I found this article about breadcrumbing when I was looking at stats (“clicks”) on the blog site, and it’s well done, and offers some ideas for setting boundaries to protect oneself. I wish I’d searched for information about what was going on much sooner than I did. I hope this helps someone who is still in that mental struggle of feeling conflicted about the person they thought they knew vs. the reality of what’s going on. It’s hard. It’s easy to feel ‘stupid’ for not seeing it sooner. It’s a total mindfuck at times. But there is a way to escape the grip of manipulation by someone who is supposed to be helping.
It’s been a miserable few years, and so much seems like it’s overwhelming my already sketchy autonomic nervous system. I guess some of it started with my dad’s death 10 years ago, though I coasted through with numbness and my dog. There were more medical issues (broken ankle, gallstones, surgery on my scalp), many, many medical tests, too many doctors, and in general feeling like I was forced to die while still alive. Then the intensifying of food restriction started in May 2021.
My dad was my earthly rock. He’d been sick for a month, but his death was not expected even at 83 years old. The guy didn’t even own Tylenol/paracetamol- he was healthy until that last month or so. His back had been bothering him a bit, but not so much that he didn’t drive to southern Florida for a few months with someone he knew. I got a call from the rehab place he’d been sent to after being hospitalized for some biopsied but unidentified lesions that were found on his spine. He had very low blood pressure, and was being sent to the ER. The rehab place had grossly under-reported his condition, shocking me a bit when I got to the ER, just behind the ambulance. The cognitively intact person I knew was delirious. And he was dying from what was found to be a ruptured bowel, so badly damaged that gas built up in his bladder, and the only option was comfort care.
He was gone 19 hours after I got that phone call. I was with him alone for the last 6 hours, which are so precious to me. His cousin and close friends had been there earlier. Dad and I had discussed end of life care with each other, and I’m so thankful, because his desire to be kept comfortable was the only humane thing to do. He wouldn’t have survived anesthesia to try and fix what was a catastrophic bowel perforation; he’d complained to the rehab staff about abdominal pain since his admission, and nothing was done. I miss him more than I can express. It’s been too painful to visit the cemetery after that first Father’s Day, but I think I need to go up there. He was the only human ever to have my complete trust. He never lied to me. He always included things in family trips that he and mom wouldn’t have cared about, but knew that I would love to see or do. I’m incredibly thankful for the years as an adult when I got to know him so much better. I was lucky as an adoptee to land in a home where he was my dad.
About 3 years prior to his death, he bought me a puppy after my previous dog (# 3 of an eventual 5) had died in my arms at home in late 2012. I was devastated. But my new pup ended up becoming the one who I was closest to since I’d been on disability for many years when I got her, so she never knew me working. We were together 24/7 for nearly 12 1/2 years. In 2025, she was starting to struggle. I’d been through the ‘end’ before with 2 dogs, as well as my childhood dog who was with my folks when her time came, and knew the signs to watch for. I let her dictate how things went. She had some skin issues that the vet refused to remove surgically for 3+ years of me trying to get it done for her. She also had possible mammary cancer noted at an age when it would have been more cruel to put her through major surgery away from our hometown. Initially, she just got picky with food. I ended up getting her baby food turkey, rice cereal, and applesauce that she ate eagerly, so I kept getting it for her. I knew it wasn’t ‘enough’, but I also knew that she was nearing the end, so if that’s what she wanted, that’s what she got, along with her favorite treats… until she didn’t want those.
The night she quit following me wherever I went in the apartment, I knew it was time. She wasn’t even raising her head to see what I was up to, as she always had prior to getting up and trotting behind me. She was miserable, and I loved her too much to make her go on just because I would miss her so much. She had a look in her eyes that was sort of a silent resignation that the inevitable was coming, and it was too much for her. I took her to the emergency vet place the next morning (didn’t want her former vet dictating anything else about her care), who did an amazing job with a very emotional but necessary final visit. I had time before and after, and the feeling of her weight completely limp against my chest was one that still makes me cry. My soul dog was gone. She’s probably the closest relationship I ever had. Part of me died with her.
Then the whole eating disorder “therapy” debacle added more pain to an already miserable existence. What I learned is that it is never safe to trust ‘outsiders’. Isolation is much safer. It’s dangerous to be open with someone, and believe that they’ll do what they were paid to do. It’s unconscionable that someone who knows a person’s history of trauma would use that to make it worse. And that I’m a fool for hoping that I’d matter enough to help as much as others who have gotten well with her- at least initially. The damage done with that whole situation will be with me for the rest of my life. I don’t hate her, but have absolutely no respect for what she does to people. None of it was worth it, even if it meant I would have died in 2022 without having to know the pain of the emotional trauma that I never anticipated even being a possibility. I was stupid to trust that particular person, and I’m paying the price; the offending party certainly isn’t. If there was a part of my brain that could be removed to kill the memory of the past 4 years, I’d sign up in a heartbeat. Maybe that was Lena Zavaroni’s hope when she opted for brain surgery. Instead, I just exist in a fog of disbelief at how someone could use vulnerable people for personal gain. But at least Isabella Heineken’s courage has opened the door for others of us to be able to be more open about our experiences.
So, I write. And cry. I have given up on finessing the quality of the food I do eat (can’t afford the ‘bougie’ stuff), but still keep fairly rigid limits on calories, doing enough to keep my kidneys from getting worse, but no more than that. I’m losing muscle, which is good, so hope I get rid of weight sooner, but have to keep carbs up ‘enough’ so any muscle breakdown doesn’t give my kidneys more stress. And, I get in ‘enough’ fluids for the same reason.
Each day is an exercise in waiting long enough to go back to bed with the only relief coming when I get hard-to-come-by sleep. I do watch videos or TV shows on my laptop. When it’s cool enough to be outside (below 70F if cloudy, 65F if sunny), I sometimes go sit by the pond near my home and watch the geese and ducks. If I’m lucky, the muskrat shows up just long enough to disappear again. On bad days, I hope I don’t wake up again, not being one to do anything that is intentional. On good days, I’ll find some amusement in a little frog who visits my patio when it’s rainy, seeming to enjoy the bug buffet under my patio light. There is no more ‘happy’. There is no more hope. There is only one thing to look forward to, and like everyone else on the planet, I have no idea when final peace will arrive. I look forward to seeing my dogs again, as well as my parents. Along with faith that means something to me, that’s what I have left. One day, that faith will guide me home.
I’ve posted a lot about my experiences with the former eating disorder therapist I was with for over 3 years (have known for about 4 1/3 years at this point), and published one yesterday that was especially painful, because it was in response to an article that adds to the list of those who also experienced ‘unsatisfactory’ results. I don’t do this lightly, and it’s not from a place of malice. It’s been emotional whiplash going through the various feelings I’ve had, going back to January 2023, and building from there. I want to make a few things clear.
In the beginning, and for a fair amount of time, I truly enjoyed talking to my former therapist. She had a tone of voice that was soothing the majority of the time. Later, it was clear that it was more of a grooming process, but in the moment, I would calm down after talking to her. I slept better. I didn’t realize that the social tone to the calls was the entirety of the ‘therapy’. She has a great sense of humor, and I looked forward to the spontaneous things that would have both of us laughing.
There’s grief involved in this, in spite of the pain that was caused. There’s the loss of recovery with her, as well as the loss of who I thought she was. And yet, she has helped people. The loss of future years without the eating disorder ‘voice’ is probably the hardest to come to terms with, and while I’m trying on my own via YouTubers (and their books if they have them), I’d wanted help from the person I saw on TV in 1996 after getting home from a crap facility in California. It was a replay of the first 20/20 episode dedicated to the clinic. I was amazed at the clarity of seeing that it was about self-worth that was something Hilda Bruch discussed in the 70s, but had been buried for a couple of decades.
There has been a lot of negative press about this therapist going back 40 years, but not everything I experienced was ‘bad’. I also think that the developmental stages that are arrested in so many of us are important to acknowledge, though the regression without ‘un-regressing’ wasn’t useful, and did create more dependency than I’d normally allow myself to engage in. With the decreasing contact, I became more aware of what my logical mind was telling me because there was no more reinforcement of her ideas and ‘rules’ when she went ‘missing in action’. She lost me when she had more contact after getting what she wanted from me at the time (money for personal matters). And, when she didn’t call about a very important medical test prep, I felt like she’d green-lit my possible death from what is felt to be at high risk of becoming cancer. My heart sunk, and I felt a physical ‘drop’ in my chest when she didn’t make the call she’d planned. I knew it was over, and blocked her on Facebook and WhatsApp. Until then, I was still hoping (with a lot of doubts) that something would shift, and I’d see glimpses of truly getting well. That never happened.
It’s not easy to write something that is in all likelihood going to hurt someone I’d spent 3+ years focused on as the person who would get me out of the mindset of an eating disorder. That for the first time in over 50 years, I had a bit of hope that my childhood and later teen and adulthood restriction would go away. She would tell me that it was possible. And then I was basically adrift on my own. This blog’s purpose isn’t to hurt anyone, but to allow me a place for the expression of all kinds of emotions and experiences. I don’t have people here that I discuss much with, mostly because they just don’t ‘get it’. That’s another loss with the end of ‘therapy’ with someone who was too busy for me, unless it was to message about her own ‘stuff’.
There is no explanation for how she’s treated (some) people going back to the 80s. That this is a pattern makes it even more egregious. There’s nothing that can fix that. There’s nothing that can make up for the reinforcement of the lack of self-worth when she decided who is worth the time, but still took on new patients when there wasn’t time for the ones she already had. There’s no ethically sound excuse for how so many have ended up so hurt. And that was completely her choice about who she gave her time to, which further reinforced feeling worthless.
But there’s also the more human response to still want to see something good somewhere in a declining and painful ‘disposal’ of the supposedly therapeutic situation. Many of us blame ourselves for just about anything, even when we’re logically not in the least bit able to control whatever situation is on our minds. This has been no different, though I know that I did my part by being ready for phone calls that were nearly always late, when they happened at all. I ate what she told me to eat (when she was still in contact enough to make that reasonable). I cut out things I didn’t have an issue with because she ‘said so’. I gave up deciding what to eat. I spent money on organic food that she was so adamant about, even when there were times I had to pick and choose because my budget didn’t allow for ‘bougie’ types of food. Now, I’m thankful for store brands on sale.
There has been anger at times when the hope of getting well seemed futile because of her notable absence. I paid what she agreed to before getting an invoice each month. She made choices, and in the past those choices cost her the clinic in Canada. But she’s ‘always right’ when listening to her, or reading others’ accounts in online court records or books. The only choices I had were to stay with or leave therapy. My hope of getting well kept me longer than I should have stayed. My experience as a RN, who worked in many areas of nursing including with psychiatric patients, told me that I needed to protect myself. From a therapist. That isn’t about her, but about saving what I could of myself. I had no contact with her for about 7-8 months, but in a moment of weakness on a really lousy day, I emailed her. She responded fairly soon. I’m much more guarded with what I discuss, and to me that feels like another act of self-preservation, which should never be part of any relationship. The emails have been cordial, and in better time than when I was actually a patient.
I hope that more people will come forward after the Besson article, and for others to have more information before making decisions to do therapy with anyone. I hope that the courage of Isabella de Carvalho-Heineken can help save others from feeling like this, and others out there who have done so in silence will share their stories- not to hurt the former therapist, but to heal themselves. And I hope that the seemingly universal fear of those of us who did not get well from the self-proclaimed ‘anorexia whisperer’ (not her term) will fade as we feel freed to talk about what is our truth, backed up with the voices of others who have felt this same pain.
I believe Isabella Heineken. I’m saddened, yet not surprised by the Sylvain Besson (Swiss investigative journalist) article about Isabella Heineken of the Heineken beer family and her 4 year ordeal as a teenager being a patient of P Claude-Pierre. I’ve seen too many similar stories, and read enough to know that her story isn’t unique amongst patients of the person who seemed to offer so much hope, but never did have a nearly %100 cure rate as claimed in the ABC’s (American Broadcast Company) 20/20 episode in the mid-late 90s. That’s where I first heard of Ms. Claude-Pierre. And, why I wanted her for my therapist if I ever overtly relapsed. My head is all over the place writing this.
This has gone on for 40 years. The Barbara McClintock book (2002) has more examples of good, not so good, and abusive practices (some by staff) during the earlier years Ms. Claude-Pierre (“P” for the remainder of the post) was “helping” patients with eating disorders, leading to the closure of the Montreux Clinic in Victoria, BC, Canada.
There is so much about this that is sad. I’m all for accountability, as well as supporting those who have been harmed by anyone. The past 4 years of my life have been a rollercoaster of emotions from initial relief that someone understood me to the heartbreaking realization that I was a non-entity to someone who told me one thing, and showed me with actions something completely different. I wanted to be a success story. But all I got was financially drained and am still in lousy shape, with the longest period of active restriction in my life happening while being ‘helped’ by the person who was supposed to be able to get anyone through prolonged eating disorders. In previous posts, I’ve described a life of restriction that I refer to as active and passive- the passive restriction was how food was treated in my family, so my ‘normal’ until the last few years. During P’s ‘watch’ I also ended up in acute renal failure. Again. Fortunately, I have a good nephrologist.
For those still with P, has she denied you your education? Has she isolated you from friends and family? Does she have possession of your passport and/or money? Are you so emotionally damaged now that you can’t see the control and admiration she demands? Can you come and go as you please? Is she telling you to take (supplements) or eat things you either don’t like, aren’t safe for medical conditions, or are forbidden by her for unproven reasons? Has she given you a ‘special’ name to ultimately reinforce her power in your life? Has she asked you for money for personal reasons, not associated with your “therapy”? Has she suddenly restricted your computer time? Has she vilified patients who no longer see her as some heaven-sent rescuer?
I sent multiple emails to her when I was still a patient about things that were bothering me with her approach- which was basically ignoring me to help those who paid more to live with her, or other reasons- that’s how it felt to me, though she denies it. I sent her my reservations long before blogging. I got no response. Those emails weren’t seen for months, by which time I no longer considered myself her patient. While others were getting well starting after I began ‘therapy’ with P, I was paying to be blown off ( during part of that time, until the end of 2024, but she literally begged me to stay for another year without paying, and I got what I paid for). There was more contact if I sent her money for personal reasons which gave me less to survive on for myself (I’m on a fixed disability income that she knew about). She actually told me to sell personal possessions to get money to send to her (I have the screen shots). When I quit sending money, contact dramatically dropped (but she’d blame me for it, saying my perceptions were wrong… nobody can qualify someone else’s view on something that impacts them) and hearing from her less and less, finally only getting a call once a month with an account about various personal issues (then take a leave of absence and get well enough to come back and do the job).
As I said above, she didn’t see most of the emails for MONTHS, starting while I was still a patient, but wanted to control food again, She didn’t see messages for up to a week, so how was managing food supposed to work? I hope she isn’t sick, and is actually OK. She had been a source of hope, until I became a patient. After about 6 months, I was getting the first indications that things weren’t OK. She also told me her books (5 of them) would be published in late 2022 (the summer I started with her), and the first of five was mentioned in her blog in 2013. Now she says this year, “promising” to send me money when they are published… I’m not holding my breath when a simple phone call was often too much. And how about the year she said she was recording videos for a website that never materialized? She said that Louis Vuitton wanted to buy it (that company doesn’t ‘do’ online therapy) when asking me to sell things to send her money. I have the screenshots. So was I being blown off just to do other things, unconcerned that I was still floundering and never got past the early part of Stage 2 (of her 5 part wellness scale) ? But she had time for the 2-3 “kids” (adults) living with her.
When she did follow through on phone calls, she’d often fall asleep multiple times in one call. I’d have to tap on the phone to wake her up. She very often did not follow through on planned calls, leaving me hanging and postponing doing other things, When she told me to eat limited ‘allowed’ foods that I never ate regularly, I complied, and had to get used to crap I didn’t really want (she never made me eat things I hated- just had a line-up of foods that was a little weird for me). One night, after a difficult day with food in early 2023, she called me after getting home from ‘food police’ duty with a patient that ate at restaurants, and yelled at me while she told me what to eat. It was late at night in my time zone. I hadn’t heard that tone from her before, and it was frightening… “don’t take all day to eat that cracker”, “eat faster”, etc (I have medically documented swallowing issues, so dry crackers are often difficult, and she knew that). It wasn’t what she said, but it was the burning acid in her voice that was so alarming. That wasn’t common- I want to be clear on that. But when her usual tone of voice was SO different, it was incredibly scary. And another means of control by a tone resulting in fear.
At one time, she’d planned to fly me to Switzerland to stay for a few months, but I already have a personal policy that I don’t go anywhere that I can’t get myself home from without anyone else in the mix. I’m extremely independent, which may be one of the reasons I became less worthwhile to her, though she said she “loved me like a daughter”. I did have some emotional dependency until it turned into a need to protect myself emotionally.
“Therapy” consisted of socially toned phone calls. There was nothing about how to change my head. I sent her the information about my past that she asked for, but it was rarely discussed, and nothing about what to do with it. Nothing about actual nutrition info beyond her food rules (which were not nutritionally sound). I was told to avoid ‘nightshades’ (potatoes- though that was loosened up, bell peppers, eggplant, tomatoes with skin, etc). That cuts out a lot of vegetables and botanical fruits. I never heard about her “confirmed negativity condition”. I was supposed to get better just because she listened to me during those phone calls that actually did happen (there was an email response implying that).
The thing that is hard for people to understand when they hear about the negative stuff is just how disarming P can be. She initially comes across as being the saving grace of all things. Her tone is comforting and it’s easy to get brainwashed and breadcrumbed because there’s a feeling that a bit of her is better than none of her. She did make the initial eating less stressful. Then she would have to get off of phone calls to go and cook for those living with her… OK, fine. But don’t tell me that when for me opening the fridge door was a source of a lot of tears and SO hard. I didn’t want to hear that she had people who did nothing to get their own food, and just sat around waiting for it. I just felt more worthless. I learned that I should have listened to MYSELF when I began to feel doubts in January 2023. Admittedly, I slept better after talking to her in the earlier years. And then it all became a nightmare of constant doubt. I also didn’t want to give up on the hope I had in the person I saw on 20/20, but found that the person I saw on TV didn’t really exist, for long anyway. It’s hard to feel that someone really gets it, only to find out that may not be the case.
She ended up restricting my food more than I did. There were fear foods and a lot I restricted, but I’d always been a portion-shrinker more than anything. I’d eat many things that some people with EDs won’t eat, but I’d have a bite (teaspoon), or a fraction of a portion. When I told her that my physical hunger cues were starting to kick in, she told me to eat rice cakes and vegetables. Yes, I want to lose weight being ‘atypical’, but ALL of the current eating disorder recovery information I’ve seen after trying to find some help since it wasn’t coming from P talks about eliminating all restriction, no matter the person’s weight since restriction just keeps metabolic rates down (something that P talked about, but her food instructions didn’t match up).
She is still working from her views first formed in the 80s. After the first 8 months or so, I stopped sending photos of what I was eating after she told me a weight of a new patient (not the weight on arrival, but that’s how she made it sound), and I was ashamed to eat at all, but she just assumed that it was because some people don’t like to talk about what they eat. I was barely getting 1000 calories/day- often much less.. It felt like it didn’t matter if I ate or not. Telling me someone weighed 29kg was incredibly triggering, and the vast majority of eating disorder therapists would know that. When I followed my dietician’s advice to gradually increase calories (whom P had required me to see here locally, which was good), I gained a lot of weight, which has made things harder emotionally, and my body started to build back a lot of muscle. Muscle weighs more than fat, and I want the muscle gone so the scale shows better numbers. That’s where my head still goes after 3+ years as a patient of hers. I’m no different.. still have to have ‘numbers’ that feel safe. The ‘voice’ still dictates all things food.
Others have said that P’s presence in their lives eventually waned, and they felt abandoned. I can relate to that. She knew of past abandonment and trauma issues, and just added to them. Even if I had any trust left to get help, I couldn’t afford it now.
But here’s where it gets emotionally difficult. I don’t wish anything ‘bad’ for her. She has to live with herself, and that must be difficult with needing to move so often. I don’t want her to be ill. I do wish she’d retire, both for the sake of patients who end up in the same state as so many of us, but also for her to have time to enjoy her life without ‘strays’ living with her. I wish that she could see how she impacts others without blaming the patient for things they point out about how she comes across to them (got an email from her chewing me out over that). l wish she didn’t seem to need the validation from vulnerable people who are known for their empathy and ability to sense the void in others.
I know the Besson article is difficult to read, but if there wasn’t truth behind the story, it wouldn’t have been written by one of Switzerland’s most highly regarded investigative reporters. Someone like that doesn’t publish something without doing homework, and he did that for a year before it was published. It’s been overwhelming to see the impact on yet another person, and know the fear of speaking out… I’m scattered writing this because of the ‘surveillance’ by P’s live-ins (blocked some more ‘new’ FB profiles today). But were it not for the Besson article, I wouldn’t be writing this. The same things in the McClintock book continue to happen. That’s sad.
I believe Isabella, and am thankful for her courage to speak out. I understand the fear about coming forward. She encourages all of us to speak up, so for Isabella, I won’t minimize my story, though I wasn’t held captive physically like she and many others were. But in addition to the eating disorder, I now feel I have to recover from P as well, and that’s hard to reconcile with the hope I once had.
