This weekend, I had a wonderful conversation with my friend and mentor, Angie Peacock, to talk about withdrawal and healing. We covered so much ground, from postpartum depression and looping thoughts to motherhood and more. It's live now on her Youtube channel!
I’m now offering coaching sessions for those going through withdrawal. If you’d like someone to walk with you through this season, I would love to meet with you. My withdrawal was brutal. I know how dark it can get. I also know how real healing is. I’m now in a place of joy, health, and full life, and I want to support you on your way there.
👉 Go here to see my calendar and schedule a session
Below is a transcript of our conversation, lightly edited for readability.
Angie: Hey everybody, my name is Angie Peacock. I’m a psychiatric drug withdrawal consultant, non-medical, and a healing coach for people deprescribing psychiatric meds. I like to bring you conversations with people in our space who have recovered or are researchers, therapists, or coaches. Today I’m bringing you Joanna, a former client who attended our groups and has since recovered. She looks like a completely different person. When she came on camera the other day I was like, who is that? You can see it in her face. I’m excited to talk to Joanna today. People recover and come back to say, “I made it.” Joanna’s here to tell you how she made it and about her coaching. Joanna, tell us first, how did you get put on meds? What were the meds? What happened?
Joanna: I was a young mom. I’d done well with my first baby and felt confident adding number two. After my second was born I felt really strange and started having bizarre symptoms and dark thoughts, suicidal ideation, terror. I went to my doctor scared. I’d never experienced anything so dark. It was classic postpartum depression.
Getting on Medication
Joanna: I saw a counselor first. She was helpful and caring, very supportive, but immediately said we needed to get me on medication. I trusted her. She helped me find a prescriber and I got on Zoloft. I was hopeful, thinking it would get me through a rough spell. Within three weeks my thoughts were worse and my mindset descended. Since then I’ve learned medication has that risk, especially in the three-week window, but I had no idea at the time. I ended up hospitalized for depression. I stabilized and was put on a max dose of Zoloft, then later transitioned to other medication for side effects. I think it was Lexapro. That’s how I got on medication.
Angie: Were you officially diagnosed with postpartum depression? Looking back, what do you think was actually happening?
Joanna: Yes, postpartum depression. Looking back, I think I needed sleep, more support, and community. Practical help after a baby would have made a difference. Being told it would go away would have helped, instead of “take this med.” My fear was it wouldn’t go away fast enough and it would get dangerous. Being told it does pass would have helped me push through.
“You’ll Need This for Life”
Angie: Then you find yourself on meds. Was it Zoloft?
Joanna: Yes. I stabilized on a max dose and did better. About a year later I felt fine and wanted off. My doctor advised a short taper: cut in half, then cut in half again, then jump. After stopping I started feeling really bad... sweats, feeling weird, dark thoughts and feelings. It felt like a repeat. When I told the doctor, she said it was a recurrence of my original illness and I probably needed medication for life. That felt like a really big announcement. She said I was probably depressive by nature and that’s why I had postpartum depression. Part of me believed it and part didn’t. I filed it away, kept parenting, and continued life.
Angie: Looking back, doesn’t that seem impossible? You weren’t postpartum anymore.
Joanna: Right. But that was the frame I was given.
10 Years On Meds, Then Doubts
Angie: Did you switch or stay on Zoloft?
Joanna: Because of side effects I switched to Lexapro and stabilized. I stayed on that for years. Over time another med would be added or switched. Every few years there was a change. Eventually one med was awful and I was looking to the doctor for solutions. I didn’t use benzos; it was all antidepressants: SSRIs and SNRIs.
Angie: Everyone has an aha moment, like “it’s the meds; I need off.” What was yours?
Joanna: It was delayed. I still wanted off, but every time I tried I felt bad. My husband found articles about antidepressants and the serotonin myth. He asked if I’d read about it. I loved that because it felt true. I wanted freedom from being medicated, filling prescriptions and knowing something was affecting me, even before I saw all the connections. I wanted to be free.
A Bad Taper and a Worse Reinstatement
Angie: So you started to come off. How did you do it?
Joanna: Very badly. I didn’t follow good advice. I followed standard advice: cut in half, skip days. I thought, my body can do this; I don’t have a chemical imbalance; I just need to get through the hard part. I didn’t know it could come with a hundred symptoms. I reduced over three or four months, with skipping, based on half-life info I found online. It was DIY, not based on Maudsley or solid guidance.
Angie: What happened?
Joanna: At first I had depression symptoms: anhedonia, everything gray, intrusive guilt and shame. After four or five months I started having shivers, felt suddenly cold, dropped weight, lost hair, had tremendous anxiety and looping thoughts that interrupted reading. I got scared, met with a therapist and doctor, and reinstated. The doctor put me on 20 mg Prozac. Now I know reinstatement should be tiny amounts. I took it and felt like my brain and body were being pierced with swords from hell. I can’t find words for the anguish. I took three doses and stopped.
My Lightbulb Moment
Angie: After the third dose, then what?
Joanna: Miraculously, a friend texted me that morning. We’d been in a moms group years ago; she’d had a rough postpartum and gone on meds. We’d reconnected briefly at a wedding months before when I was crying. She could tell I was in withdrawal, though I didn’t know. She texted, “How are you?” I said, really bad. We talked for two hours. She explained withdrawal. I’d been thinking I needed to reinstate and stabilize. I was going back and forth... what is true about my body and myself? She told me her story, helped me understand, and the light bulb went on: this is what the medication has done to me. Without that call I would have kept taking the pills and ended up in the hospital. I was done. I flushed the pills [note: dispose safely], and started reading on Surviving Antidepressants, Facebook groups. I never thought I’d believe a Facebook group over a doctor, but I realized what I’d been told was wrong.
Acute Withdrawal: Loops, Fear, and Rumination
Angie: That’s when I met you. It was bad. In our acute withdrawal group you looped constantly: “It’s my house. My house is making me sick.” You looped on that for at least a year. Tell people what acute withdrawal was like.
Joanna: The looping thoughts were severe. Some were themes that made sense for my life. Others were bizarre and constant, like being on the brink of disaster. One was the house I was living in. Another was the ages of my kids: had I lost time with them; had I mothered them well; was I a druggy and horrible person? I doubted everything. I had trained to be a therapist and was upended about that too: “Therapy is a joke; everything is a lie.” It wasn’t rational processing, just doom. “I might never recover.”
Angie: I remember trying to talk down the loop about your house for a year. It went like this. You’d say...
Joanna: “I’m living somewhere I can’t move. It’s terrible. I can’t move my kids at these ages. They’ll remember all this.”
Angie: And I’d say, “Joanna, stop. It’s not your house. It’s your brain.”
Joanna: “But I feel like I need to move. The house has so many memories. When I look outside it looks creepy.”
Angie: “It’s not your house. It’s your brain.”
Joanna: “What if it’s trauma memories? What if it kind of is the house?”
Angie: “You’ll handle it when it’s time. It’s inside your body, and your brain latches onto what’s close: your husband, your house, your kids. That’s how the withdrawal brain works. Lots of people loop. Don’t make big decisions in withdrawal. Don’t move your family yet. Heal first.”
Joanna: I would hold onto that. “Heal here first.” And then loop again.
Moving, Rebuilding, and Coaching vs. Therapy
Angie: You did move, but not because it was your house. Why did you actually move?
Joanna: My husband was asked to help start a church in Florida. I love the area and have friends there. We made the choice and I love it. It happened naturally and wasn’t the doomsday I imagined. My kids did great with the transition. It was good that I healed before moving; doing it mid-withdrawal would have been traumatic.
Angie: People worry: how do I rebuild life? Where will I live? Who will I be? I tell them the path unfolds naturally. I see that with your move and your profession. What “road magic” happened?
Joanna: I reconnected with my former supervisor. I kept her updated during withdrawal because I couldn’t work. She believed me. Later, when I was better, she said my story was incredible and offered me part-time virtual work as a therapist in Maryland. I started there part-time and also began sharing my story on YouTube, Life After Meds, because listening to survivors — your videos, Dan Landauer, Michael Priebe — helped me. I wanted to pay it forward. Then I started meeting people and coaching. There’s such a need.
Angie: You’re practicing therapy and coaching. Therapy is for Maryland clients; coaching is deprescribing support. From knowing both worlds, what helps most?
Joanna: Different perspectives. Affirmation has a place... this is agonizing... but reframing and hope help people hold on.
Motherhood in Withdrawal
Angie: I work with many women who say, “I’m missing my kids’ years. I can’t mother them. I’m traumatizing them.” I don’t want to minimize that. Kids are resilient, but they do feel it. What advice can you give moms?
Joanna: My girls were 11, 10, and 6 when it started; now they’re 13, 12, and 8. They’re intuitive empaths. It was a house full of estrogen and a mom collapsing. My husband is very involved, a go-getter, and puts a positive spin on everything. We leaned into that. Whatever good supports they had, we maximized: grandma time, fun, stability. It’s okay if it’s not all me. I acted better than I was. I read aloud even when my thoughts were looping. I had a repertoire: show, book, walk outside. When I was collapsing I’d say, “Mom’s going to take a nap,” then cry in my room.
I shielded them as much as I could, but they’re smart. So I gave digestible lines: “I’m getting off my meds and it makes me feel wrong and weird, even though nothing’s wrong. If you see me crying, it’s not because anything is wrong in our life. My body feels wrong while getting off the meds.” That helped them not think it was them. They’re not traumatized by it. It’s a life experience they can even laugh about now: “Mom, isn’t it great you have more hair now?” I frame it so they can carry a light burden.
Angie: As you came out of it, how did your view of your kids and that experience change?
Joanna: We came through something hard. They saw me go through it and saw us supported as a couple. Positive relationships model resilience. They’ve seen love and honesty without having to carry my emotions. How we handle it and present it matters. The most loving thing I could do was not tell them the extent of it. Sometimes I took myself to another room so I didn’t spill over.
Healing Buddies and Support Circles
Angie: I’m a big fan of healing buddies. The groups exist so people can meet, support each other, and get through this together. How did healing buddies help?
Joanna: Life-changing. The friend who found me supported me through it. She’d recovered and had practical tools for coping and thoughts. In the groups, seeing others put one foot in front of the other gave me courage. It breaks isolation. Not every pairing works; sometimes someone’s very severe. When there’s a mismatch, it’s hard. People who are struggling the most often need a therapist or coach because the average person in withdrawal is barely coping and can’t talk someone down from suicidal ideation. Even if you’re willing, you can’t think creatively when you’re in it.
The Turning Point
Angie: How long was your total withdrawal, and what did healing look like as it started to come?
Joanna: The first year after reinstatement was my worst. About a year later my husband wanted to take a family trip to Florida. I didn’t think I should go; I worried I’d be worse. It had been a year of being bad. In your call we talked about travel, and that sealed it. He said, it’s bad here or there; we’re going. We went. Something shifted. I started to feel different: functioning more, looping less, physically better. I went snorkeling with my kids. I almost couldn’t believe it. From there recovery picked up. Over the next six months symptoms receded. The waves became mild, like a blip, like being in a bad mood. My total time from stopping to feeling well was about two years.
Angie: Where are you now?
Joanna: I feel great, like my normal self. I avoid alcohol; I honor sleep; I eat healthy; I exercise. I kept some habits from withdrawal. If I drink or stay up late I can feel a little “withdraw-y” — a brief loop or low mood — so I’m careful. Otherwise I feel truly myself, even more than the ten years on meds. Joy in ordinary life.
What It Taught Me
Angie: What have you learned? What meaning has this brought?
Joanna: I feel like I’ve been restructured internally. I used to focus on the negative (melancholy, emotional artist type) which can serve in some spaces, but in withdrawal it was unhelpful. I worked out a positivity muscle, looking for anything hopeful. Being loved through this grounded me. I feel deeply secure. Small things are smaller; big things (love, faith, connection) matter more.
Angie: I see that all the time. Love for yourself, your life, family, children; or love from others: husband, church, therapist, buddies. Someone saying, “You can do it.” It doesn’t have to be external, but love carries you.
Joanna: Yes. What it came down to was love. I’m living because there are people I love and I am loved. That stripped everything else away and grounded me.
Angie: Tell us about your YouTube channel and coaching.
Joanna: My YouTube channel is Life After Meds, where I post videos of encouragement for people on this hard journey. I share from my experience and from what has helped others. On my website, you can sign up for coaching. I also enjoy time with my kids and being outdoors again. In withdrawal I had a phobia of the open sky. Now I love being outside. It feels like I got my life back, with more joy and groundedness. I can read, concentrate, watch movies, travel.
Hope for the Middle
Angie: Our last question is always the same. What hope can you share for people in the middle of it?
Joanna: There is so much more beyond this moment. So much you can’t imagine that is good and spontaneous when you’re healthy. Withdrawal is finite. It hurts like crazy. It’s the worst suffering I’ve ever experienced, and most people say the same. But the resilience you gain and the life on the other side are precious. You’re worthwhile. Hang in there.
Angie: It’s worth it. I don’t like that we have to go through this... it should never have happened... but you get your life back plus some. Use this time to learn what matters and grow. I think about you all in the middle of the night and hope you make it. Keep going and you’ll see this is true.
Joanna: I’m already starting to feel grateful for it.
Angie: I’m not there yet. I hear survivors say that and look at them sideways. My experience was unnecessarily hard. I fought to stay alive. I’m happy I loved life enough to give myself a chance to see it. I’m happy you gave yourself a chance and didn’t move when I told you not to. You also appreciated people saying, “You’re being ridiculous, cut it out,” and practical love. “You’re not ruined; you’ll get through this.”
Joanna: Yes. Several friends talked me down. I appreciated people who were practical and loving: “You’re not wasted and ruined. You’ll get through this. You are not going to move.” They gave me a perspective I couldn’t find on my own.
Angie: We need outside voices. Being alone in a withdrawal brain is not a happy neighborhood. Find a healing buddy, support group, therapist, coach, yoga teacher, priest, boyfriend, girlfriend... someone to help you not believe every thought.
Joanna: I’m proud of you already. Showing up and listening means you have the will to fight through this. There is another side. We want you to make it.
Angie: There is, and it’s pretty cool over here. The water is fine. Thank you, Joanna, for sharing your story. Best of luck with your coaching. I love the name Life After Meds. Everyone, check the caption for Joanna’s links and go comment on her channel.
Joanna: Thank you, Angie, for being part of my healing and for your message of hope. It made all the difference.