Generalized Anxiety Disorder

A reflection on my anxiety and how I cope these days

Generalized Anxiety Disorder. That’s what the cardiac rehab psychiatrist wrote in their notes after recently interviewing me via computer video for an hour or so.

Not sure what I was anticipating, but "Generalized Anxiety Disorder" seems like a fair description of my post heart attack state of being. Note: during the interview, I was more anxious about the cost of the time with a psychiatrist than with their line of questioning.

With that telehealth assessment in mind and reflecting back, it seems I’ve lived with anxiety most of my life. In childhood and adolescence it was my unwitting reaction to the fear-based preaching and coercive discipline of my dad. That guilt-filled, shame-based religious milieu fueled anxiety in a faith structure that considered anxiety and mental health disorders somehow either sinful or evidence of one's lack of faith. So, I was anxious about being anxious.

While I gradually let go of many of those notions (with a lot of disparate counsel, reading, experiences, and reflection), continuous low-grade anxiety has over the past twenty years boiled over into three panic attacks that have landed me in an emergency room. The COVID-19 pandemic spiked my anxiety and I began to use prescribed anti-anxiety medication for the first time. I also started working with a counselor routinely. I chose to retire at age 65 more over concern for work-related and general anxiety than anything else (albeit retirement, I have now discovered, is itself a significant source of anxiety). 

I can see now that I used to deny my anxiety or rename it “intensity.” A respected friend once told me I was the most intense person they knew. And, blind to my own issues, I initially took that as a compliment; I now see it as a gracious red flag.

Only in the recent decade have I recognized and begun to acknowledge the extent of my anxiety and its impact on my considerations, actions and decisions across 50+ years. It’s pretty revealing and humbling. I continue to unpack and process this.

I now manage my anxiety with a bit of prescribed medication. It seems to help. Instead of waking up at 3 am with my mind racing through all kinds of tough life scenarios, I now sleep through the night and usually awaken with some sense of peace.

My August 2025 heart attack (surprise, unwelcome surprise!) and aftermath brought low-grade anxiety to another boiling point. Why me? Why now? How limited does this make me? What is that mild pain in my chest? Can my heart handle the level of cycling, running, and activity in which I aspire to engage? Will this happen again? On and on the questions flow (thus my request to talk with a cardiac rehab psychiatrist).

Three months of Monday-Wednesday-Friday monitored physical activity and heart health education in IU Health's Cardiac Rehab program at Methodist Hospital has reduced my heart attack-related anxiety significantly. I follow their guidance about food, stress, mindfulness, and physical exercise. When stressed to its max, my heart (according to the electronic heart monitors) responds normally. I now run over three miles each session. I'm training for a half marathon (13.1 miles) early in May. It all feels good and promising.

As I invest in my relationship with my spouse Jodi, attend to my four adult children and my 8 (soon to be 9) grandchildren, volunteer in the community, read, meet with friends, ride my bike, run, and participate in local arts, music and justice advocacy events, I find my anxiety significantly reduced. I don't have a sure-fire formula, but I know that these things bring meaning and purpose and release in different but important ways.

So, I'll take "Generalized Anxiety Disorder" as a reasonable assessment. I'll follow up with the psychiatrist and continue to do the things that help me reduce anxiety, cope, recover, and thrive. And I'll try to find ways to support anyone who is grappling with anxiety and mental health disorders. 

Three Snow Poems

A celebration of snow on the brink of winter

I love snow. I’ve been praying for snow in Indiana--enough snow to sled and cross-country ski in our urban parks, enough to change gray winter days into heart-jogging experiences of delight. 

Here are three snow poems. The first is mine. The second two are by New England poet Robert Frost (hey, even his last name points to his love for flakes!).


HOPING FOR SNOW

I’m waiting on the snow
A hope to fulfill;
I’ll prepare my skis,
Anticipate the thrill.

A Midwestern winter
With its bleak, dark days
Needs a good snow storm
To hearten the soul’s way.

Mere cold stiffens the heart
And drives us inside,
But warmth and four walls
Alone cannot abide.

I’m like a child praying
The snow will be deep
Enough for sledding,
And, tired from it, to sleep.


STOPPING BY THE WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING

Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.


DUST OF SNOW

The way a crow
Shook down on me
The dust of snow
From a hemlock tree
Has given my heart
A change of mood
And saved some part

Of a day I had rued.