of common practices like accompanying patients to the bathroom (something I’ve done many times, though in a restroom with stalls, the singing was rendered unnecessary) and supporting them through the tearful consumption of treats. When, in response to receiving a mandatory birthday cupcake, Maddie’s treatment-mate asks, “Can I do half?” the specificity of that phrase sent shivers of recognition down my spine. Early clearly did his homework. The therapy that Maddie undergoes in recovery is another story, and I think mostly serves as an opportunity to feature a gloriously over-the-top performance by the hilarious Kristen Johnston as her problematic mom, but I’ve also heard enough horror stories to know that it’s not all that farfetched. Eating disorder treatment can be lifesaving (both literally and spiritually), but in the process it can also be devastatingly humiliating. It’s just so deeply both, and I appreciated that the film acknowledges this while having compassion for the idea that many of us trying to help are doing our best with what we’ve got.

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I adored this movie, but I do think a significant portion of it could be that I felt very in on the joke. Maddie’s Secret is written in a language I speak, from the source material to the references to the tone. I can see how others, without that same fluency, might feel alienated or misrepresented. There were certainly moments I found uncomfortable and discordant, but much of that came from what Alison Willmore for Vulture refers to as “hipster laughing,” the audience’s tendency to chuckle and jeer at anything that feels outdated and retroactively silly, during moments in which I was focused on my own resonance. Willmore calls the movie, “an attempt to outrun irony,” which feels spot on to me.

The film ends, after a few ambiguous exchanges with people in Maddie’s life, with her running through her Los Angeles neighborhood, much in the same way the film opened. A smile spreads across her face. It’s unclear if Maddie is recovered from her bulimia, if she is lying to her husband about her clearance to exercise, and if she actually is as free as she appears in that moment. A main irony in this case, I believe, is that there is no such thing as complete freedom from eating disorder triggers. We are surrounded by them, because the society in which we exist wants to profit off of the hold these mechanisms have on us. But what that last shot meant to me, was that for Maddie, at least in that moment, none of that mattered. Maybe she wasn’t free, maybe none of us ever really will be. But it really looked to me like she felt free. And isn’t that, even if it’s fleeting, what any of us who have ever experienced disordered eating want to feel?

Recovery spaces emphasize the nonlinear nature of healing, and many people who identify as having struggled with eating disorders do not believe that they will ever be truly “recovered.” But even if you are among those that don’t feel that being fully healed is possible, I challenge you to consider whether all-or-nothing thinking could be making perfect the enemy of good here. Even if you’ll never feel completely free of this shit… doesn’t it sound nice to have more and longer moments when it doesn’t all feel so present? Or even so serious? Maybe to even be able to laugh at the ridiculousness of how we’ve all ended up here? Sometimes there’s nothing better than commiseration, especially when it’s served with a side of flippant giggles.

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Have you seen Maddie’s Secret? If so, I’d love to hear your thoughts. Did you feel similarly to how I did, or totally different? Let’s get film nerdy!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, LMFT, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I just became a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. I’ve been awaiting this milestone for years, so when at long last it happened, my whole being was like, “okay, amazing, let’s hit the ground running!” I want to get my private practice all set up so that I can really focus on building it. I took my time getting here (had a baby in the middle), so now with years of experience under my belt, it feels like I am finally getting to do the thing I’ve been itching to do for what feels like forever. On top of that, I had been devoting so much time to studying for my licensing exam that it felt like other things were piling up in the “I’ll address that after the test” column. As soon as I was done (something that is inherently celebratory), I got hit with this sensation of a tidal wave, like everything I’d labeled a “post-test thing to think about” had suddenly become an avalanche of stuff to address now.

The only thing is… it’s the beginning of summer and my kid’s been off school/camp for the past week and a half (which almost extended due to the structure fire here in Los Angeles, tysm fire fighters and wind). Our schedule’s been wonky, and I haven’t had nearly as much work time as I normally do. Add on top of that a case of “for some reason all my outgoing emails are being flagged as spam” (you seriously mean to tell me that I’m meant to be not only a therapist, a business owner, and a marketing professional, but also a coder? Come on, now) AND car trouble that ate up the better part of a day and… I was essentially forced to slow wayyy down.

All of that got me thinking about how hard it can be for us ducks to just take a beat. Many of us have built reputations for our reliability and capacity to get shit done, even when we’re quietly frazzled and depleted. I can think of no better example than the classic very special episode of Saved by the Bell “Jessie’s Song” (1990), when high-achiever Jessie Spano is spread so thin that she starts taking caffeine pills because she feels like there just isn’t enough time.

Major duck behavior. And I was really struggling with the same this week, until circumstances made it such that I had no choice but to be in the stillness of my situation. As I sipped my banana bread matcha (weirdly good) and watched Norway beat Iraq (yay World Cup!) from the dealership where my car was getting fixed, I tried to enjoy the moment of compulsory tranquility. I started thinking about how I can try to lean into slowing down more, even without the obligatory nature of that particular situation. I did wish that I’d had the foresight to bring my laptop so that I could start writing this post, but you know… I’m a work in progress on these things.

Before I get to the “how” portion of this piece, I think it’s always important to remind ourselves of why so many of us feel constantly under pressure to be doing. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again to anybody that needs to hear it: especially in the West, we exist in a culture that teaches us to tie our sense of worth to our productivity. If we’re not producing as much as possible, we’re not as valuable as we could or should be. Unlearning this notion is incredibly challenging, especially if you grew up in an environment that expected achievement from you and did not instill in you the sense that just being you is (and will always be) enough. But just because something is difficult does not make it any less worth attempting.

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To that end, here are a few ideas that I am actively trying to implement when I’m struggling to slow down:

Take a bigass deep breath

Yes, yes I know. A therapist telling you to breathe. Cooool. Original. WOW.

But, like most of them, it’s a cliché for a reason. When we’re feeling stressed or anxious, our breathing tends to tighten and become shallow, concentrated mostly in the chest. We’re trying to outrun the perceived predator, so our bodies are doing what they can to operate as efficiently as possible. Pausing and really trying to feel some lung expansion and air lower down in your diaphragm helps your body and brain get some much-needed oxygen.

Focus on filling your belly with air and holding it there for a moment before letting it out. Maybe make a big ol’ noise (like a heavy sigh) as you exhale, or visualize stress leaving your body as you let go. Some people really love exercises like box breathing. That’s inhaling for a certain count (like 4 seconds, for example), holding for 4, exhaling for 4, holding again for 4, and repeating, which can give the mind something to focus on and potentially help keep it from wandering too far. I actually prefer a longer exhale than inhale, which makes it more of a… trapezoid? But play around and see what feels intuitive for you.

Really, it’s whatever you gotta do to help your body start to recognize that it does not actually need to be moving so quickly. If your body starts to catch on, it can become easier for your mind to do the same. Ducks tend to be (over)thinkers, so sometimes the most effective thing to do when you want to experience a change is to lean into something more embodied.

Write down all the shit you “need” to do

Maybe it’s just me (I don’t actually think so), but I always FEEL like more of my to-do list is pressing than the amount of things that actually need my immediate attention. It’s impossible for me to realize that though, until I actually take inventory. Not only that, but writing yourself an actual to-do list (on paper, your phone, a whiteboard, truly wherever you like) helps your brain stop trying to keep track of everything on that list on top of whatever else it’s trying to accomplish. Sure, sometimes listing everything out can make it feel even more daunting, but more often than not, the mental repetition of the tasks is way more stressful than actually seeing it all laid out. In my case, it can help me get more realistic about things that have true deadlines vs. things that I just really would like to get off my plate ASAP. There IS a difference, and without doing something to externalize everything, it can be really hard for me to distinguish.

For more on how writing stuff down can help anxious brains, check out this post from a little while back:

Give yourself a reality check

Part of slowing down is getting curious and being honest with yourself about things like:

• Why you’re feeling such a sense of urgency

• Whether or not there’s as much of a time crunch as you’re feeling

• If there might be something you can do to lighten your load (like delegating, getting an extension, canceling or postponing a plan, etc.)

• Whether you might be trying to distract yourself from something

• What other emotions might be coming up that are contributing to your struggle to slow down

It can also be really helpful to talk to someone else and get their perspective. Often, it can take a different vantage point to recognize that something that feels so urgent to you… just really isn’t if you’re looking at the situation more objectively. Pick your most no-nonsense friend or loved one (or, you know, a therapist) and get their two cents.

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Do something mindful (or mindless)

Practicing mindfulness can be hugely helpful in slowing down. Maybe for you, that looks like meditation, yoga, or guided visualizations. It could also be engaging in an activity that requires presence like joyful movement, cooking, or gardening. I tend to look for activities that require my hands, which has the added bonus of keeping me off my phone. Sure, you might really not have that much room in your schedule to devote to something that takes a lot of time, but I’d bet there’s a way that you can even take something that you “need” to do, and approach it with more presence and mindfulness.

On the flip side, I’m also an advocate for doing things that feel totally mindLESS, because they can have a similar effect of getting you out of your head and calming your nervous system. Love Island US Season 8, anyone? If anybody dares to question you, tell them a therapist suggested it ;) Dealer’s choice, but indulging in something that just feels good and doesn’t require much effort is healing, I stand by that. Just ask the romantasy girlies.

Call for backup

This very well might ALSO be a skill you’re working on, but… you’ve got to recognize when asking for help might be the move. Easier said than done for many of us, I know, but… it might also feel really good to receive support? I mean you COULD just keep trying to burn the candle at both ends but… how’s that working out for you?

I also recently wrote about that here, so check it out if this is something that sounds hard and/or scary too:

Rest.

Period. That’s why I literally put a period. Way too often we think of rest as a reward; we get to relax once "everything” is done. I’m over that idea. Rest when you’re tired, don’t try to push through, “just one more thing.” I started implementing this really intentionally in grad school, when I had an impulse to try to get assignments done in certain rigid time slots. I experimented with allowing myself to relax when I really wasn’t feeling it, and then returning to whatever it was as soon as I could when I felt less depleted. Nearly every time, I would get the task done way more quickly and painlessly than when I’d tried to force myself to do it under-resourced. Rest is NOT a reward. It’s a requirement.

There you have it. Like I said… these are things that I am actively trying to work on myself. They seem simple, but it’s so hard to break out of tendencies and patterns that we’ve spent years developing, especially when we thought that those things would help us be “better” and keep us feeling safe. I know from experience though, that we can’t expect ourselves to feel happier or more at ease if we’re not willing to try doing things differently from the way that is currently making us miserable. So why not give these a try and just see what happens?

As always, I’d love to hear if something resonated or if you plan to put any of these things into motion… or I guess… into stillness? You get the picture.

Leave a comment

If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, LMFT, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I don’t know about you, but working on my relationship with my body feels challenging right now. Like in any relationship, maintaining good communication requires continuous effort. My body and I have built so much trust over the years, but new stressors can still complicate my ability to listen to how it’s feeling and what it needs. Maybe you’re like me and you’re on that perpetual path of strengthening your connection with your body after pursuing eating disorder recovery. Maybe you’re just starting to feel ready to figure out how you can create a better relationship with your body for the first time. And maybe you’re somewhere in between. No matter where you fall on that spectrum, I want to first normalize why things might feel extra fraught right now, and then tell you why I believe that now is actually a fantastic time to be putting some effort into how you’re relating to your body.

It’s no secret that we’re experiencing what to many feels like a cultural backslide into the extreme glorification of thinness. “Body positivity” (as complicated a term as that is) feels so last decade, and it seems like the work that fat activists and body liberation champions have done to help us heal from all of the dangerous messaging the diet industry has been hurling at us forever is being dismantled. I don’t feel the need to directly site any of the evidence for this trend, because it’s all over the place. All you need is the slightest bit of perceptiveness to know that people everywhere are talking about weight loss and pursuing conventional (white cishet ableist) beauty standards more than ever. Not that any of that ever went away, but it sure feels like body neutrality and acceptance are out, and shrinking at all costs is in in in.

I fully understand how tempting it can be to take an “if you can’t beat em, join em” attitude to all of this. Just the sheer quantity of GLP-1 ads that I see on a daily basis is staggering, not to mention everything else uplifting and glorifying the latest “health and wellness” trends or outright mocking those of us that are attempting to make peace with our bodies regardless of size. As a therapist, I don’t use this term lightly, but all this truly is triggering; from trends we’re observing in celebrities’ changing bodies to sensations that those around us all seem to be getting smaller (especially when they won’t stop talking about how they’re doing it). It’s all incredibly overwhelming.

I want to be clear that I am not demonizing or trying to shame anyone that is currently trying to lose weight for any reason. I very much believe in body autonomy and that everyone should be allowed to make decisions about their own body. I am, however, saying that I believe the cultural messaging that we should ALL be trying to be get and stay as small as possible is harmful. I’m saying that the swing we’ve had away from body acceptance and back toward individuals’ feeling compelled to change their bodies at all costs scares me. I blame no one for wanting to do things that they believe will help them feel whatever they’re trying to feel: more respect, increased desirability, a greater sense of belonging, whatever. I do think that people benefit from opportunities to make informed choices about what they’re doing. And I think that it can be all too easy to forget how financially, physically, mentally, emotionally, and socially costly some of these decisions can be.

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This is all the reason I feel so compelled to explain why I think now is actually a great time to be working on your relationship with your body. To be clear, I didn’t say “easy,” because it’s not at all a convenient or uncomplicated time to be doing this kind of work. But I do think that it IS an important and beneficial time to be directing some energy toward fortifying your body respect and trust.

I believe that trying to create a more peaceful, gentle, and accepting relationship with your body is an act of political resistance, especially in times like these. I am not exaggerating. I genuinely regard the rejection of diet culture as an act of rebellion. It is not a coincidence that in this moment when the world (and especially the US) is leaning into conservative ideals and wide-scale oppression, we are seeing a major rise in people pursuing aesthetic perfection, perceivable health, and extreme thinness.

In this excellent article (which I HIGHLY recommend reading in full), Da’shaun L. Harrison explains the concept of body fascism.

Body Fascism: the promotion of an "ideal" body type as a symbol of patriotism—conceived of as the pinnacle of health, discipline, credibility, and worth—in service of a nationalist agenda, while "non-ideal" bodies experience increased violence and erasure.

The cultural shift we’re experiencing toward prioritizing “wellness,” glorifying “clean eating,” and accepting only an increasingly narrow range bodies is not coincidental. It’s a sign of the times. In the aftermath of incredible stressors (like… oh I dunno, a global pandemic), people understandably want to feel safer and more in control; under capitalism that means somebody is always swooping in to take advantage of that inclination. Just as we as individuals want to feel like we have agency, so too do those in power. As Harrison writes:

Through body fascism, diet culture functions as a disciplinary technology used by imperial powers to punish, regulate, and control populations in the service of military strength and national image. From this perspective, the whiplash from the "body positive movement" to the current infatuation with GLP-1s (Ozempic, Wegovy, Zepbound, and Mounjaro) is an extension of this white nationalist, totalizing logic.

I don’t know about you, but as much as I would love to feel a sense of control, I do not want to be controlled, ESPECIALLY not by anything to do with the current administration in this country. The more I have learned about body fascism, the more that working on my relationship with my body and striving for a dynamic imbued with respect, care, and nurturance, feels like putting my foot down and saying FUCK. THAT. SHIT. I will not succumb to the idea that I am supposed to fit into an ideal so that I can represent this, “imperial power.” I will not distract myself into becoming easier to manipulate. And as anyone that has struggled with their relationship to food and their body knows, it is very easy for those thoughts to consume you, leaving very little brain space for anything else.

Yes, it likely felt easier to consider rejecting diet culture and making peace with your body when it felt trendier. I totally get that. But just because it is more challenging now doesn’t mean that it’s any less worthwhile. We need to be able to build that trust between ourselves and our bodies so that we can be resilient enough to withstand all of the messaging that at this point we really can’t expect to be able to avoid. The battle might feel steeper, but the prize at the top: the increased capacity for the things and people you love, the cessation of worrying symptoms, the feeling of finding or returning to your authentic self… none of that is any less sweet or worth the endeavor.

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So once you’re feeling motivated to take some steps in the direction of working on your relationship with your body… how do you actually do it?

Well for starters, I highly recommend immersing yourself in values-aligned perspectives that challenge the idea that nobody else is thinking and feeling the things that you are about all this stuff. Last week, posted a FANTASTIC anti-diet summer reading list, so instead of compiling my own (which would honestly look nearly identical), I’m sending you all straight over there because it’s truly impeccable:

Parenting Without Diet Culture

Un-learning what diet culture taught you

In a former life, I was a high school English teacher. So you might not be surprised to learn I’m someone who enjoyed doing—and assigning—summer reading…

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a month ago · 12 likes · Oona Hanson

Run, don’t walk. I consider many of these essential unlearning texts. And as Oona says:

Learning more about diet culture, weight stigma, and fat phobia can make it easier to swim upstream in a world that is constantly promoting thinness at any cost.

Hear, hear! I’ll also mention that many of the writers on this list (, , , , , , , ) are here on Substack as well, with tons of great articles to peruse. There are also lots of great podcasts like Maintenance Phase and Burnt Toast that discuss these issues more conversationally.

I personally also find a lot of solace in witnessing people experience food in a way that is not at all fraught, and instead imbued exclusively with joy, curiosity, and pleasure. That could be because I love cooking and am a huge food nerd, but I think this kind of content can still have medicinal qualities even if you don’t feel at home in the kitchen. Seriously, I dare you to watch an episode of ’s Salt Fat Acid Heat and not feel at least a little encouraged about your own ability to one day (even if that’s not today) enjoy food without guilt or fear. Books by and videos by impact me similarly.

And of course, as a therapist who specializes in body struggles and eating disorders, I’m obviously going to say that I think that working with a therapist like me is a fantastic way to support this effort. Groups (therapist or peer-led) and just talking openly with likeminded friends about these things can also be instrumental. The bottom line is that just because it’s feeling hard to drown out all of the diet culture noise doesn’t mean that you are alone in your desire to stop listening to it.

How is all of this landing for you? I’d love to hear. All of this is a lot. As always, especially when I write about topics that can feel hard and heavy like this one, I’m sending a big virtual squeeze to those that want or need it.

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, LMFT, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

This week, after six years of working with clients, I passed my clinical exam and became a Licensed Marriage and Family Therapist. Compared to many of my grad school classmates and coworkers along the way, I took the long road in completing my 3000 supervised hours. Looking at the situation as objectively as possible, it makes sense: I took some time off to make a full-on human, and had the privilege to get to work part time during his first years on Earth. Still, it was hard to watch colleague after colleague hit this major milestone and feel left in the dust. Despite knowing that everyone’s timeline looks different, and we all take different paths to wherever we’re going, it feels SO good to finally be here myself. I don’t think the full sense of relief has even hit me yet. I am beyond excited to get my private practice up and running, and set up all my clients who are joining me there to continue the incredible work that we’re doing. And of course, I’m very much looking forward to consulting with new clients too.

So when I was thinking about what to write during this especially anxious week leading up to the test, I thought about how loud my perfectionism has been throughout this process. Oof, it’s been intense. I’ve been feeling so much shame about being “behind,” and that tends to be when I’m at my most perfectionistic. I’ve had to call upon the tools I’ve been working on utilizing as a recovering perfectionist, and I thought that since they were top of mind, why not share them? After all, I do specialize in working with perfectionists.

10 Things I’m Doing to Let Go of Perfectionism

Note: I intentionally began all of these with “-ing” verbs, because these are things that I am actively doing and very much works in progress. I’m no self-help guru, just a therapist with a lot of training (and a license!) in how to help people experiment to find things that work for them, even if it may take quite a lot of practice. This is my own version of that.

1) Comparing my perfectionistic thoughts to my true values

I don’t believe in the concept of perfect, and I don’t feel that pursuing perfection is a worthwhile endeavor. I do believe that perfectionism is a direct result of existing in a culture that overvalues productivity, determines worth based on adherence to oppressive power structures, and leaves absolutely no room for humans to have desires and needs that are unrelated to their output. So when I recognize that I’m feeling the strong urge to be perfect, I try to remind myself of who wants me to think I have to be perfect. It helps me snap out of it when I realize that rejecting perfection is a pretty good way to say fuck you to the system.

2) Decoding the message the feeling is trying to send me

I resonate quite a bit with a lot of the language I’ve been seeing (especially here on Substack) around reframing emotions as messages, rather than as things to fix. I’m trying to be very intentional about checking in with myself when I’m feeling the need to do something perfectly, to try to get a better sense of what’s underneath that sensation. What emotions are coming up? What’s going on in my body? What else is happening in my context that could be informing this feeling?

3) Getting curious about why I’m trying to do something perfectly

Similarly, I’m trying to better understand what is happening in me when I feel like I need to do something perfectly. What am I afraid of? What am I trying to control? What do I think I will be able to ensure or prevent? I try to remember that my perfectionism has been something I’ve turned to in an effort to adapt to my circumstances. It has given me a sense of safety, so by exploring why I’m feeling the desire to be perfect, I’m also getting a better sense of what my needs are in a given situation. For many perfectionists, especially those of us with people pleasing tendencies, identifying our own needs is an underdeveloped muscle. This is one of the ways I work on strengthening mine.

4) Giving myself a reality check

I’m also working on getting really honest with myself about my expectations and standards. Do I need to be getting a 100% on this thing? Does whatever this is require A+ effort? Am I trying to get extra credit for something that is fully pass/fail (or, more likely, doesn’t even have any sort of grading system at all)? For me, the answers are almost always: no, probably not, and yes definitely, you silly-head.

5) Reminding myself what I’m actually working on

By now, I’ve recognized that perfectionism isn’t really serving me. It’s added stress and anxiety, and in an effort to live a more peaceful existence, I really don’t want it to overtake my focus and energy. So when it pops up, I’m trying to be really cognizant of considering that what I am actually trying to do is get increasingly comfortable with NOT doing things perfectly. For me, I’m trying to reframe things such that half-assing something that can be half-assed is a bigger accomplishment than going balls to the wall with something that really didn’t need that from me.

6) Thanking my perfectionism for the ways in which it’s served me

This one is basically just reappropriating Marie Kondo’s KonMari method. I’m “decluttering” my perfectionistic tendencies. Telling them that they no longer spark joy, thanking them for all the things they’ve done for me, and then trying to let them go. I’m leaning into gratitude here, because I think it’s important for me to recognize the ways in which my perfectionism has really served me. I have achieved a lot because of how hard I’ve pushed myself. Being a perfectionist has also given me a sense of safety when I have needed it, and has made me a generally more thoughtful and reliable person. Even though it’s time to give it the old “it’s not you, it’s me” speech, I can still appreciate everything I’ve gained from our time together.

7) Rejecting the notion of “guilty pleasures”

For real though, why are we still using this kind of language? Don’t we have enough going on in the world that we can stop shaming ourselves for the things we like? I’m embracing the things that bring me joy, pleasure, and relaxation unabashedly and enthusiastically. Sure, maybe some of the things I like don’t match my “perfect” vision for how I “should” be… but at the end of the day, I like what I like and I’m not going to feel bad about any of it.

8) Remembering that I am not responsible for others’ feelings

Often my perfectionism is a manifestation of my trying to be “good,” so that others will like me and want me around. When I recognize that I don’t control how others feel (even about me), I get to let go of that responsibility and focus just on being the best (most authentically values-aligned) version of myself. Of course I do think about how I impact those around me in an empathetic way, but I’m trying to concern myself less with needing to earn my keep.

9) Noticing when my attention is shifting to body perfectionism

When I’m feeling overwhelmed and like I want something to control, it’s very easy for my perfectionist focus to shift to my body. I’m trying to strengthen my ability to realize when that’s happening, because it helps me tend to myself in a way that often addresses what I’m actually feeling, not just want I think I need. If this one resonates for you, please check out this recent post or this part of my website.

10) Confiding in my accountability people

This one is pretty self-explanatory: it really helps me to talk to people I trust about what I’m experiencing. I’m a verbal processor, and talking about whatever I have going on helps me figure out how I actually feel. I also highly value interdependence, and I want to create an environment in which those around me and I feel like we can be open about our growth edges. Because of shame, so many of us feel like we have to be kind of secretive about the things we’re trying to do differently and I say: fuck that, let’s hold each other accountable and help each other feel seen. Friends and family can be great for this, but… you know… so can a therapist :)

There you have it! Those are the things I’m trying to stop being such a perfectionist. Can you relate? Are you working on any of them too? Or something else? I’d love to hear from you if you are!

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Also, if you’re interested in perfectionism as a concept, check out this post about the six “perfectionist archetypes” I see all the time in my work (and… in myself).

If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

At lunch with a fellow therapist friend from my days working in eating disorder treatment, the phase, “I wish I had the discipline for an eating disorder,” came up. We’ve both worked with clients who have said similar things. Both heard it from acquaintances, especially after learning what we do. And I definitely remember thinking it, if not saying it out loud. We joked about how much of a tell the remark is: if you’re saying something like that, chances are you’ve already got an eating disorder, you just haven’t realized it yet. In a culture that is ever normalizing (and expecting) shrinking bodies, eating disorders are getting easier and easier to miss.

Last week, I was working with a few colleagues to create a training on eating disorder warning signs and assessment for clinicians working with LGBTQ+ youth (an especially at-risk population). After going through diagnostic criteria, we made a point of distinguishing between eating disorders and subclinical disordered eating. For therapists and other healthcare professionals, this distinction is important. I think this is especially true for providers that are not trained in eating disorder treatment, because they need to know when to refer out to someone for whom this work is within their scope of competency. Clinicians do need to be able to distinguish between pink and red flags to know whether or not it is safe to keep working with someone that exhibits disordered eating behaviors. More on that here:

But for everyone else? And especially for those struggling with how they’re relating to food, movement, and/or their bodies? I’m not so sure. In my case, it wasn’t until I read the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders: DSM-5 in grad school that I realized that, just a year or so prior, I had met the criteria. I had assumed (even though by then I had already been referred to an outpatient eating disorder therapist) that because I was still eating, and because my body was still in the “normal” range, there was no way that I could actually qualify for a full blown eating disorder diagnosis. Now, after working as a therapist specializing in body struggles and eating disorder treatment, I now know how not alone I was in those (often dangerous) assumptions.

According to the National Eating Disorder Association (NEDA):

The universal symptoms in all eating disorders are the manipulation of food intake (dieting, restricting, purging, excessive exercising, etc.) to improve body image, self-esteem, or a negative mood state. Symptoms must interfere with social, interpersonal, occupational, or physical functioning.

Eating disorders, disordered eating, and “normal” dieting exist on a spectrum, and the lines between them can be very blurry. So much in the above statement cannot be assessed without self-report, because things like social and interpersonal functioning are inherently subjective. Nobody can tell someone how lonely or isolated they feel. And even problems with occupational and physical functioning can go unnoticed from an outside perspective, especially in people conditioned to downplay distress and “push through.” As many perfectionists know, projecting a facade of “fine” can easily become second nature. I mean, that’s the entire concept of duck syndrome; we’ve mastered acting like everything is all good while we struggle under the surface.

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The distinction between “normal” and '“clinically significant” is especially fuzzy for people who are restricting food and/or exercising excessively, but whose bodies are not “underweight.” For this piece, I am mostly going to focus on food restriction and compensatory movement (as opposed to disordered patterns that involve purging and binge eating, though some of the same can be applied certainly). This is because so much of what constitutes a restrictive eating disorder, and is often obviously concerning in very thin individuals, is condoned, celebrated, and even prescribed for people in larger bodies. When someone is bingeing and/or purging, it’s easier to recognize those behaviors as potentially worrisome (though these things are often done in secrecy). When they’re just eating less and/or “healthier” and working out a ton? Things get more confusing.

The DSM-5-TR criteria for anorexia nervosa are:

1. Restriction of energy intake relative to requirements leading to a significantly low body weight in the context of age, sex, developmental trajectory, and physical health.

2. Intense fear of gaining weight or becoming fat, even though underweight.

3. Disturbance in the way in which one’s body weight or shape is experienced, undue influence of body weight or shape on self-evaluation, or denial of the seriousness of the current low body weight.

But, as NEDA notes:

Even if all the DSM-5 criteria for anorexia nervosa are not met, a serious eating disorder can still be present. Atypical anorexia includes those individuals who meet the criteria for anorexia but who are not underweight despite significant weight loss. Research studies have not found a difference in the medical and psychological impacts of anorexia nervosa and atypical anorexia nervosa.

So, to be clear: the severity of a restrictive eating disorder is not based on its making a sufferer medically “underweight.” And even without “significant weight loss” (which… isn’t even defined), an individual can still meet the criteria for an eating disorder diagnosis. According to the DSM-5 TR, a person can be diagnosed with Other Specified Feeding or Eating Disorders (OSFED) if they, “exhibit feeding or eating behaviors that cause clinically significant distress and impairment, but do not meet the full criteria for any of the other disorders.” Atypical anorexia is an example of an OSFED, and there are others including purging disorder (essentially bulimia without binge eating) that specify why a condition does not meet criteria for another disorder. But OSFED does not require particulars beyond, “clinically significant distress and impairment.”

Some examples of OSFED signs and symptoms (from NEDA, many more here):

• Becomes preoccupied with weight, shape and appearance leading to restriction/dieting behaviors to promote weight loss

• Engages in fad diets, refuses to eat certain foods, and/or often eliminates whole food groups (carbohydrates, fats, etc.) in service of weight loss

• Skips meals or takes small portions of food at regular meals

• Maintains excessive, rigid exercise regimen – despite weather, fatigue, illness, or injury—due to the need to “burn off ” calories

• Drinks excessive amounts of water or non-caloric beverages

Why did I highlight these specific symptoms? Look at them again and consider that this hypothetical person is in a larger body. Would you be concerned about any of it? Or might you be impressed and proud of their “taking their health seriously” or “complying with recommendations from their doctor”? Another symptom from the list is, “denies feeling hungry,” which… I believe is most of the intended outcome when GLP-1s are prescribed for weight loss? So, you can see where this line between strict adherence to a diet and disordered eating (creeping toward a full blown eating disorder) gets clouded. Again, it really comes down to, “clinically significant distress and impairment.”

What does that actually mean? Well, the same list of OSFED symptoms also contains things like:

• Fear of eating in public or with others

• Withdrawal from usual friends and activities

• Frequent checking in the mirror for perceived flaws in appearance

• Extreme mood swings

• Complaints of constipation, abdominal pain/cramps, cold intolerance, lethargy, acid reflux, and/or excess energy

• Dizziness and/or fainting/syncope

• Difficulties concentrating

• Sleep problems

• Abnormal laboratory findings (anemia, low thyroid and hormone levels, low potassium, low blood cell counts, slow heart rate)

• Changes in skin/hair/nails

• Poor wound healing

• Menstrual irregularities

All of that sounds pretty distressing and like it would potentially impair a person’s quality of life. But to a lot of people, and certainly to past-me, those things often just seem like… the price of admission for becoming a societally acceptable version of oneself. Because as a person in a larger body (or a slightly larger than clearly thin one), even just being in pursuit of thinness (without even actually achieving it) can already garner praise and a sense of belonging. Projecting to the world that you are aware of the “problem” of your body is social currency for many. It’s a mindfuck, and a big yikes for me now. It just felt so completely normal back then.

The question that emerges is: who determines, “clinically significant distress and impairment?” How much difficulty or pain makes something a problem that requires intervention? At what point does struggling with one’s relationship to food/movement/their body deserve professional support? How sick is sick enough to get help?

Why does this matter? Because if people suffering believe that they need to be “sick enough” to get help, they simply won’t until things get undeniably bad. And when cultural messaging supports behaviors that cause distress (no pain, no gain, right?), it becomes incredibly hard for those experiencing disordered eating and eating disorders to recognize just how far down the rabbit hole they’ve gone. People develop these behaviors for all kinds of reasons, but very often it is a way for individuals to deal with the challenges of life. As I wrote about last week, we are taught that our bodies are easier to control than our circumstances, so it is no wonder that so many of us turn to restriction when we are feeling otherwise helpless.

All of this is why “parts work” is a major component of the way I treat clients struggling with disordered eating and eating disorders. Parts work stems from the recognition that we all contain multiple different facets and perspectives within one “self,” and sometimes those components are in conflict. For people struggling with restriction, that often means that a part of them is excited by and proud of their “will power,” while another part (even if very small and quiet) is concerned that things have gotten out of hand.

If that sounds at all familiar to you, I encourage you to take a deep breath and hear me when I say: all of this makes sense. It is incredibly hard to create a peaceful relationship with food and your body in a culture that does not want that for you. You do not have to do anything with that resonance right now. If you feel able, I do encourage you to share how you’re feeling with someone that you think might be able to hold the complexity of it all. A friend, a family member, a therapist. You could even DM me (which, just to be clear, would not be therapy… just a friendly ear). And if you’re not ready for that, that’s okay too. Noticing a feeling does not mean that you have to do anything about that feeling, certainly not right away.

If this gives you that sensation of eerie familiarity, but for someone else in your life other than yourself, I see you too. I highly recommend that you find a way to gently say something to that person. My DMs are also open to you if you’re looking for advice on exactly how to broach that subject with a loved one you’re worried about. In addition to the therapist that referred me to an eating disorder specialist, the other biggest nudge I got came in the form of a good friend who very softly expressed concern about how “enthusiastic” I had become about the latest “challenge” at my gym. I want to be clear that these can be very hard conversations to have, especially because of what I mentioned about how restrictive eating disorders work: a big part of a person who is struggling does NOT believe that they are doing anything that could be even potentially harmful. Whatever you might choose to say will be very case by case (again, why I’m down to spitball with you about it if you would like), but broadly I recommend something along the lines of:

I can see how much work you’re putting into your body right now, and if that’s feeling good for you, I support it. I just want to be honest about my own anxiety that comes up when I hear you talk about it all, because it seems like it must be taking up a lot of your energy. Again, if you’re feeling good about it, I’m here for it. I just wanted to say something in case you ever want to talk about any parts of it that feel hard.

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I also just want to say that you, especially (but certainly not exclusively) if you’ve done some work on your own relationship with your body, do not have to indulge people in diet or body talk that feels harmful to you. You can opt out of those conversations by setting a boundary (“I don’t really like to talk about that sort of thing”) or just changing the subject. Not wanting to indulge someone’s over-emphasizing their diet/body/whatever does not make you a killjoy. I also think it’s pretty great to model the ability to have fun and connective conversations that don’t involve body shaming or “wellness” (weight loss) tips. In certain circles, I get that that could sound far-fetched. For your sake, I hope you find that statement surprising. If not… let’s be a part of continuing to move the needle away from that unhelpful (and frankly, not very interesting) nonsense.

Returning to the title of this post, I hope that after reading this you’ve got a better sense that there is no such thing as “sick enough” to get help with your relationship with your body. There is no bar to clear. If you’re feeling like something just isn’t quite right and you’re not sure what to do about it, reach out for support. Depending on the kind of collaboration you need, there are all kinds of therapists, dietitians, coaches, medical professionals, and groups that have your back. You’re not the only one dealing with this stuff, and you certainly don’t have to hold it all by yourself.

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This could be an intense one, but if you’re feeling like you want to be vulnerable and share, I would love to hear about whatever any of this brought up for you. Sending a big virtual squeeze to any of you that want it, and as I mentioned above, feel free to privately message me if that feels good.

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Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

It’s no secret that health is having a moment. From wellness influencers to longevity medicine to optimization culture, there has been a noticeable shift toward people seeking out every opportunity to maximize their well-being. I’m seeing all sorts of diets, exercise regimens, supplement protocols, anti-aging devices, and early detection technology, just to name a handful of the ways. Yes, there’s absolutely also been parallel movement toward striving for thinness and conventional beauty for aesthetic reasons (SkinnyTok and looksmaxxing, for example), but many are couching changes in “lifestyle choices” as a response to concerns about their overall fitness, rather than just their appearance. Whether that’s true or an excuse for pursuing behaviors that could result in weight loss (the truth tends to lie in the middle anyway), as a therapist specializing in body struggles and disordered eating, I believe this trend is worth exploring because of its impact on our collective mental health.

Given my background in eating disorder treatment, my mind immediately goes to wondering where the line is between casual determination to make health-conscious choices and the new kid on the eating disorder block: orthorexia. National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) discusses orthorexia as, “an obsession with proper or ‘healthful’ eating.” They go on to note:

Although being aware of and concerned with the nutritional quality of the food you eat isn’t a problem in and of itself, people with orthorexia become so fixated on so-called ‘healthy eating’ that they actually damage their own well-being and experience health consequences such as malnutrition and/or impairment of psychosocial functioning.

Though orthorexia is not currently a formal diagnosis in the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual DSM-5 TR, the concept has been part of eating disorder conversations for nearly 30 years. Since there are not yet formal diagnostic criteria, it’s also hard to determine if orthorexia is a unique eating disorder, a subtype of another, or a variation of obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Here are some common orthorexia signs and symptoms, according to NEDA:

• An increase in concern about the health of ingredients, potentially including compulsively checking ingredient lists/nutritional labels (unrelated to true allergies and sensitivities)

• Cutting out an increasing number of food groups (all sugar, all carbs, all dairy, all meat, all animal products, etc.)

• An inability to eat anything but a narrow group of foods that are deemed “healthy” or “pure,” and high levels of distress when “safe” foods are not available (or preoccupation with anticipating whether or not they will be)

• Unusual interest in the health of what others are eating

• A feeling of superiority around their nutrition and intolerance of other people’s food behaviors and beliefs

• High levels of perfectionism

• Obsessive following of food/wellness/lifestyle accounts on social media

• Body image concerns may or may not be present

• Psychosocial impairments in different areas of life

We each have all kinds of reasons for the choices we make about the foods we do and do not eat. For some it’s ethics (including animal rights and/or environmentalism). For others it’s religion. Some people have allergies or sensitivities. Some need to be mindful of interactions with medications. The list goes on. I am by no means suggesting that all people need to open themselves up to eating all foods. I’m not even saying that it’s not okay to have limiting preferences. But I am suggesting that it can be beneficial to honestly consider the reasons behind the restrictive choices we make.

A framing I learned working in eating disorder treatment, that I have always really loved, is that it’s important to consider lifestyle changes (such as dietary habits and exercise regimens) like we do pharmaceuticals: they all have intended outcomes, and they also all have potential side effects. As a therapist, it is never my job to tell a client what they should or shouldn’t be eating. It is my job, however, to help them make sense of the decisions they are making and to really consider the mental and emotional “side effects” of those choices. For many, those by-products can range from things like emotional distress to social isolation to medical problems, including fatal ones. And it can be easy for a mild curiosity about dieting to snowball into a dangerous condition that requires attention; not exclusively for people who have especially low bodyweight.

Eating disorders and disordered relationships with food and exercise stem from a variety of contextual factors. But all of them, not just orthorexia, often originate as a desire (even if unconscious) to feel more in control. I get it, I really do. Feeling a lack of agency or a sense of helplessness can be so scary and painful. Especially now, when what is happening in the world and especially in the US feels so out of our control, it makes sense to seek anything that could help give us back some small semblance of power. And there is so much messaging out there that tells us that our bodies are within our control. That the right information and enough discipline will not only keep us looking fit, but will also prevent disease and extend our lives. It’s no wonder that so many of us turn to our bodies when we’re struggling with feelings of powerlessness.

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Where, though, does that leave people who aren’t so lucky as to be “perfectly healthy”? What about people living with chronic illness and/or disability? This is where healthism enters the conversation. Healthism is the belief that health is the primary marker of well-being, and mainly the result of individual choices and behaviors; therefore disease is a personal failing and makes a person morally inferior. It’s the idea that if someone is not in optimal health, it is their fault, and they are less worthy than a completely healthy person. In general, but especially as someone living with a hereditary chronic illness (which maybe I’ll discuss at a later date), I find this concept super fucked up.

Healthism is a highly individualistic notion. It erases systemic issues that are proven to influence health outcomes, such as poverty, stigma, and access to adequate healthcare. And it makes sense, the healthcare system in the US is exceptionally broken, even for people with good insurance coverage. If you’re interested in more on that, Mara Gordon, MD recently wrote this great article about longevity medicine as a response to the current structural failings of primary care.

Your Doctor Friend by Mara Gordon

Why are "longevity bros" so icky?

I recently got a text from an acquaintance looking for a primary care doctor…

Read more

2 months ago · 70 likes · 58 comments · Mara Gordon, MD

It makes me really sad that such a common response to recognizing these problems, which impact all of us, is to seek (and sell) solutions that offer relief only to those of us with enough privilege to access them. Again, I do understand. It is very overwhelming to think broadly about creating change on a larger scale. And it is important for us to advocate for ourselves when the system is not built with our best interests at its core. We all have to do our best to survive (and if we’re lucky, thrive) under capitalism. It also… just really sucks that we’re in this position. And it especially sucks that some of the people who are most vocal about these elitist swerves from regular medical care are not aligned with political movements that support increasing quality care for all. It’s really shitty that so many of us are so unbelievably let down by the system, and it’s even shittier that a lot of people only care about getting their own ass in a lifeboat.

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So then, if you are someone like me who believes that we ought to be looking at health more holistically, systemically, and complexly, we need to be considering our own definitions of what it means to be healthy. Is health just living as long as possible while maintaining physical strength and mobility? I personally think it can’t be that simple. For example, if you present me with 1) a conventionally fit, able-bodied person with an obsessive relationship to food and exercise that’s heightening their anxiety, diminishing their ability to experience pleasure, and isolating them from their people, and 2) a wheel chair user with a condition that requires extensive treatment and might even impact their lifespan, but fairly good mental health and lots of close relationships… if you were to make me pick who I think is “healthier,” theres a good chance I’m going with the latter. I don’t know about you, but anything that involves added rigidity and stress, especially without a true medical or genuinely held ethical reason, does not sound healthy to me. Neither do behaviors that impede connection.

We also need to be really curious about the health and wellness information that we’re encountering, especially from people trying to sell us things. After all, skepticism is the foundation of science. Unfortunately, this can also hold for physicians, who receive very little nutrition education unless they pursue expertise. Just because your doctor recommends that you do something, does not mean that they are the authority on what is best for you. But that also doesn’t mean that some random person on the internet knows better. Trust your instincts when you see or hear something that doesn’t quite sit right with you.

Who can you turn to? Well, if you are looking for support with figuring out how to make choices around food (and even supplements) that work for your body, I highly recommend seeking out a weight-inclusive or weight-neutral registered dietitian (RD). There are RDs who specialize in certain conditions and are trained to work with you (and potentially your doctor) to manage your unique needs. I also recommend working with (similarly weight-inclusive/weight-neutral) physical therapists and personal trainers. Despite the general thinness-obsessed cultural shift we’re experiencing, there are loads of all three, and I’d be happy to steer your toward some of them (and their content) if you’re interested. Here are several great ones to get you started: Abbey Roberts (RD), Shana Minei Spence (RD), Abbie Attwood (nutritionist), Dr. Lisa Folden (physical therapist), and Anna Maltby (personal trainer).

We all get to determine for ourselves what we actually care about when it comes to how we relate to our bodies, what we do to feel our best, and how we maximize the amount of time we get to have on this planet. At the same time, it can be helpful to ask ourselves questions like:

• Does the way I’m thinking about health align with my values?

• Is it more important to me that everything I eat be “healthy” or that I have a “healthy” relationship with food and eating?

• How might others in my life with less health privilege feel when they hear me talk about my wellness practices?

• Am I conceptualizing health broadly enough, considering not only physical, but also mental and emotional health?

• What is compelling me to be so focused on controlling my health and body?

The more I start to think about these things for myself, the more I feel like we’re collectively oversimplifying health in a way that only serves to increase shame. Healthism gives us yet another thing to feel like we’re not doing well enough. So I’m going to keep noodling on this stuff and trying to find my own sense of the ever-elusive balance that feels right for me. If you want to join me in that pursuit, I’d love to hear about it. And as always, if any of this stirs up anything for you that you’d like to share with me, I’d love that too.

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you this, though I doubt I’m the first: you have to feel your feelings if you want to move through them. I know, it sucks. Even as a therapist, I’m not always super into feeling mine either.

I don’t know about you, but I feel absolutely inundated with reminders of this hunger that people seem to have for figuring out how to optimize themselves right now. Drink this, don’t eat that, buy this to fix that, sleep this much but not more than that much, and do it by making sure that you never this, but definitely do wear that, but not too close to when you’re unplugging from this, but use an app for that, and definitely boost your this, so that your hormones can that. Do all of it perfectly and THAT is how you will feel… better.

We all want to feel better. Things do not feel good right now. What’s happening nationally and globally is a backdrop for everything else we’re experiencing, which only serves to heighten how intense all of our day-to-day stressors feel. Of course you’re trying to research routines and habits and products and supplements and whatever else that might be the thing that finally gives you a sense of relief. And I don’t know about you, but I’m so tired of all the things I’ve been feeling. Exhaustion, overwhelm, anxiety, sadness, fear, burnout, tension, frustration, anger, numbness… it’s all unrelenting. And it’s been seemingly unending. I really do understand the impulse to try to do whatever you can to not let these emotions get the best of you. To fight them off. To distract yourself. To push through.

The unfortunate thing though? That almost never truly works.

I use a lot of metaphors and imagery in my therapy practice, and one that comes up a lot with my clients is the idea that feelings are like finger traps. You know, the kind you can win at an arcade? Like this:

You can probably see where this is going. The more you try to pull away, the tighter its grip gets. Feelings tend to work similarly; the more you try to deny them or rush them or fix them or just generally avoid feeling them, the more they consume you. The way out of a finger trap is to push your fingers closer together. Move toward its center, instead of away. It’s deeply counterintuitive, just like it is to lean into those uncomfortable emotions.

Especially for anyone who has experienced depression, it can feel so scary to “give in” to those sensations. My clinical opinion though, is that depressive symptoms don’t appear or worsen when you allow yourself to engage with your emotions. Not even sadness. In fact, often when we experience common elements of depression (numbness, emptiness, lack of joy/pleasure, exhaustion, worthlessness, etc.), it’s because our brains are trying to protect us from feeling our feelings.

Many of us grow up internalizing messages about which feelings are and aren’t safe to feel. This of course varies widely depending on all kinds of contextual factors. Still, especially in white cishet patriarchal culture, it often manifests as people assigned male at birth (“boys”) being taught that “softer” emotions like fear and sadness and are unacceptable, while people assigned female at birth (“girls”) were brought up not “allowed” to be angry. We develop all kinds of strategies, often outside our own awareness, to avoid engaging with these sensations. We label these (and frequently all challenging feelings) as bad. We treat them like they need to be kept at bay, and like they aren’t welcome parts of our day to day experience. And when we do have periods when we acknowledge that we’re feeling a certain way, we label those times as “off” or “dark” or “low” and put our energy into to trying to get “back to normal.”

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But what if feeling feelings, even when it’s inconvenient, even when it “gets in the way” of our regularly scheduled programming… is part of “normal”? What if the goal weren’t to muscle through a “hard stretch” as fast as possible? What if it were feasible to sit with and in an emotion… and to just let it be there? To stop trying to chase it away? To recognize that it eventually WILL leave, if only for a little while, even if we don’t push it out the door? To remember that all things, even the most incessant, are temporary.

To me, this idea is of course a bit daunting, but it’s also… kind of a relief? I feel a deeper exhale than I’ve been able to access recently, when I think about allowing myself to stop putting so much energy into trying to get to the end of this challenging moment. It takes a lot of effort to power through. Plus, rejecting hard feelings isn’t the key to opening up room for pleasurable ones. You can’t experience things like joy, calm, or excitement when you’re trying to suppress your ability to feel at all. Unfortunately, most of the time it’s not possible to pick and choose which feelings to let in. As much and I advocate against oversimplification and black-and-white thinking, I do think that there is a bit of of an all-or-nothing lens that can be applied here. If we focus so hard on rejecting the “bad” feelings, we risk leaving no room for the “good” ones too.

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So how do you actually do it? That will of course depend on who you are and how you tend to process things. I’m very much a verbal processor. I gain so much clarity from listening to myself talk about how I’m feeling, and especially from having someone help me to tease it all out. Of course, I’m an advocate of utilizing a therapeutic relationship for that exploration, but any trusted confidant could be helpful for you instead or in addition. Others really benefit from a more internal process, so maybe it looks more like journaling or meditation. Many people process through creative expression and/or movement. It could also look like watching sad movies when you’re sad or listening to angry music when you’re pissed off. There is no “right” way to feel your feelings. It may take some experimentation and playing around. It could also be a combination of some or all of these things and more. And even simply trying to tap into which of these ideas just sounds the best or most palatable to you could be helpful information for at least finding a starting point.

Finally, I just want to emphatically validate how hard this can be for so many of us. It’s a major focus of the work I do with several of my clients. We all have so many reasons that we have historically struggled with leaning into feeling. Anxious people (like many self-identified ducks) especially tend to have a hard time getting out of our heads in order to better connect to our affective experiences. This can be even more challenging depending on intersectional factors like neurodiversity and social location. But just because something is difficult does not mean that it is impossible. And you do not have to figure out how to do it all alone.

As always, I’d love to hear if any of this resonated for you. Sending all who need and want it a big virtual squeeze.

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*Safety Disclaimer: If for any reason it feels not just hard to access your emotions, but genuinely unsafe, please do not push yourself beyond your own limits, especially without support. Retraumatization is a risk, and not at all the goal of what I’m talking about here. If you think you might struggle with distinguishing attempting to feel your feelings from potentially re-experiencing traumatic moments or events, please seek help from a trained professional to help you connect with your emotions rather than attempting to do this sort of work on your own.

If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

When I’m contemplating the subjects of these posts, I like to think about any themes that are naturally emerging. Over the past week or so, this idea has become very clear to me. Both in conversations in my personal life and in sessions with my therapy clients, so many people are talking about the sensation of always being the one to consider others, and the frustration that comes from feeling like that care is not reciprocated. I deeply resonate.

Anxious brains are thoughtful brains. I’d venture to guess that many of you reading this (especially those of you who identify as ducks) can relate. Our oversaturated minds are constantly scanning, mulling over how we might impact those around us. This could of course manifest as worrying: Am I being annoying? Did I offend that person? Did I do enough? And it could also show up as kindness: I want to make sure they feel loved. I should check that they’re available before I schedule my event. I hope they know that they can lean on me.

It can feel so frustrating to show up for people, even to go above and beyond for them, and for that care to not be shown back to you. First of all, I just want to validate that, because yes, it IS super upsetting to put so much energy into caring for your people and to feel like you’re not receiving that same level of thoughtfulness from them. And I get why this feeling can lead to your growing resentful. It makes sense to feel hurt and angry because you want someone to take care of you for a change. Or at the very least, because you want others to show you that they’re recognizing your needs as much as you’re thinking about theirs. So what are you supposed to do? Just keep bending over backwards for people, continuing to grow increasingly frustrated when they don’t show you the same level of consideration? I don’t think so.

A few weeks ago, I posted about the six perfectionist archetypes that I see all the time. You probably could have guessed that this particular issue is a people pleaser problem. An important thing to remember about people pleasing is that it is fundamentally not actually something we do for other people. It is an adaptation that many of us develop in order to help us feel safe, because we have internalized the idea that we need to earn love and care through our actions. Thinking about pulling back, about doing less, feels scary because that could mean upsetting people and losing any potential for their affection. I say none of this to induce shame; this is not something that any of us choose. It is, however, our responsibility to figure out how we can both 1) be gentle with ourselves about this tendency and 2) determine what we want to do with our awareness that it might no longer be serving us.

It’s important to recognize that there is a cost to consideration. Being thoughtful takes a toll on your mental and emotional energy (not to mention that it can also involve literal financial expense). You get to budget for it. Just like with actual money, sometimes you have costs that you don’t want to include. At the same time, there might be recurring subscriptions that you can cancel if they’re no longer working for you. Have I sufficiently tortured this metaphor? Cool, just making sure.

If you’re at this point, seeing yourself in this concept, and feeling like something needs to change, I’ve got you. Here are some questions to ask yourself that could help inform your decision-making next time you’re thinking of doing something considerate for someone else:

• Would I still do this if I knew I wasn’t going to get anything in return? Would you still want to do this gesture if you knew it could go unacknowledged? If you knew that you were not only not going to be reciprocated, but that you might not even get a thank you? If the answer is yes, go for it! But if it’s no? I might at least entertain reconsidering.

• Whose rules am I playing by? Are you genuinely the one who wants to do this thing, or do you have someone else’s voice in your head telling you that it’s what you should be doing? Especially (but certainly not exclusively) if you were socialized as a girl/woman, you’ve probably absorbed a lot of cultural messaging around what it means to be “good,” and maybe it’s time to consider what of it actually feels like what you want for yourself.

• Who made me in charge of everyone else’s feelings? People pleasing is often rooted in the sense of safety that comes from trying to keep those around us happy. Check in with yourself about whether that might be what you’re trying to do here, and think about whether that’s actually a) what you want to be doing and b) even possible.

• What will this cost me? Think of this holistically: energetically, emotionally, financially, etc. Do you want to spend those resources on this gesture?

• Do I feel resourced enough to be caring for others? There’s that saying, “you can’t pour from an empty cup.” Do you have enough in your cup to give right now? If not, how might you be able to resource yourself? Or, can you decide that now is not the time to be trying to take on others’ needs on top of your own?

• Do I know for sure that they actually want this thing that I’m going out of my way to do? Often we make assumptions about the kind of care that others would find helpful, without checking in about what that person actually wants or needs. It’s very possible that if you were to touch base first, you’d find out that something that’s less of a heavy lift for you might have an even bigger impact.

• Do I want to try to have a direct conversation with someone the next time I feel dropped or unconsidered? I get that this could be tricky, and might often not feel worth the effort, but sometimes people have no idea how you’re feeling. There’s no way for anyone to change their behavior if they don’t know that that’s what you want. Waiting for someone to do something differently on their own, without telling them what you need, is a recipe for disappointment. Also remember that it’s unlikely that one individual person is responsible for this cumulative sensation you’re experiencing. If you feel like you’re “always” considering others, don’t take that out on one person, even if they really did make you feel unseen. It’s fair to mention that this is a pattern you experience, but don’t make it their fault if it’s a larger theme in your life.

• Can I identify things that I’d like support with? As much as it would feel nice for people to show up for us on their own, often they need guidance about what would be helpful or feel good. For more on this one, check out my post on the importance of learning to ask for help. It’s possible that your sensation of always being the one to think of others could be because you’re not recognizing when others are trying to show up for you.

Do any of these questions stand out to you? Do have you more to add? I’d love to chat about what you all do when you catch yourselves trying to do too much.

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

This title is not a rhetorical question, I actually want to know. Whether you’re working with someone now or are looking for someone new: how much do you want to know about your therapist? Where is the line between “this window into who this person is helps me want to open up to them” and “this is TMI” for you?

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately, as I’ve begun to start marketing my therapy practice using methods (like Substack) that aim to cast a wider, more public-facing net. I’ve read many thoughtful pieces in which other healthcare and healing professionals grapple with these ideas. I’ve brought this question to supervision and to many conversations with friends and colleagues navigating the same confusing tension. Some err on the side of extreme caution, opting to put as little about themselves online as possible, for fear of how having access to information about them could impact their clients. Others believe that the changing landscape of the field demands more insight into who we are as people, not just as professionals, and that clients are not as interested in investing in someone whose presence is more opaque. I can name several therapists with huge social media followings and platforms. Sure, some have recently come under fire for problematic behavior, but many at least claim to have full caseloads and waitlists. Everything I’ve read about reaching more people, which inherently is the goal of marketing, suggests that vulnerability is key to expanding. It’s a pickle, and if I’m being honest, the contradictory attitudes are making me a bit salty.

One of my therapist friends shared an anecdote about how seeing something on her own therapist’s social media made her uncomfortable. It wasn’t anything objectively egregious, but it gave her insight into an element of this therapist’s sensibility and values system that had not previously presented itself in session... and it left a bad taste in her mouth. She didn’t stop seeing that therapist, but did say that she wished she hadn’t seen it. It made me wonder if this sort of thing happened to any of my clients if they would even tell me. Would they bring it to session? I’d hope so. Would they stifle it, but keep working with me? Terminate, fade away, or ghost? Those options do seem more likely.

In grad school, a professor told my class about a former student that was seeing an openly anti-semitic client. The story went that after months of working together and building a deep bond, the therapist finally revealed that they were Jewish. I remember my class discussing this like it was a miraculous example of the therapists’s putting aside their feelings in service of the client’s work. I can’t recall exactly what the presenting concern was or much else about this case, but the whole thing felt strange to me. How is it in service of the client, especially if their work is at all relational, to withhold the emotional impact that they are having on the therapist? How would a big delayed reveal like that not potentially harm trust and rapport? I fully understand the importance of boundaries in the therapy room, but that level of distance feels excessively detached. By eschewing their identity (and almost certainly their feelings), that therapist might have been asking insightful questions, but I’m not sure that they were building what I would consider an authentic therapeutic alliance.

From the perspective of those trying to turn mental healthcare into a profit-driven commodity, I get the appeal of a therapist’s removing themself from the equation as much as possible.

In her post The Fall of the Traditional Therapist, Josie Rosario wrote:

Distance makes therapists replaceable and behavioral health profitable.

If the therapist is interchangeable, then the healing can’t live in the person, but rather the credential: the letters, the license, or whatever the insurance company will reimburse. And if the healing lives there, any credentialed provider can fill the slot.

Any credentialed provider… or any robot programmed by (almost certainly) not a mental health practitioner, to piece together bits and pieces from whatever anyone on the internet (clinician or not) has said about whatever problem a person presents.

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I’m not here for it. So many people believe that all therapists practice with a “blank slate” approach, performing neutrality unless a very particular and obviously rare situation presents when “thoughtful self-disclosure” would almost certainly benefit the client. Some orientations do operate this way, and if that feels right for you, more power to you. Every pot has a lid and all that. But most of my training is in a theoretical orientation called Relational Gestalt, which functions through the therapist’s showing up as their fully human self. This does NOT mean that the therapist centers themself and waxes poetic about their own life for no reason. It does mean that my clients tend to know more about me, especially if they want to, than one might expect. I don’t typically share details or particulars, but if it feels like it might be helpful and I have my client’s consent, I will bring my own lived experience into the conversation. I especially don’t shy away from sharing how something a client said impacted me emotionally, or about my embodied experience of taking in what my client is sharing. I smile, I laugh, I gasp, I tear up, I react… just like I would in life. That might not be for everyone, but I’m not trying to be everyone’s therapist.

I’ve had several clients express curiosity about something about me, and ask if it’s okay to ask me things, even sometimes about very basic facts of my life. Their hesitation makes sense, I remember being taught to respond to questions about me with responses like, “What would knowing the answer to that mean for you?” or “I’m curious about what made you ask that.” Sometimes I do want to know what’s behind the question for sure, but I also think that I would find being on the receiving end of responses like that pretty distancing and off-putting.

Knowing more information about your therapist can help you determine whether or not you feel safe enough to open up to them. It makes total sense to me that my couples want to know whether or not I’m in a relationship, or that my clients with disordered eating want to know if I have a history of struggling in similar ways. It also seems very obvious to me that clients would be curious about my values and my politics, especially if they hold certain marginalized identities or have been through things that some might consider controversial. They’re just making sure that the place they’re trying to land is soft enough before they leap. To deflect any of that genuine curiosity with a cold and clinical response feels honestly kind of unethical. I feel so strongly that prospective clients (and readers) should have access to this type of information, that I wrote a whole post about some values that inform my work (which you can check out here if you like):

Duck Syndrome's Guiding Ethics

I want my clients to feel like they can ask me whatever they want to ask me. It’s my responsibility as the provider 1) to hold (and model holding) my boundaries if an inquiry crosses over into something I think would be inappropriate to answer, and 2) to ensure that whatever comes up feels in service of the work that the client is there to do with me, not just an opportunity for me to tell an interesting anecdote. I am a human in the room, even if we’re in two different rooms and talking through screens. That connection is what facilitates the healing.

My therapist talks about herself a lot. I say this with love, and with gratitude; I’ve been working with this person for over a decade. Considering my own work around learning to recognize and vocalize my own needs, it’s honestly leant itself to good practice interrupting her if she goes off on a personal tangent that feels well-meaning, but not exactly how I want to use my session time. I’ve never told her that I think she talks about herself too much. I wonder if I ever will. What I do know though, is that my experience with her makes me incredibly cognizant of making sure I’m not droning on about myself in a way that’s more about me than it is about my client.

So I know where that line is in sessions, it feels intuitive at this point. But this brings me back to my original dilemma: how does this translate to open spaces where I don’t know who is engaging with what I am saying? How does it work when I don’t know whether what I write is in service of a given reader’s needs? How do I open myself up enough to give prospective clients insight to who I am without risking turning some of them off with my opinions? I think the answer is… and I probably should have seen this coming… that there is no way to do this perfectly.

I just have to try and figure out how to find a balance between sharing myself openly, and taking care such that I feel good about any potential client’s having access to my thoughts without our ever having actually spoken. I think I just need to speak as authentically as I can while trying to apply the way I think in session to a broader audience. I have to hold my own experience while considering how reading it could impact someone out there looking for help. Some people will be driven away, but I have to believe that they’re the ones that wouldn’t have turned out to be a good fit anyway. I just hope that by sharing publicly about the way I think and what feels important to me, those looking for support from someone like me will feel compelled to connect. And I hope that those are the ones that will appreciate how much thought I’ve clearly put into this, as evidenced by how long this post is :)

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Now, as I said at the start, I really do want to know what you think. How much do you want to know about your therapist (whether you currently have one or not)? What feels important to learn and what feels like too much? And if you’re also a therapist (or in a similar client-centered professional position), what are your thoughts on all of this? Let me know, I would love to chat!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers appearing to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I spent the bulk of my first year after graduating from therapy school working in partial hospitalization and intensive outpatient eating disorder (ED) treatment. I didn’t apply to grad school thinking that I would be drawn to this work, though I probably should have guessed that it would come naturally to me. Like in any program worth its salt, much of my first year was spent considering my own struggles and learning about all of the different ways that my personal experiences could (both positively and negatively) impact my clinical work. By the time I was through, I had developed not only significantly more understanding about my own eating disorder history, but also a passion for helping others through their recovery.

A lot of therapists say that they won’t work with eating disorders, and I can understand why. According to the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA), eating disorders have the second highest mortality rate of any psychiatric illness, behind opiate addiction. They also carry an increased risk of both substance use disorder and suicide attempts. But NEDA also notes that 9% of the US population (as of 2020) has an eating disorder. Given what we’ve all been through, plus the cultural shift that has occurred (thanks in no small part to the rapid rise of GLP-1 use) since then, I would be shocked if that number weren’t higher now. This also obviously doesn’t account for all of the people that have a disordered relationship with food, exercise, and/or their bodies, but are never formally diagnosed and therefore not part of that statistic.

So there’s a good chance that any therapist with a caseload of 20 is currently seeing at least 2 clients dealing with some level of disordered eating, if not a “clinically significant” eating disorder. NEDA also sites a study from 2023 which found that 22% of children and adolescents worldwide show disordered eating. A therapist working with kids and/or teens is even more likely to already be seeing clients that exhibit concerning behaviors around food/movement and/or attitudes toward their bodies. It’s easy for practitioners to write eating disorder sufferers off as a separate subset of the population, only to find themselves working with a client that raises cause for ED suspicion after coming in for an entirely separate issue.

I’ve had several experiences with colleagues who want to consult with me about a client after finding out that I treat eating disorders and specialize in body struggles. I very much appreciate being a resource for these clinicians, and the conversations have always been nuanced, curious, and compassionate. At the same time, too often the therapist will either start with their experience of observing their client’s body or lament (sometimes apologetically) their inability to get a full picture of what the client’s body looks like, either due to clothing choices or by virtue of seeing the client via telehealth. More often than not, an attempt at a subjective weight-centered physical assessment comes before any discussion of anything the client has actually said.

Way too many therapists believe that it is possible to tell whether or not a person has eating disorder by looking at the size and shape of their body.

A person that is “unusually” thin sets off alarm bells for anorexia nervosa. A person in a larger body prickles the instinct to assess for binge eating disorder. The biggest problem with this line of thinking is that bodies respond very differently to behaviors around food and movement (based on a plethora of genetic and biological factors), so the way someone physically appears is an unreliable source of information about what is actually happening for them. I say none of this to shame other therapists, especially because I get that this area isn’t everyone’s passion, but instead to highlight a systemic problem that can get in the way of people’s receiving care that could change their lives for the better.

A huge part of the issue is that many therapists are not actually taught much at all about how to screen for eating disorders. I remember only one lesson in one class of my master’s program that had been dedicated to discussing them at all. In that lecture, we talked about To the Bone (2017) a movie featuring a very thin, white, college-aged girl… the exact type of person that most of our mind’s eyes conjure when thinking of an ED sufferer. If I hadn’t personally taken such an interest and devoted several independent projects to the subject, I’d probably have finished school knowing next to nothing about eating disorders too. I even had a professor ask my take on a private practice client after a presentation I gave. Many therapists don’t actually know what to look for unless they see a body that they deem atypical at either end of the size spectrum.

Spotting eating disorder warning signs is especially confusing because so many attitudes toward food and exercise that our culture celebrates (especially in a city like Los Angeles) are what I, and other eating disorder specialists, would consider cause for concern. For people whose weight is considered in or above the “normal” range, behaviors that one might flag for an “underweight” person are supported and praised. The slope between impressive discipline and worrying obsession, especially for those of us that tend toward perfectionism, is so slippery that it might as well be a cliff.

Here are some eating disorder facts from NEDA (more at that link) that challenge typically held perceptions about who is at risk and worth assessing:

• Less than 6% of people with an eating disorder are medically underweight.

• People in larger bodies have a 2.45 times greater chance of engaging in disordered eating behaviors than straight-sized peers, but receive a clinical eating disorder diagnosis half as often.

• Atypical anorexia nervosa (AAN) (anorexia nervosa, except that the person is within a “normal” or higher weight range) occurs more frequently than anorexia nervosa, however fewer individuals with AAN are referred or admitted to eating disorder treatment. Insurance is also less likely to cover care for AAN.

• People of color (Hispanic/Latina/o, Black/African American, and Asian Americans) are more likely to engage in disordered eating behaviors than their white counterparts, but are half as likely to be diagnosed or to receive treatment. Youth of color are less than two thirds as likely to receive recommended treatment compared with white youth.

• LGBTQ+ adults and adolescents experience greater incidence of eating disorders and disordered eating behaviors than their heterosexual and cisgender counterparts.

• Prevalence rates for eating disorders have been shown to be higher in athletes than non-athletes, ranging range from 6-45% in female athletes and 0-19% in male athletes. A recent study reported that 86% of competitive athletes met criteria for an eating disorder or disordered eating.

• Rates of eating disorders in males are increasing at a faster rate than for females. (Macro-counting gym bros, how you doing?)

So since just looking at a person’s body is NOT a great predictor of whether or not they have an eating disorder, here are some common warning signs and symptoms to look for (again, more at that link, including breakdown by ED):

• Behavioral/Emotional/Cognitive

  • Preoccupation with weight loss, food, calories, and dieting, including refusal of certain foods or food groups and/or rigid tracking

  • Development of food rituals, rules, or unusual eating behaviors, including a strong preference to eat alone and/or on a certain schedule

  • Avoidance of mealtimes and situations involving food, or general withdrawal from social situations; possibly increased isolation and/or secrecy

  • Excessive thinking about/planning food and/or anticipating food served at events

  • Extreme concern with body size and shape, potentially including frequent checking behaviors such as looking in the mirror and/or measuring/weighing

  • Fear of weight gain

  • Maintaining a strict and inflexible exercise regimen (especially despite illness/injury/etc.), especially if it interferes with other activities

  • Drinking excessive amounts of water and/or using excessive amounts of mouthwash, mints, or gum

  • Compensatory behaviors after eating

  • Sneaking or hoarding food

  • Increasingly “picky” eating

  • Fear of choking/vomiting

  • Developmentally inappropriate consumption of non-food items

  • Extreme mood swings

  • Difficulty concentrating

  • Inability to feel hunger and/or fullness cues

  • Feeling out of control around food or while eating

  • Shame and guilt (especially after eating or when unable to exercise)

  • Self-esteem overly related to body image

• Physical/Medical

  • Noticeable shifts in body size, up or down (yes, this is a potential sign… just certainly not the ONLY one)

  • Gastrointestinal complaints

  • Abnormal laboratory findings

  • Impaired immune function

  • Poor wound healing

  • Muscle weakness

  • Dizziness (especially upon standing) and/or fainting/syncope

  • Feeling cold all the time (potentially dressing in many layers)

  • Sleep concerns

  • Dental problems

  • Dryness or thinning of hair/skin/nails

  • Fine hair on body (lanugo)

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If you are a provider (whether a fellow therapist or other health professional), and you pick up on any of these signals in someone with whom you’re working, I strongly recommend that you consult with an eating disorder specialist to get a better sense of how you can best support your client. I would be happy to chat. And if you yourself resonate with anything on this list, even if you’re not sure if what you’re experiencing is actually disordered, I encourage you to touch base with an eating disorder professional (such as a therapist like me, or a registered dietitian) to discuss options for support.

I am so grateful that my first therapist in LA was well-informed about eating disorders. When she was preparing to retire and gathering referrals for me, she gently asked if I would be open to my next provider being an eating disorder specialist. I was somehow both surprised and unsurprised, and thankfully I said sure. Without that nudge (despite my not physically appearing “typically” anorexic), my disordered relationship with food and exercise very well might have intensified. Through working with an outpatient therapist specializing in eating disorders, I was able to prevent progression and work toward recovery without needing to pursue a higher level of care. It’s an honor to now to be on the other side of that therapeutic alliance, getting to help others find their way toward a more peaceful relationship with food, movement, and their bodies.

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So did any of this surprise you? Or for others with personal and/or professional eating disorder experience, any other misconceptions that frustrate you? I’d love to discuss!

Leave a comment

If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

Duck Syndrome is a free weekly newsletter for overwhelmed perfectionists and anxious over-thinkers, who appear to have it all together while frantically paddling under the surface. It is written by therapist Carrie Smolen, who works with clients all over California, specializing in perfectionism and body struggles (including eating disorders). Thank you for supporting Duck Syndrome by reading, liking, subscribing, sharing, commenting, and helping this community of ducks to grow.

I am terrible at asking for help. I’m bad at accepting help. In a lot of situations, I’m not even particularly good at admitting that I could probably theoretically use help.

One of my main flavors of perfectionism is the sensation that I need to do everything on my own. My independence has been reinforced throughout my life, leading me to develop a sense of self that is centered around my own capabilities and resources. In my mind, if I can do something on my own, that means I should do that thing on my own. Even when the responsibility is shared with another person or group, my brain tries to convince me that the division of labor has to skew toward putting more on my shoulders. I volunteer for things I don’t really want to do all the time, just because I want to be considered a team player. I often feel like a little lump of cold butter trying to be spread over too much toast.

In my therapy practice, I work with a lot of clients who feel similarly. They want to think of themselves as people that add value to their families, friend groups, and networks; they do not want to be people anyone might perceive as a burden. They struggle mightily with the idea of causing anyone to feel put upon. In theory, this attribute seems pretty innocuous and even generous; there’s an inherent thoughtfulness about how they impact others. But what starts off as not wanting to ask too much of those around them can quickly lead to unintended consequences. Much of the work I do with clients like these involves creating awareness around all of the things that contribute to this fear, and slowly increasing their capacities to try trusting confidants to support them.

I’ve been thinking about a few different recent instances of close friends asking me to help them with favors. For their privacy, I’m not going to specify what these things were, but they were all medium-sized asks. Not super inconvenient for me, but also the sort of thing where I did have to go out of my way or rearrange my schedule slightly. In each of these circumstances, my friends were profusely apologetic and excessively effusive. They offered me compensatory treats and reconfirmed more than once that it was really not too much trouble for me. Of course I appreciate the consideration, and not taking my time or energy for granted. And don’t get me wrong, I’d never turn down being taken to a thank you lunch. At the same time, it’s made me reflect quite a bit on how we got to a place where we all feel so uncomfortable leaning on one another.

I think somewhere along the way, without realizing it, my inadvertent tendency to resist asking for help has contributed to a culture where this particular type of avoidance has become a norm in my circles. By not asking for support when I could use it, I’ve also been accidentally projecting the message that I am not open to receiving such requests.

I don’t know about you, but that idea makes me feel like a little bit of an asshole. When we don’t ask for help, we deprive the people that care about us the opportunity to show up for us. We forget that it actually feels really good to help people we love when we are able.

I know that much of the reluctance around asking for help is informed by broader (especially white, higher SES, individualist) cultural ideas about what it means to mature. At some point over the past decade or so, my friends and I implicitly agreed to frame no longer inconveniencing one another as some sort of right of passage. It became “more adult” not to ask one another for things like rides to and from the airport or help moving. I very much acknowledge that such a stance is facilitated by economic privilege, but these things became somewhat out of the question once it was understood that generally speaking we could afford things like ride shares or overnight parking or moving companies.

I think we also probably overestimate how under-resourced we all are, because it’s so culturally condoned to emphasize being busy. It does make it harder to ask for help when we think we’re likely to get a no, because rejection in any form feels scary and can hurt, even if it’s on a small scale and accompanied by apologies and explantations. Again, I would never advocate being rude or careless with others’ time and energy, but I do think that we talk ourselves out of making the reach because we preemptively convince ourselves that whatever we need is “too much” or shouldn’t be anyone else’s problem.

Lately, especially in response to the current political climate, I’ve been consuming and engaging in more and more discourse about the importance of building community. People are talking about valuing looking out for each other and showing up for one another in times of need. In parenting circles, we talk about building the “village” we’ve all been told it takes to raise children. I’m seeing people leaning into the idea of more spontaneous and unfussy “entertaining” where you don’t worry about whether your place is “presentable” or your menu is “impressive” enough for company. There’s an intimacy to exposing your mess to others, just as there’s connection that forms through vulnerability.

When we invite people into our space (whether literally or just emotionally), allowing for it to be imperfect, we signal to them that we trust them with our fallibility. We communicate that we feel close enough to be safe exposing the parts of ourselves that we don’t show to strangers and acquaintances. I believe that the same goes for when we ask each other for help. When someone asks me for help, especially when it’s about something that is important to them or would make them feel happier/more rested/less overwhelmed/generally better… it feels SO good. It affirms their comfort with me, and reinforces that they feel at ease with me in the way that I want those close to me to feel.

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So, that is all one reason that not asking for help makes me feel like an asshole, but: surprise! I actually have another. When I don’t ask for help… I end up feeling like I have too many balls in the air. And despite being from San Francisco, and having “circus arts” as part of my elementary school P.E. curriculum… I truly cannot juggle. When I have that feeling for too long, when it feels like I’m a shark that can’t stop swimming because I have too many things that need my attention, I burn out. And when I burn out, I don’t have the capacity to show up in the way I’d like to: as my most grounded, gracious, curious self. All of which is just a long-winded way of saying that it’s harder for me not to be an asshole.

With all of that said, I want to publicly declare my intention to act in a way that aligns more with my values. I want to project to my community that I want to create an atmosphere that normalizes asking for and accepting help from one another. I want to let go of the idea that my worth derives from how much I can do for others, and how little I need from anyone else. I want to take care of myself so that I can feel resourced enough to be the best me for the people I love. Of course, I recognize that a lot of this is easier said that done and that it takes work to get to a safer place around putting all of this into action. Still, I want to intentionally grow toward this kind of interdependence. Who’s with me?

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, body struggles, eating disorders, or other duck troubles, I offer virtual therapy across the state.

Book a Free Consult

And if you are in need of immediate support, please consult this list of crisis warm lines or this list of community-based alternatives to police in your city for emergency help.

This post is very slightly adapted from the Therapy for Perfectionists page of my website. I figured that all the personality-quiz-loving Substackers deserved a peak at my silly little perfectionism subcategories. If you resonate and live in Los Angeles (or any part of California) and are seeking individual support, I’d love to chat with you about potentially working together.

So you’re a perfectionist.

Is that a problem? Not necessarily! In fact, if you do identify this way, your perfectionism has probably gotten you pretty far. You might be hard-working, responsible, and organized. It’s likely that you’re thoughtful, empathetic, and attuned to others’ needs. You could even be getting feedback about how impressive you are, or at least how much potential you have.

On the flip side, perfectionism can be exceptionally sneaky. It can impact your life in ways that are exhausting, limiting, or quietly painful without your even realizing it. After all, that’s where the name “duck syndrome” comes from— we’re keeping our cool on the surface while frantically paddling beneath it.

As a therapist, most of my clients don’t come to me saying, “Hi, I’m a perfectionist and I’d like to fix that.” Most show up saying things like:

• I’m overwhelmed and tired, but can’t seem to slow down

• I can’t make decisions about even the smallest things

• I feel like I’m doing everything and still not enough

Sound familiar?

Below are the very basic broad strokes of several “perfectionist archetypes” I see all the time in clients (and in my own lived experience). Which do you identify with most?

The People Pleaser Perfectionist

People pleaser perfectionists believe that in order to receive love and affection, you need to do things just right. You might experience some social anxiety and make negative assumptions about how people perceive you. You probably spend a lot of time worrying about whether people are upset with you, and have fears about people writing you off or even cutting you out of their lives. You likely struggle with your self-worth and think that if you can just behave in all the right ways, others will be more likely to want to be around you.

On one hand, these attributes probably make you a very conscientious person. It’s not a bad thing to consider how you impact those around you.

On the other hand, your desire to act and be just right in the eyes of others could be impeding your ability to really understand yourself and what you actually care about. Plus, it’s just plain exhausting to be so concerned about what everyone else is thinking about you all the time.

✔ STRENGTHS: Thoughtful, attuned, kind, socially aware.

✔ STRUGGLES: Sometimes you lose sight of what you want, because being liked feels safer than being known.

The Perpetually Self-Sufficient Perfectionist

Perpetually self-sufficient perfectionists believe that you can, and perhaps even have to, do it all. You might own your own business or otherwise work for yourself in some other capacity. If you parent, you’re likely the default parent, taking it upon yourself to handle most (if not all) of the logistical considerations of managing another life.

The idea of needing (not to mention asking for) help makes you very uncomfortable, and delegating is not a strong suit to say the least. You’ve probably received quite a bit of praise for your independence, your ambition, or your otherwise generally responsible nature. Not dissimilar from people pleaser perfectionists, perpetually self-sufficient perfectionists believe that you need to prove your worth in order to receive love and care.

The problem is that this can lead to overworking yourself to the point of burnout. You might be overwhelmed by the sensation that if you don’t keep the balls in the air or the plates spinning, everything will come crashing down. That’s a lot of pressure to put on one person, don’t you think?

✔ STRENGTHS: Wildly competent, dependable, capable as hell.

✔ STRUGGLES: The creeping fear that if you don’t hold everything together, it will all fall apart. And it will be your fault.

The Performance Review Perfectionist

Performance review perfectionists know your worth and know what you deserve. You tend to have very clear ideas of right and wrong and find comfort in rules and structure. You measure yourself and others against a set of criteria, carefully refined over time, because you want to see results from the hard work you put into everything you do, and believe that others should be doing the same.

Performance review perfectionists tend to have high expectations of everyone, often especially of yourself. Issues arise though, when either you or those around you struggle to live up to those expectations. Performance review perfectionists often struggle interpersonally, especially romantically, because either nobody ever checks enough boxes to make a suitable partner, or because the partner you have chosen does not fit into your vision of an ideal match.

You might generally feel dissatisfied because no object or experience or connection ever quite measures up to the version you have in your head. The idea of lowering your standards sure sounds like settling though. But if you don’t work to figure out which boxes might not actually need checking, you might end up feeling as lonely and disappointed as you currently are forever.

✔ STRENGTHS: Confident, strong sense of values, ambitious.

✔ STRUGGLES: Nothing and no one is ever good enough, so you may never be satisfied.

The Popsicle Perfectionist

Popsicle perfectionist is my cutesyass name for all of you that struggle with procrastination and maybe also decision-making. Why? Because y’all experience perfectionism as a freeze response.

You might get anxious and overwhelmed to the point that you can’t get your brain to slow down enough to figure out how to get started on things. You might get so worried about making the right choice that you feel like you can never make decisions confidently. You know how much potential you have, but you feel like you keep getting in your own way. You also might be terrified of failing or messing up to the point that it can be hard for you to put effort into things you think won’t come naturally to you.

For popsicle perfectionists, the idea of trying something and it not working out is scarier than just not trying at all. Inevitably though, this leads to sensations of stuckness in at least one, if not multiple, areas of your life. Do you want to figure out how to break out of the inertia and get that ball rolling?

✔ STRENGTHS: Contemplative, sensitive, considerate.

✔ STRUGGLES: You may see yourself as lazy, incapable, or lacking resilience because you don’t understand why things feel so much harder for you than they seem for others.

The Physique-Focused Perfectionist

Unsurprisingly, physique-focused perfectionists are very concerned about the size, shape, and overall appearance of your physical body. This fixation is generally informed by conventional and mainstream (white cishet patriarchal and ableist) beauty and wellness standards, even if your true values do not align with those ideals.

You might genuinely believe that these criteria are harmful, but that for some reason you yourself still must adhere to them to the best of your ability, in order to achieve the sense of belonging that you crave. While this can certainly manifest as a disordered relationship to food and/or exercise, not all physique-focused perfectionists are preoccupied by weight. You might instead (or additionally), put a lot of energy into optimizing your health, preventing aging, conforming to expected ideas of gender presentation, or controlling any other element of your image.

While putting energy into how you appear isn’t necessarily a problem, the line between thoughtful consideration and distressing obsession can be exceptionally thin. If this one resonates for you, I highly recommend you also check out my Body Struggles page, especially if you might be interested in working with me around these sorts of concerns.

✔ STRENGTHS: Disciplined, resilient, self-motivated.

✔ STRUGGLES: Less and less brain space for anything that isn’t related to impacting your appearance… and that slope is slippery.

The Planet Saver Perfectionist

Planet saver perfectionists are deeply troubled by the state of the world. I mean, same. So you’ve committed to doing everything you can to try and make the world a better place. Maybe you’re in a helping profession. Maybe you’re an activist or organizer. Maybe you’re vocal about your stance on important issues in all the ways that feel right for you.

For planet saver perfectionists, the pressure to do better and to do more feels unsurmountable. You’re committed to reducing your waste and feel unbearably guilty if you forget your reusable coffee mug. You feel like you’re not saying enough to your uninformed family members, not doing enough to make conditions better in your office or city, not sacrificing enough to be the example against capitalism and consumerism that you want to be.

It’s getting hard to live with yourself because there is so much more that if you really committed, you could be doing to make a bigger difference. How could you possibly relax and enjoy life when there is so much suffering to solve?

✔ STRENGTHS: Benevolent, compassionate, hopeful.

✔ STRUGGLES: You’re punishing yourself for systemic failings, but your misery isn’t going to change the world for the better.

So, what stuck out?

I’d be so curious to hear what resonated for you. Leave a comment below with which of these you fall into. Or maybe you feel like your perfectionism doesn’t quite fit into any of these types, and I’d love to hear about that too. I myself identify mostly as a recovering perpetually self-sufficient/people pleaser perfectionist with moments of… well, honestly… all of the others too, to varying degrees :)

And if you’d like to see me go more in depth about (any of) these perfectionist types, please let me know that as well! I’m considering making a series around them, and I’d love to know what you’d be interested in reading. Deeper dives? Maybe how each might respond to a situation/vignette? Tips? More about my own experience of recognizing these attributes in clients or in myself? What I might do if I were to identify these traits in a loved one? Let me know what sounds cool to you!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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I don’t believe in procrastination.

I’ll tell you why, but first I’m going to get semantic for a moment, bear with me. According to Merriam-Webster, to procrastinate is, “to put off intentionally the doing of something that should be done.” Right off the bat, the word “intentionally” stands out to me. An intention is, “a determination to act in a certain way,” and to intend is, “to have in mind as a purpose or goal.” So by all those definitions, procrastination is the act of determining, on purpose, to delay doing something that one is supposed to be doing now.

Sure, that’s very linguistically technical, but isn’t it also what we’re all more or less conditioned to believe? We’re taught that procrastination is a symptom of laziness; that if we had enough willpower or motivation, of course we would be able to accomplish everything we ought to be doing in a timely fashion. The problem is us. We’re too lethargic and slothful to stay on task. There are things that we “should” be doing, but we’re choosing not to do them because we’re flawed and unproductive pieces of shit.

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If you’re thinking that I’m about to start denouncing productivity culture: you’re right! I am! But only briefly. Because I think if you’re reading this, you’re probably already in on the idea that the intense pressure we feel to hustle and produce all the time is a cruel feature of capitalism; and if you want to read more about that, you can check out writers like Jenny Odell and The Nap Ministry’s Tricia Hersey and many others with lots of important and insightful things to say on the subject.

What I actually want to focus on, is that I don’t think when we talk about procrastination we’re talking about a process that’s the slightest bit intentional. In my work as a therapist, no client that has claimed to, “struggle with procrastination,” has ever described their experience as a choice. The challenge isn’t, “I’m electing to do other things instead of the thing I need to be doing,” but rather, “I just can’t bring myself to do what I need to do.”

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Because many of us are conditioned to believe that we can achieve more by “pushing through” despite how we feel, we treat procrastination like a habit we can break with the right optimization tools. We just need a better schedule or a new product, and then we’ll be able to maximize our output with peak efficiency. We treat ourselves with “tough love” like an asshole coach telling their star player, “I’m only so hard on you because I believe in you.” It’s as if believing in ourselves and our potential is diametrically opposed to self-compassion.

So when I say that I don’t believe in procrastination, what I mean is: I don’t believe that we struggle to stay “on task” because we haven’t figured out the right system that will solve all of our productivity issues and help us “adult” better. Don’t get me wrong, I know that some people benefit profoundly from discovering strategies and rhythms that work well for them, and that this is especially prevalent among neurodiverse people. Figuring out how to work with, rather than against, your brain is a deeply powerful thing. That said, I still feel like there’s an important piece of this conversation that’s so often missing.

I believe that procrastination is a stress response. A tendency to procrastinate isn’t a character flaw, it’s signal that we’re taught to ignore.

I imagine that most of you out here reading a therapists’s Substack are interested in mental health, and are therefore familiar with the four instinctual stress (or trauma) responses: fight, flight, freeze, and fawn. If not, here’s a decent super quick overview. My belief is that what we think of as procrastination lies somewhere between flight and freeze.

When we procrastinate, yes we’re “putting off” doing something, but that delay tends to be accompanied by a sensation of dread, even if subtle. Whether that feeling occurs as you attempt to start the thing you’re trying to do, or even when you just think about doing whatever that thing is, it’s not carelessness standing in the way of action… it’s fear. What are you afraid of exactly? Well, that depends entirely on who you are and what the situation is, but here are a few general guesses/examples:

• You’re afraid of not doing the thing you need to do well enough. Often, simply not trying feels safer than potentially failing.

• You’re afraid that you don’t have enough time to do what you need to do. What’s the point in starting if you don’t think you’ll be able to meet the deadline?

• You fear finishing something. That could mean potentially having to share it with others, which is vulnerable. You also might be afraid of succeeding. Or you could be afraid of not knowing what to do once you’ve completed this particular project.

• You have too many things that need doing and you’re afraid that if you focus on one, that inherently means that you’re not able to be doing another.

• You’re just generally overwhelmed… which typically goes hand in hand with anxiety which… is fear.

Sound familiar?

What’s the point?

The point is that I think we’re asking the wrong questions when it comes to tackling a “procrastination problem.” We don’t need to fix ourselves and our habits so that we can push past how we’re feeling. We need to actually sit with our emotions and treat them like the inner wisdom they are. I believe that instead of asking, “How can I stop procrastinating?” it makes way more sense to ask: “What am I feeling?” or, “What’s coming up for me when I think about this task?” or even, “How might delaying this be serving me or helping me feel safer?” It’s probably also worth asking, “Why do I even feel the need to do this thing in the first place?” Not because you’re trying to convince yourself that you don’t actually have to do it, but sometimes we can get so lost in the sensation of there being something we “should” be doing that we can lose sight of the why.

Now if all that sounds easier said that done, you’re right. It’s hard work to parse this stuff out! Support from a professional, especially one who specializes in helping people with issues like this, can be a valuable resource if you are able. Either way, I think that even just shifting how we think and talk about what it means to procrastinate can help alleviate some of the guilt and shame around the experience.

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Now, please tell me what you think! Do you struggle with “procrastination”? Have you ever thought about it like this? Comment below, and let’s chat about it!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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I’ve only been a parent for three years and change, but in that time I’ve really begun to internalize how impossible it is to do everything perfectly. That’s a hard and painful realization to come to when there is nothing that thoughtful, intentional, loving parents want to do more flawlessly than our parenting. Add in perfectionism and anxiety, and it becomes so much easier to berate ourselves for the things we feel like we’re doing wrong than it is to pat ourselves on the back for the things about which we feel good. We can know all day that there is no such thing as a perfect parent, that we’re all going to mess up along the way, but it is still really hard to let go of standards that we set for ourselves when it comes to being responsible for making and/or raising a wholeass human.

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As a mom, as a friend of parents, as a therapist to parent clients and as a recovering perfectionist, I have witnessed and encountered the ways in which trying to do everything just right all the time as a parent can steal the joy from the experience that we want to be having. Don’t get me wrong, wanting to do right by our kids is a lovely and beautiful thing. At the same time, it is impossible to know what will happen, and the cost of striving for perfection is often very mentally and emotionally high.

For that reason, I’ve compiled a short list of common ways in which perfectionism complicates parenting. For each, I include some thoughts on how we might be able to untangle those challenges to hopefully make the experience more of what we’d like it to be.

1) Perfectionism takes us out of the present moment… making it harder to enjoy time both with and away from our kids.

A hard truth about parenting is that there are always so many things to think about at once. From the mundane and repetitive (What are we going to eat this week? Who is going to get them from point A to B?) to the logistical and developmental (Did I respond to that email about such and such activity? How are we handling potty training?) to the big picture and forward-thinking (What are we thinking about school? How do I support them through this big thing that’s coming up?)… there are just SO many questions that all need answers.

For anxious perfectionists, the sensation of things piling up on our proverbial plates can feel beyond overwhelming. It’s easy to lose sight of the forest for the trees, especially if you’re the “default parent” and haven’t quite figured out how to get support around the division of labor. For many parents, this can also lead to a sensation of guilt. How can I be feeling so burnt out by this immense privilege that I feel so lucky to have? How dare I feel “touched out” by this little creature that depends on me and didn’t ask to be here in the first place? Who do I think I am for wanting to rediscover who I am apart from this huge role I’ve taken on?

It’s easy to see how many of us end up stuck in our heads. I don’t know about you, but when I’m lost in thought, it gets a lot harder to be present with or without my kid. I can’t take in how sweet his face looks or how funny whatever he just said was when I am caught up in worrying about all of the things that I need to do to care for him. I also can’t enjoy time I’ve allocated for work or for social time with other adults or for whatever else I need to resource myself if I’m constantly feeling like my attention is supposed to be elsewhere. It’s a real recipe for damned if I do damned if I don’t sensations.

How to stop letting this happen:

This really all boils down to one thing: SLOW DOWN. I know, I know… way easier said that done. Anxious brains, especially those prone to rumination, are speed demons. We get ahead of ourselves. Many of us struggle with grounding practices like journaling and meditation because our brains move so quickly (and have so much to hold at once) that we struggle to keep up with our own thoughts. No wonder we have such a hard time feeling present.

But how can we feel secure enough to allow ourselves to relax and rest when there are so many things to figure out? It may take some trial and error to land on a strategy that supports you. I’ve found that listing out all the stuff that you feel like you have to do can be a great place to start. Maybe it will feel daunting and exacerbate the sensation. Often though, I find that things actually feel a lot more manageable once they’re out of my head and somewhere that I can reference them. Even if that list is still overwhelming, creating a document (even on scratch paper or a notes app) that exists outside your brain can allow you to at least take a moment to step away from it. Without the sensation of having to keep it all at the forefront of your mind so that you’ll remember everything, you can actually resource yourself before returning to trying to tackle it all. Plus, if you make this list with a partner or support person, they might be able to identify things that they can take on or spearhead.

I also want to be clear that I’m not saying don’t multitask. Sometimes the most supportive thing we can do for ourselves is to find compatible activities that can be paired together. Find it easy to make your grocery list or catch up with a long distance pal over text while you’re watching your kid at the playground? Want to listen to that parenting book on the way to a much needed hang out with your childfree friends? Go for it! It’s not about literally always having to have your full attention on one thing, or on one part of your identity. It’s about being intentional, so that your attention feels more accessible when you do want to be able to feel more present, no matter what you’re doing or which hat you’re wearing.

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2) Perfectionism increases our expectations of ourselves… making self-compassion and gentleness harder to access.

We all have a vision of the kind of parent we want to be. Especially before it actually happens, we have all kinds of ideas about the things we will and won’t do. We tell ourselves we’ll never make our kids their own separate dinners, that we’ll limit their screen time to x minutes per y, that we’ll talk to them in very specific ways that instill everything we want them to learn using all the developmentally appropriate lessons we’ve picked up from parenting books and social media experts. Or insert whatever other “I’m always going to” or “I’m never going to” you’d set out to always or never do.

But then it actually happens, and we’re thrown into a new existence that, even with everything everyone told us, we could not possibly prepare ourselves for. As much as one can intellectually understand what a fundamental shift becoming a parent is, it’s a cliché for a reason: there is not one thing that can actually prepare us for how cataclysmic that shift feels. For perfectionists, this realization can be incredibly destabilizing. We set these expectations for ourselves, and the idea of not meeting them can feel terrifying. Sometimes, we even meet those ideals for a while, and then something happens that changes our context and we are no longer able to adhere to that standard, either temporarily or indefinitely. It’s so easy in those moments to feel like a failure.

How to stop letting this happen:

It’s annoyingly reductive, but truly, we HAVE to work on being nicer to ourselves. In my work as a therapist with perfectionists, this can be an excruciatingly hard thing for my clients to do. All the time, I hear versions of: How can I possibly be gentle with myself when I want to be doing so much better? What will happen to my kid if I don’t follow the evidence-based advice I’ve been given? How can I live in alignment with my values if I cut myself slack? Especially for those of us that found safety in excellence, self-compassion feels like complacency.

We cannot show up for our kids in the ways we want to, as our best selves, without first feeling resourced. I get that it can take a lot to become able to ask for help, to accept support when it’s offered, to get your mind to a place where it can actually let go of all the to-dos and recharge. That’s a lot of what I work with clients on every day, and it would be pretty unreasonable to expect those sort of shifts to happen overnight. Not to mention that we are all dealing with this added layer of trying to do this when the world is feeling increasingly heavy and horrifying.

So in the meantime, what if you could just start with recognizing that you are one human person? You can’t just Mrs. Doubtfire your way through parenting trying to be in two places at once. You can’t make your kid that nutrient-dense home cooked meal and participate in fully engaged pretend play at the same time. So sometimes it’s going to have to be whatever’s in the freezer or hitting up your favorite take out spot so that you can spend that time being a knight or a monster or a kangaroo. And others, it might be popping a show that you feel good about on the TV so that you can finish making that beautiful dinner, especially if cooking is something you enjoy. Sometimes you can “have it all” and keep your kid occupied with an activity that allows you to get all the things done too, but from experience I can say that it has felt very freeing to recognize that it’s okay when I can’t. Plus, that sort of flexibility is something I’d like to model for my kid. Two birds, one stone.

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3) Perfectionism creates division and impedes connection… making the “village” harder to form.

There are so many choices that come along with parenting, and so much goes into that decision-making. Especially as anxious over-thinkers, we research and deliberate endlessly to try to come to conclusions that help us feel a sense of safety. And it starts immediately. How can I increase my kid’s odds of thriving with the choices I make while they’re in utero? Should they be breast or bottle fed? How will we deal with sleep challenges? What about childcare options? Not to mention the series of things we have to figure out once they’re born as our kids grow and evolve. And, as I was recently reminded in my local parent group WhatsApp, these choices can quickly become divisive.

We all want to feel like we’re making the “right” choice so that we can feel as though we are doing “right” by our kids. For many of us, perfectionism lends itself to putting down others’ decisions if they make us question our own. We’ve spent so much time and energy and stress figuring out what we want to do, so of course it can feel unbelievably threatening to genuinely listen with curiosity to someone making a different (and what often feels like opposite) choice. Perfectionism and anxiety make us agonize over these dilemmas, so when we land somewhere that feels at least somewhat comfortable to settle, anything that could potentially unground us and send us back into undecided limbo feels extremely scary.

This makes it really hard to create community, because it limits the potential pool of other parents with whom you could connect to only those with whom you feel completely aligned. It’s easier to become isolated when it feels like you can’t find your “people” because you have to overlap in a whole list of ways in order to feel safe opening up to someone. No wonder it all can feel so lonely.

How to stop letting this happen:

First, it’s important to recognize that we are all just humans trying to figure out how to do a really hard thing where you only get one shot. That’s inherently stressful! We really are all just doing our best with the knowledge and circumstances we have. Yes, you’ve poured resources into making whatever choice you’ve made, but you have no idea how another parent came to the conclusion that they did about whatever they’ve decided to do. Judgement feels like a really natural place to go when we feel like all that work we’ve done is being called into question. Instead though, see if you can ground yourself in your choice while also making room for curiosity about someone else’s.

We don’t all decide things based on what we would ideally like to do in a vacuum. Maybe we would have liked to do one thing, but some circumstance (our careers, financial situations, proximities to family, partners’ opinions, kids’ temperaments, our own bodies’ needs, etc.) made another choice a better fit. I’m not saying that you have to be best friends with someone whose values completely differ from yours, but perfectionism can lead to all-or-nothing thinking in a way that makes that line really hard to draw. It could be worth asking yourself where there might be some wiggle room in your perspective. Maybe that community is more accessible than you realized.

I’m curious, how do you think your perfectionism impacts your experience of parenting? What did I miss? Let me know in the comments!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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Every anxious person I know has been there: that sticky spiral of uneasiness where it feels like no matter what you do, you can’t stop thinking about a nagging worry. You’re stewing in the uncertainty, desperately trying to figure out something that will help you feel in control. In those moments, it can feel so hard to distinguish your anxiety from your intuition. Are you just unable to stop stressing or is your gut trying to tell you something?

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In these situations, an easy place to get stuck is on whether you should be doing something in response to your anxious feeling. And when you’re on the fence, it’s way harder to relax. In both my work as a therapist, and in my own lived experience, I know how tempting it is to buy into the idea that you can will yourself to “snap out of” anxious thought patterns. You berate yourself for not being able to “let it go” or for “ruining” the day/night/occasion because you think that if you can just stop worrying, you’ll no longer be responsible for “killing the mood.” Maybe for some people that’s possible, but I believe that more often than not, that sort of thinking just piles onto the challenging feelings you’re already experiencing and keeps you further sucked into the spiral.

So how do you break out of the cycle? What can you do? It comes down to this one simple choice.

You can choose to either:

1. act now

2. make a plan

That’s it. Those are the only two options.

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Option 1: Act Now

Pretty simple, you determine that whatever is on your mind does merit immediate action. After taking a deep breath and trying to regulate as much as you can, you go for it. You make that doctor’s appointment or head to the ER to get whatever is worrying you checked out. You send that text/email or make that call in the hopes of getting the clarity you need. You tell your loved one what’s on your mind, even though you’ve been trying not to let it bother you. Hopefully acting helps give you some peace of mind that you are doing what you can in the situation, and from there you can exhale a bit.

Option 2: Make a Plan

If you’ve decided that Option 1 doesn’t appeal or make sense for whatever reason, the natural alternative seems like it should be its opposite: do nothing and try to move on. I personally don’t believe that “do nothing” is a very effective strategy for alleviating anxiety, especially for those of us prone to rumination. Often what happens instead, is you just continue to wonder whether you should be acting, even though you’ve theoretically chosen not to. It’s a recipe for second guessing.

What I find significantly more effective is to use this formula:

If x does/doesn’t happen by y, I will z.

A few examples:

• If my symptoms are still present by this time next week, I will make a doctor’s appointment.

• If I don’t hear from the person I recently started dating by Thursday, I will text them (even though I want them to be the one to reach out to me).

• If my kid comes home from school upset again tomorrow, I will get in touch with their teacher.

• If I don’t hear back about that interview by the end of the month, I will start applying for other jobs.

• If my friend says something that hurts my feelings again, next time I will tell them how their words impacted me.

By creating a plan, you are making room for a period of mental and emotional rest. Once you’ve decided the conditions under which you will act if the situation calls for it, it’s significantly easier to quiet the noise in your brain and to move on to tending to yourself in whatever way you need. Giving your mind a concrete timeframe can allow it to relax because it then knows when it can jump into problem-solving mode if the time comes.

Is this a fix for anything you might be worrying about? Unfortunately… of course not. There are plenty of concerns that probably don’t fit this equation such as… you know, the state of the world right now? For those, you might need other strategies like brain dumping, taking a news/social media break, talking to a confidant, spending some time in nature, whatever you’ve determined might feel helpful when your anxiety feels especially present. Sometimes though, in order to even be able to access any of those tools, you need to get past the question of whether or not you’re going to do something about that worry right now.

What do you think? Have you tried this? Would you? Let me know in the comments whether or not you think this might help stop the spiral. I’m curious to hear your thoughts!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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Let’s get this out of the way: I’m a hypocrite. I’m a therapist who has really struggled to have a consistent journaling practice. And I’m here trying to espouse the value of writing down your thoughts? Of all people? Well, yeah. Because I know both how hard it can feel and how helpful it can be.

For a perfectionist, journaling might feel a lot like meditation… something you feel like you should do, and yet the idea is so intimidating because… what if you’re no good at it? What if you can’t get your mind to slow and focus enough to get what you need out of it? What if it’s a waste of time? Many of us have started trying to journal countless times, but have given up once we struggled to stay consistent or once the “I’m doing a thing I’m supposed to do!” buzz wore off.

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Why even continue to try?

Well, because for an anxious brain (a trademark of many perfectionists), getting whatever thoughts are spiraling around your head out and onto paper (analog or digital) can actually help stop your ruminating. Just the act of getting the idea down somewhere, where you know you’ll be able to return to it if you ever want to, allows your brain to stop fixating on that thought. Part of the purpose of ruminating is that your anxiety worries that if it doesn’t continue to return to that thought over and over again, you might forget it. Writing it down settles the brain by allowing it to stop circulating around the thought, because of the knowledge that if you need to remember whatever it is, you’ll know where to find it. That’s why many refer to their journaling practice as “brain dumping.” You’re getting that shit out and creating a little distance between the forefront of your mind and whatever is causing your head to spin.

On the flip side of the brain dump, there’s gratitude journaling, which (self-explanatorily, but alas) is specifically writing about things for which you are thankful. The idea here, at least for those of us prone to anxiety, is to interrupt patterns of catastrophizing, dwelling, and all around focusing on the negative by intentionally turning our attention to what is bringing us contentment or joy. It doesn’t matter how small those things may be, even just naming that you really liked whatever you had for breakfast or that you saw a cute dog can help ground you and counterbalance some of the stuff that’s getting you down. It doesn’t make the hard stuff go away, it just can make it all feel a little less heavy.

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I know, easier said than done, right? As someone who has really had a hard time with this, I’ve compiled a few tips to try that might just make it feel the tiniest bit easier:

1) Make your definition of journaling fit you, not the other way around

A lot of folks assume that in order to journal, it needs to be a daily (or at least regular) practice in which they write down the events of their day or their thoughts, perhaps even for a certain amount of time. I would argue that there are no rules for journaling. It’s just the act of writing down experiences, ideas, and reflections (okay, Merriam Webster does add the words “daily” and “regularly” in there, but I dgaf). If your definition of journaling is too rigid, of course you’re going to get discouraged when you’re not able to execute it perfectly. And since as perfectionists, our brains are prone to all-or-nothing thinking, we throw in the towel if we’re not able to maintain a “good enough” streak.

There’s also so much out there about very beautiful aesthetically-focused versions of journaling. If that’s enticing to you, give it a go! Maybe try just images instead of words if that feels good to you. But if that’s part of the intimidation factor, do not feel like your journaling has to be cute and social-media-worthy (whatever that means). Do not let it become another way to judge yourself for what you perceive as not measuring up to some sort of ideal. This really is the most important tip, because this is the one that disrupts the idea that there is a “right” way to journal. There isn’t, there never has been, and there never will be.

2) Try voice notes

Many of the perfectionists I’ve talked to report feeling like they can’t journal because their hands can’t move as fast as their brains do. They get fed up with trying to put pen to paper (or lil fingies to keyboard) because it’s just too hard to keep up and the act of getting the words out of their head feels inherently slow and tedious. Yeah, fair! My solution for that? Try leaving yourself voice notes. Go somewhere that you can have a moment of privacy, and just… talk. Remember, the point isn’t to listen to your voice note back (though you certainly can if you want to), it’s to allow your brain to let go of spiraling thoughts by giving them some place to live that isn’t the forefront of your mind.

Sidebar: I wrote this post in the midst of listening to the audiobook version of Lindy West’s Adult Braces, which felt serendipitous because the book is peppered with Lindy’s voice memos to herself. She records them while on an epic road trip, which lends itself to the stream of consciousness that many of our brains experience while in motion. I could see recording a note for yourself being a lovely little post-work commute ritual (if that feels like a choice you can make that does not put you or others in danger). Could also be a really nice thing to do on a walk. The point is to be somewhere that you feel confident in being able to speak freely. Much like virtual therapy, it doesn’t work the same if you’re concerned about whether or not someone could be listening.

3) Consider prompts

Some perfectionists are overwhelmed by a blank page. They second guess every thought before they get a chance to write it down, leading them to freeze before they’re able to actually get anything on paper. If this is you, try journal prompts. There are loads of books and plenty of free online resources full of ideas. There are also apps that will send you inspiration every day if you want. You can even get a journal pre-loaded with prompts in the vein of a word of the day calendar (though if you’ve fallen into the trap of buying a new journal with the hopes that if you like the physical object enough, that will surely be the motivation you need to actually make it stick this time… I’d understand the hesitancy here).

Conversely, there are some prompts that keep it super simple and take the pressure off of having to be creative or generative at all. I’ve been using a gratitude journal app that just asks me to jot down three good things that happened that day and how they each made me feel (the latter of which I sometimes skip if I’m not feeling it). Would I like to supplement that practice with some longer form writing? I would. But does it also feel pretty cool that I, a person who has really struggled with journaling consistently, am about to hit 500 consecutive days of naming three positive things from each one? Yeah, it feels awesome. Humble brag for sure, but also… I dunno, maybe a vote of confidence for those of you that might resonate. But if gamifying it or doing anything that tracks a streak adds more stress to the equation? That’s good information, and for sure a sign to try something else.

4) Write out what you would say, if you were going to say it

One of the things that those of us with anxious brains tend to fixate on is what we might say to someone that for whatever reason we have decided we don’t want to contact. Or if we do want to communicate with them, maybe we have a lot on our minds that we don’t actually want to say, but need to get out of the way so that we have room to think about what we do actually want to tell them. I’ve contemplated full on monologues I’d deliver to someone if I didn’t know any better. I’ve thought about what I would have liked to say in a situation, but for whatever reason didn’t. I’ve spent hours drafting texts I don’t actually intend to send in my brain over and over again.

If you ever find something similar happening to you, write it down. Write a letter to that person you know you’re better off not actually contacting. Jot down what you wished you would have said in whatever moment, had you thought of it at the time. Instead of repeatedly going over that hypothetical text again and again in your head, write it down so that if you were to decide that you did in fact want to send it, you know where to find it. I swear it helps break the cycle.

5) Create a ritual, not an obligation

The last thing a perfectionist needs is another item on their to do list nagging at them. If journaling feels like a box you need to check or something you need to white knuckle your way though… that’s so deeply not the intention. Instead, consider how you might be able to make journaling feel like part of a ritual that you actually enjoy. Think about how you want to feel or what you want to get out of it. Do you want it to be soft and soothing? Consider curling up with a blanket and a warm beverage, maybe even first thing in the morning or after you get in bed. Do you want it to be a cathartic release? Maybe you go sit in your car (or another quiet, private place) and yell into a voice note and then play a song you love. Or maybe journaling is a tool you want to have in your back pocket for when you feel the need to let something go, so you stick a post-it somewhere you’re likely to spot it that just says, “write it down” with a little heart or a smiley face. This does not have to be serious and it does not have to look a certain way. Remember, it’s FOR YOU.

And if you ultimately decide that this whole journaling thing really isn’t for you: that’s okay. Life is too short to force yourself to do something that feels awful just because you feel like you’re supposed to, or that if you just try harder it will start to click for you. Give yourself a break (for once) and go do something that does feel good, alright?

Now I’m curious: do you have a journaling practice? If so, what does it look like? If not, do you want to try starting one (again) or are you letting go of the expectation? I’d also love to know if you plan to take any of these ideas for a spin!

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If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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I don’t know about you, but nobody I’ve been encountering lately knows how to answer the simple pleasantry, “How are you doing?”

I’ve been defaulting to versions of, “Not too bad, all things considered,” or, “My immediate sphere of existence is alright,” or even just an emphatic, “I MEAN” accompanied by an exasperated look. I don’t need to detail all the reasons (there are lots of folks writing about it all so much better than I ever could), but I think it’s fairly safe to say that if you’re an empathetic person that cares about the planet and other people, these have generally not been fun chill times.

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On a global scale, there is a lot of cause for unease, no doubt. But lately, it seems like everybody is also really worried about… other stuff. Our freak outs are running the gamut; all the way from discovering new concerns about big things, like our relationships or our health, to panicking about completely nonsensical and trivial things. The other week, I was distractingly on edge that I had written an important check incorrectly. This is something I have never done in my life, yet I was compulsively checking my account to see if the withdrawal had gone through. I know that the recipient of a faulty check would almost certainly notify the sender if that does happen, because they’d want the money… but my brain was not interested in logic.

As a therapist, I’ve also noticed an uptick in new anxieties in my clients. Challenges they had previously felt confident working through lately feel insurmountable. Dynamics that weren’t bothering them now seem doomed in their eyes. Problems that weren’t problems a little while ago are definitely problems now. The what-ifs are what-iffing hard.

What’s the deal?

Well, our brains obviously do not like feeling overwhelmed by global uncertainty. The horrors happening all around us are so plentiful and so important. We’re all continually trying to find a balance between staying informed, so that we can take action, and giving our nervous systems breaks from witnessing atrocities. There’s so much discourse about how as humans we were never meant to take in this much information this quickly, but just as much about how its our responsibility not to look away. Many of us feel like we’re not getting that balance right, and then feel both horrified (and devastated and defeated a bunch of other kinds of terrible) and guilty at the same time.

So what happens? Our brains take all the feelings that everything happening in the world kicks up… the fear, the anger, the sadness, the helplessness, the guilt… and they displace them onto something that feels more directly within our control. On an unconscious level, your mind might be saying something like, “Woah it is way too overwhelming to think about how stressed I am about what the government is doing, but you know what does feel more feasible for me to do? Hone in on everything I don’t like about my boyfriend.” Or maybe, “Yikes, I am so scared about the safety of people in my community, but that is a huge scale problem. What if instead I just focus on making sure I’m getting this scientifically arbitrary number of daily steps in to appease my wrist computer?” Or maybe, like I did, you’re suddenly feeling like you might have forgotten how to do simple things that you almost certainly haven’t forgotten how to do.

If you find this happening to you, be gentle with yourself about it. Remind yourself how normal it is and how it’s a sign of your sensitivity (good thing) and compassion to be experiencing all these feelings, regardless of how they’re manifesting. And please do NOT beat yourself up for having these smaller-scale worries by comparing them to all the cruelty happening in the world. Is it good to step outside ourselves and put things in perspective? Of course. But does it help to shame yourself for having these more individual concerns when you “should” be focusing on how to aid the more universal ones? I personally don’t think so. I don’t actually think the way to get to a solid place, where you have capacity to take action, involves being mean to yourself in general.

See if you can slow down a little, and be kind to yourself. Recognize what is happening and lean on tools that tend to be helpful for you during especially anxious times— talk to someone, journal, go for a walk, read a soothing book, watch a comfort show, whatever sounds good to you. And give yourself some grace around how you’re tending to your needs (even if in a vacuum those methods might not be your favorite, because we sure as hell are not in a vacuum right now).

Does this resonate for you? How is this showing up for you right now? Let me know in the comments, I’m so curious about what silly things YOU are freaking out about. Finding the humor in it together is a great way to soften the impact.

If you’re a California resident and want individual support working through perfectionism, overwhelm, or other duck troubles, I offer online therapy across the state.

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It is so wildly intimidating to put yourself out there. Wait no, let’s make that an “I statement”: I am very intimidated about putting my weird-blend-of-extroverted-and-socially-anxious self out THERE.

In this? The year 2026? When the news just continues to be a horror avalanche and it feels like everyone with any kind of “online audience” has been somehow cultivating that following for years, if not decades, and I am WAY behind the times?! Apparently I was supposed to just keep Xanga-ing until it magically turned into a little baby empire instead of spending my teenage years starting incredibly short-lived ska bands and writing smutty Gilmore Girls fan fiction? WHO KNEW.

In all seriousness though, starting this Substack feels uncomfortable. Not because I don’t think I have valuable things to say, but because trying to do a thing is vulnerable. It’s especially freaky to try to do a thing that inherently is about hoping that other people will resonate. It feels self-indulgent and self-important. It’s not that I think that having a significant online presence in general is awkward or cringe-worthy; there are several content creators I greatly admire. It just feels embarrassing in an itchy sort of way to allow myself to think that I could become one of them, even on a small scale. Plus, there’s a lot of safety in obscurity. I’ve yet to deal with the wrath of strangers that misinterpret or just flat out disagree with me. I haven’t had to field personal attacks from people whose tender spots I’ve accidentally poked. That sounds really fucking scary and I worry that my skin isn’t thick enough.

I’ve also really gotten it in my head that in order to put things out online, they need to be totally original. Nobody can ever have had this idea before or have said it in a way that’s too similar to what I want to say. I do realize that it’s unreasonable to expect myself to Google every thought I have to make sure that somebody hasn’t already said it before... and said it better. The truth is, someone probably has! But what if I seem ignorant and under-read for claiming a version of some famous person’s well-known philosophy as my own? Plus, who really needs another privileged white lady therapist blah blah blahing on the internet? And one from California no less! Oof.

So, why do this? Why start a Substack in the first place?

Well, because somehow when I was writing the first draft of this post, I accidentally caught myself saying that I think I have valuable things to say. Okay, what I actually said (see above) is that I don’t think that I don’t have valuable things to say… close enough. And honestly, I know that I have valuable things to say... in my sessions with my clients.

As a therapist, I feel very confident in the work that I do. I see real sustainable change and watch people go from suffering to significantly happier and more sure of themselves. I figure that if I have consistently seen this kind of growth... maybe more people than I’m able to see in my practice could benefit from some of the ideas that I find myself returning to over and over again in my client work. Maybe what I have to say could inspire someone to think differently about themself, even without our being in an official therapeutic relationship.

And of course, every person (seeking therapy or not) is a unique blend of traits and experiences shaped by their individual contexts. Wouldn’t that be true of therapists too? Just because there are (I actually don’t even want to know how many) other therapists writing Substacks out there doesn’t mean that some of y’all might not resonate particularly hard with what I write.

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As Kate Harvey wrote in her post Is Substack Too Saturated With Therapeutic Writers?:

“We're not trying to reach everyone; just the people for whom our unique perspective is their missing puzzle piece.”

I’m not out here trying to write for everyone… I’m here for the ducks. The anxious, considerate, capable people with unreasonably high expectations of themselves. The stressed out over-thinkers that feel like they can’t show everyone else just how overwhelmed they are because of how it might impact the way the rest of the world sees them. The worriers that feel responsible for everything, even the things they never had any part in controlling. If that sounds like you, I hope you’ll hang out and at least maybe feel somewhat less alone in the pond.

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The idea of wanting to “grow an audience” is a real exercise in both/and thinking for me. It both grosses me out and excites me. It both seems kind of fun and scares the shit out of me. It both enrages me from the anticapitalist depths of my soul and feels like marketing that I have to do if I want to have a sustainable therapy practice (which I do). I worry: will readers accept my genuine bid for connection if they know that I’m also motivated by the grind of small business ownership? It’s complicated. But what isn’t?

This all gets even further complicated by the fact that it just feels like a really weird time to be starting something new on Substack. Creators I respect and admire like Virginia Sole-Smith and Jess Kirby are leaving for really good reasons (like this one) that give me a lot of pause about joining in just as they’re jumping ship. Beyond the whole allowing hate speech and making money off of it thing, another major complaint is that Substack is becoming less of a newsletter host and more of a social media platform.

As much as I am extremely ambivalent about social media, that’s honestly a big part of why I do feel like Substack is the place for me right now. I don’t currently have a following. If I did, I could absolutely see myself using one of the services to which these established creators are migrating instead. Transparently though, a big part of why I want to start writing online is that I need to market my therapy services. I can’t do that without having a way to get my name and my ideas out in front of people. Beyond networking in my community, I have to start creating more of a digital presence. I’m so not an Instagram person, I think I might truly have a Facebook allergy, and I’ve never had TikTok; a platform that allows for (if no longer prioritizes) long form written content feels like a better fit for me. And I know that it’s not like any major tech company or media outlet is going to be totally values aligned with me… I just feel yucky about how complicated this already feels.

In my therapy practice, I specialize in working with perfectionists. I help my clients tease out the ways in which their high expectations of themselves impede their happiness by insidiously altering their perceptions and impacting their experiences. And of course, as with many of us “wounded healers,” I’m out here preaching all of the things that I myself need to hear. I too am a recovering perfectionist through and through. I mean, no shit, I’ve already spent way too much of this post justifying why I’m doing this to y’all when nobody asked.

This Substack is also my way of trying to put my money (aka precious time during which I have childcare) where my mouth is. To do the thing that part of me wants to do and part of me feels mortified about wanting to do and to just allow myself to be seen trying. Even if it’s clumsy and nobody’s into it, and it doesn’t actually yield the “results” I’m hoping for.

How can I encourage all you other ducks out there to show your frenetic little feet if I’m not willing to do it myself?

So I’m here, trying a thing and seeing how it goes. If you’re not totally sure about me, here's a good place to learn some more about what you might be able to expect from my posts. And you can learn even more about the values that inform my writing here.

Yes, it’s very possible that I’m now just another white lady therapist on the internet. But maybe I’m also a specific flavor of candid, silly, lightly irreverent white lady therapist who’s obsessed with helping anxious people be kinder to themselves that you didn’t know you wanted to hear from. And if nothing else, at least maybe this will help me backdoor my way into finally having a journaling practice. Yes, I’m a therapist who struggles with journaling! But that, my ducks, is a post for another time :)

Hey! I’m Carrie (she/her). I’m a therapist and recovering perfectionist who loves helping fellow anxious over-thinkers realize the futility in trying to get everything right all the time. Duck Syndrome is my attempt to broaden my reach, beyond the work that I am able to do with my clients, so that more people can stop being so mean to themselves and start making space in their brains for more things that actually matter to them.

To help you get the most of this Substack, and to assist you in determining whether or not you’re interested in reading (and hopefully subscribing), I’ve compiled a list of tenets that inform the pieces that I write. If they don’t resonate with you, all good, there are SO many other things you can go read, more power to you. If you are into them though, I’m so glad that you stumbled across my writing, and I hope you’ll stick around.

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Duck Syndrome’s Guiding Ethics

Or Duck-clariations, if you’re nasty. I’m so sorry, I couldn’t resist. Anyway, in addition to these principles, if you haven’t already I suggest taking a look at the Duck Syndrome About Page to get an even better sense of what exactly it is that I’m trying to do here.

Perfect is the enemy of good.

Perfectionism impedes our happiness by making goodness feel like not enough. Now, I’m not saying that we should not all be held accountable and that we should not be open to learning and growing. Our mistakes and shortcomings can help inform the direction in which we’d like to go. So for the purposes of this newsletter, I do invite you to call me in if something I write causes you harm, or you believe that it might be harmful to someone else. I am open to feedback.

At the same time, I ask you to please read compassionately, knowing that I am trying hard to practice what I preach in terms of being gentle with myself around doing this perfectly. I know that that is impossible. I know that I am going to say the wrong thing sometimes, just as there will be times when I don’t say enough about the right things. When that happens, let me know if you feel compelled to say something. I ask though, that you do so with the same grace and patience that I am encouraging you all to have with yourselves.

Connection is essential to wellbeing.

I don’t care where you fall on the spectrum of introverted to extraverted; we all need to connect with other people to be well. One of the biggest problems with “having duck syndrome” is that we feel ashamed of our struggles and tend to hide them from others. I ultimately hope that perhaps we’ll form a nice little encouraging community of ducks.

In an effort to create connection, and hopefully community, as your host I feel it’s important to establish some ground rules for how I expect y’all to show up in this space.

As Emily Nagoski put so well in her Substack Confidence & Joy’s User Manual:

I consider a person’s social media space like this one to be like someone’s living room. Welcome to my living room! I welcome comments, but please only say things you would say in my literal living room, to my smiling face offering you a beverage.

I delete stuff I wouldn’t want a guest in my living room to have to overhear, and my guests always include trans and non-binary people, people of color, immigrants, disabled folks, gay, lesbian, and queer folks, people of size, or anyone else with a marginalized identity. Everyone belongs here, everyone belongs in their body, everyone has a place here on Earth. People get to find their own way to their place—just as you deserve to find your own way! This isn’t a hard guideline for most people to follow; just be nice!

I love nonsense, but I’m not here for the kind that’s meant to hurt people. I plan to take after Emily and moderate in a way that helps readers engaging with my content to feel welcome. Remember that we’re here to connect and feel less alone, and that can’t happen if we’re assuming the worst of each other.

Shame rarely creates sustainable change.

I do not believe that we can effectively shame ourselves into being “better.” Maybe some of y’all are big proponents of tough love, but to me… there’s a line between trying to challenge/push and being outright mean in the name of motivating ourselves to do things differently. Same goes for when we’d like others (our kids, partners, families of origin, friends, colleagues, internet strangers, etc.) to change something about what they’re doing too.

Whenever you have the impulse to judge, consider whether you can make room for curiosity. I know that we exist in a culture that uplifts knowledge and denigrates ignorance, but I believe that there’s a lot of power in acknowledging what we don’t know and what we’re still learning. There is no shame in humility here, and lots of room for being in the “figuring it out” stage. Do we even ever really leave it?

It is courageous to allow yourself to be seen trying.

It is very hard, especially for perfectionists, to allow ourselves to be seen trying. This is especially true when we’re not sure we’ll succeed at whatever it is that we’re giving a shot, such as when something is new or not within our natural skillset. It’s so easy not to attempt a thing because we’re scared that nobody will like it or that we’ll look silly or that people will be mean to us for putting ourselves out there.

I have been very inspired by works like:

• This video by Evelyn From the Internets

• This song by Garfunkel and Oates

• This podcast by Alex Sujong Laughlin

All of those creators believe in the power of trying, and I do too. I want to make Duck Syndrome a place where losing, rejection, and disappointment are all celebrated, because they are all the result of at least trying to do something. There is so much power in the attempt. Duck Syndrome itself is an exercise in my pushing myself to try a thing.

Therapy is political.

Everything we go through is shaped by our context. The systems that influence, and often oppress, us impact our mental health. Cultures rooted in individualism pathologize people that are struggling; they pass responsibility onto singular humans instead of attempting to create systemic change that might alleviate suffering. So to try and act like therapy should exist in a vacuum, or that therapists are meant to remain politically neutral while we try to help others heal is not only unrealistic… it’s downright irresponsible.

I believe that a client entering into a therapeutic relationship deserves to know their clinician’s stance on issues that matter to them. Some therapists might tell you that we as practitioners are meant to be blank slates or that we are not supposed to make our values known so that it doesn’t feel like an imposition to the client. I agree that I wouldn’t want to push my values onto anyone with whom I’m in a therapeutic relationship. Especially given the power dynamics inherent in the therapy room (not to mention those present due to differences in social locations and intersectional identities), it can be both culturally insensitive and dangerous to assume what is and isn’t significant to a client.

But I strongly believe that it is possible to be transparent about one’s beliefs without expecting others to agree. It is very different to be honest about how one feels about important issues than it is to present those attitudes as objectively correct. To take that a step further, I believe that a lack of transparency around one’s values can in and of itself be harmful to a client. It is unreasonable to expect a client to feel safe enough to open up around the challenges of their truth without insight into how the human they are sharing themself with feels about the issues that make these things sensitive to talk about in the first place.

Now ducks, y’all are not my clients. But as readers of Duck Syndrome, I believe that you too deserve insight into my values, since by reading my words you are inherently supporting me and my work. So for those curious, here is a totally non-comprehensive list of some of the things things I believe: I believe that human rights matter. I believe that there is no justification for harming or killing an innocent person, especially a child. I believe that it is essential to acknowledge and talk about privilege, marginalization, oppression, and power. I believe that no one is illegal on stolen land. I believe that all bodies are good bodies, regardless of size, color, race, ability, age, illness, history, or any other factor. I believe that gender is a construct. I believe that queerness and queer love are beautiful. I believe that it is wonderful to prioritize sexuality, just as it is totally okay not to be interested in sex for any reason. I believe that whether to include dynamics such as cohabitation, marriage, parenting, monogamy, kink, etc. within intimate relationships are decisions to be made by those involved, not assumed or pressured. I believe in autonomy (bodily and otherwise). I believe in interdependence and having empathy for fellow humans. I believe it is our responsibility to care for, and not simply consume, the planet that is our home.

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I’ll probably keep tweaking and adding to this list, but there you have it. If those jive with you, awesome! I hope that makes you feel more excited about my content and maybe makes you feel more inclined to subscribe. If one or more of my beliefs don’t align with yours, that’s okay. Feel free to stick around anyway. And if you choose not to, that’s also alright! A big thing that I am trying to practice in my own shift away from perfectionism is to recognize that not everything nor everyone is for everybody. If I’m not your cup of tea, that’s okay. I hope you find lots of content that speaks to you and what you’re looking for. For those looking forward to sipping the tea I’m serving, I can’t wait to spill it for you. Damn, I really can’t help myself with the cutesyass word play!

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