Let's chat Animö with Carö

  Dear son, As I am writing these lines, 17 years ago, I was doing the final sprint in a labor that had started over 15 hours prior. A lot had happened that beautiful day of May in San Francisco, starting with the nocturnal rupture of membranes that led to a spectacular gush of your pool of 9 months (like we see in the movies). The contractions became immediately painful, as if the liquid was some kind of attenuator to the sharp burning pain. In the afternoon, in the tub, no back rubbing or breathing would do. Between two deep breaths, I begged for the epidural. A male resident came and started it. I think it was too strong because I couldn't even move my legs. I started being scared I would be paralyzed forever. The resident said nothing when I expressed my concern. But my worst fear was when the midwife turned me on my left side and injected my butt with a tocolytic agent to stop the labor. She did that based on what she thought were decelerations of your heart from the fetal car...

  Dear son, Hard to believe you are at an age I found, if not dreadful, quite ordinary at the time. We had just moved into a new home, after my parents had gotten a divorce and my dad kept my childhood home. We were mostly at my mother's, visiting my dad and his girlfriend every other weekend. I didn't particularly find my life exciting. My two younger siblings were loud and annoying, there was never peace and quiet for me to study, and it took another year for me to get my own bedroom, since the basement was not finished, so I was sharing a space with my mom. Her most recent boyfriend was the father of one of my classmates and I was not too thrilled about that. I was not caring much about my appearance nor the expression of my femininity yet, wearing sweatpants and a Garfield t-shirt to school, keeping my hair short, not really combing it. I didn't understand why the optometrist would call me ''ma belle'' (''beautiful'') during the maddenin...

  We exist in the eyes of others. Remember when you were a child, asking your parents, your siblings, your friends, to look in your direction to applaud your latest exploit. And later, as a teen, waiting for your peers in the bus to comment on your new hoodie or sneakers. I remember those times very well, and even more so when I felt, well, unseen. Being unseen often took the form of not being chosen. I am no longer ashamed to tell you this because self-compassion finally liberated me, but I felt deeply hurt (and I am not exaggerating when I say this suffering probably persisted for decades) when my aunt and uncle chose my younger sister to be their flower lady for their wedding. I remember crying my eyeballs out, and I received no sympathy for my parents at the time. This made the pain only worse. I was doubly unseen. I just couldn't believe that Isa, the notorious tomboy who hated wearing dresses, would have a very special one with custom-made honeycomb embroidery ! Plus, she pro...

My adolescence was fraught with escapisms: there were some healthy ones, like skiing even at -20 C, drawing, reading, swimming. But there were some potentially damaging ones because instead of making me more in the moment like the healthy ones, they were in fact meant to numb my painful feelings:  rides at amusement parks, emotional eating, watching videoclips or movies, and yes, like many, spending too much time playing video games (we didn't have social media when I was a teenager). They are not only magnets for boredom but for insecurity, nervousness, sadness, or feeling empty. These time sinks attract all forms of suffering if we don't watch out. I look back at my younger self and have a lot of compassion for her, as she was trying to cope with her parents' divorce, their relative emotional unavailability, and all the difficult experiences associated with the various changes in my daily life. If you are in a similar situation, like being glued to your phone or computer ...

I have been through several phases in my life when I thought my world had just stopped, and I was sure I would never be able to laugh again. Whether after a loss, a betrayal, thwarted belongingness, burnout, or being forced to follow a sign that reads ''Unknown'' as our next destination, none of us is immune to experiencing a state of low mood and motivation, sometimes with hopelessness and lack of aliveness. Some call it depression, but I sometimes hesitate to use the word depression; as a psychiatrist, I know too well that this existential phase has been overly pathologized and medicalized, and many have mislabeled as such the very normal experience of people mourning for instance. To a certain extent, it can be a good sign to go through this at least once (it means you are human, and you have sensitivity, unlike a robot). Yet, it still carries some level of stigma, and I don't think the word fully captures the very unique expression of this experience that depend...

  At the beginning of the pandemic, I got into the habit of writing a gratitude journal. Everyday, for many months I carefully wrote what I was thankful for. And I invited my sons and their dad to do so at the dinner table. It moved me to hear my sons often say, ''I am grateful for my family''. During adolescence, there might be times when we want to throw some of our siblings, or even parents, out of the window, metaphorically speaking. It has certainly been my case on many occasions, growing with two loud, rambunctious, at times obnoxious and accident-prone younger siblings, and navigating my parents' divorce and their new partners. But nourishing family bonds by focusing on the qualities of each person can help us grow. I was so thankful to be able to spend some vacation days with my dad, his girlfriend and my young brother during a trip recently. My brother remembered that we told him he had a Playmobil face when he was little. He said that his kids now have the...

My dream or project notebook, offered by my friend Annie for my birthday almost a decade ago. Where is your mind wandering right this second? What is your heart whispering? Maybe it is hard to pay attention because there are too many conflictual demands or expectations coming from all directions: your parents, your coach, your teachers, your friends... It must be dizzying. Maybe you have yearnings (like wanting a brand of clothing, or a sports equipment, or go to a concert) but you are starting to wonder if they are your own. Are they coming from outside influence like brainwashing from advertisement or peer pressure? Or is it coming from inside, from your essence? I might not fully grasp all the details cluttering your life at this moment, but I can tell you how I felt at times during this fog that was most of my adolescence. And when I write fog, I mean it both literally and metaphorically. I grew up as a teen in the 1980s and many relatives, especially on my dad side of the family, ...