Scattered Thoughts

Black-eyed Susans blooming brings summer beauty to the garden.

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Scattered thoughts. Can’t sleep. A desperate need to create connected to a leash holding me back. Indecision. Procrastination. Anxiety. Fear. Restlessness. This one's personal, folks.

I’ve always struggled with anxiety. It’s  a perennial companion. From childhood on. I was a born worrier. Some of my earliest memories are of lying in bed at night fretting about my family. My sisters. What if something bad happened to them? What would happen when we went to different schools as we got older? What if something bad happened to my parents? I was constantly worried. In second grade, for a time, I became sick every morning, afraid to go to school. To leave my mom at home. She would grow frustrated. I wasn’t really sick. And I couldn’t explain to her what was going on. It was just a gut feeling.  Eventually we got past it, though I don’t remember how.  But the anxiety stuck around, like an invisible friend.

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Like most people, I get anxious during critical times. Times of change and upheaval. Whether good or bad. Sometimes I’ve had to seek help to get through it, sometimes I cope on my own.

​Over the past 15 years or so I’ve specifically turned to local nature to help reduce my anxiety. To instill a bit of peace. For a pleasant distraction. Time and again it has helped me through.

Virginia bluebells blossoming at Kinsey Park this May.

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Since late last November I have struggled with severe anxiety.  I also came down with two really bad colds, with coughs that caused my ribs to become inflamed and super tight. Constricting. The pain was all over, and sometimes it made it hard to breathe well. My shoulders hurt. When I was out running errands, suddenly I would feel constricted, my chest was tender, I would start to sweat, my pulse would race. I might be in the middle of a grocery store and have to leave because I needed to get hold of myself. I worried I was having a heart attack. I researched symptoms online. (Not always a good thing to do…). I never lost consciousness, never got dizzy, never had true chest pain. If I shifted position things improved. So most days I could talk myself down. But it was not fun.

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Looking back now I can see where it really started to kick in.  In late November my oldest sister went on hospice. She had been in a nursing home for at least 5 years, and been through many health events during that time, and she had decided to let her body follow its own course.

Though she had many serious health issues in recent years, she was resilient.  I did not believe she would die.

My sister, Cheryl, smiling through the window while we visited during Covid restrictions.

It wasn’t long after she went on hospice that I got my first bad cold.  ​

It lasted through most of December, and the cough was awful.  My chest was so tight. But, finally, it seemed to fade.  Then in January two of my pets had health episodes of great concern, and I was worried that I would lose them.  The anxiety returned big time.

​Then I got sick with the cold and cough again.  It never affected my breathing, I had no fever, just a horrible cough and fatigue that took several weeks to abate.  During this time the anxiety attacks increased. 

My poor husband, I was constantly talking to him about it, worrying that I was having a heart attack. But then, I rationalized, if I was having heart attacks I’d be dead by now.

​I would do some meditative breathing, try to control my pulse, and I would calm down. But the chest and shoulder pain didn’t diminish. Then neck pain started in. Then sleeplessness. Ugh.

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In March, this year, my sister died. It still seems hard to believe. In a way I was relieved for her, as her body had been through so much, and she would be at peace. But I grieved for her grown children, and her grandchildren. For my other sisters, too.

She lived an hour or so north of me, and in a nursing home, so I didn’t get to see her very often. When I made plans to visit her I would pick out a nature spot nearby to walk in afterwards. Seeing her stuck in a nursing home was hard, and I would usually need to decompress after our visits.

Since I didn't see her all the time  in  my day to day life, it doesn’t really seem like she is gone.  It’s when I see a movie DVD, or a sweater, or something else I might pick up for her, that I'm reminded that she’s no longer here.  I would often bring her bouquets from my garden. I won’t be doing that this year. Seems strange.

We were not close like some sisters are. We were several years and worlds apart in many ways. But she was my sister, we have a shared history, and I still can’t believe she is gone.

Grief presents itself in many ways. Sometimes it is obvious, sometimes it sneaks up on you. After Cheryl passed away the anxiety attacks increased. The insomnia increased. I finally called my doctor for some help.

The two of us ready for trick or treat on Halloween, back in the late 60's.

One of my favorite photos of Cheryl at a family summertime gathering.

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He was great. He did an evaluation and we concluded that I was suffering from costochondritis, which is an inflammation of the rib muscles, and anxiety driven by stress and loss. My ribs were inflamed and super tight. Any pressure on them caused pain and nervous breathing, severe anxiety. Which in turn made me worry about heart attack. It’s a vicious circle. And I am assured that many who suffer from anxiety have been through it many times.  It's not nearly as simple as it seems, and  it’s truly frightening.

My heart, technically, is fine. But the anxiety was taking a toll. So he started me on an anti-anxiety med, a physical therapy regimen, and suggested I talk to a mental health counselor.

We talked about how I had been coping. When do I not feel anxious? And I explained that, while I have a hard time getting motivated to get outside some days, once I do, being in nature, taking a walk, photographing whatever bits of nature I see, reduces my anxiety.

Something he said about that, too, was reassuring. When I was out in nature, exerting myself, climbing a hill or digging in the garden, I was experiencing a reduction in anxiety.  I was not experiencing chest pain or shallow breathing. If it was my heart, chances are that is when I would be experiencing that pain.

​This was a tremendous relief, and is something I refer back to time and again when the anxiety peaks. Because those thoughts don't magically disappear.

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I also remind myself, after having physically exerted myself in nature, one way or another, that I might be sore from hiking, or digging, or weeding, that I am calmer afterward. The value of time spent in nature in my healing process has been huge.

I set up some sessions of virtual talk therapy. I got out a journal and started writing things down. The talk sessions were helpful. The meds started to kick in. The physical therapy started to loosen things up. Summer kicked in, and things improved. 

​I’ve been working in the garden a lot. Flowers sown are beginning to bloom. Short walks in local parks are helpful.  I haven’t had the chance for many new park adventures yet this summer. The garden has been a priority, and a positive force in my days.

But those green spaces await, and I'm looking forward to getting back on the trails soon.

​Kimberly








Note: If you are suffering from grief, anxiety and/or depression, please talk to someone. You don’t have to walk this road alone. ​