When I was a teenager, I wanted to be a neurosurgeon (clearly influenced by Grey’s Anatomy). I wanted to cut and I wanted to fix things. By the time I got to college, I hit my first reality check: calculus. I was on track for a B+, and despite studying harder than I ever had before, I knew I couldn’t squeeze out an A. I told myself, “No medical school will accept a B+ on your transcript. Give up now.” So I did.
Instead, I decided to be an engineer. No cutting, but still plenty of fixing. Solving things—whether it’s equations, a crossword, or today’s Wordle—is just who I am. Even after I walked away from engineering (another story for another day), every job I’ve loved has had one thing in common: I got to solve puzzles. But in the fall of 2020, I finally ran into the first problem I couldn’t solve: generalized anxiety disorder.
Facing Generalized Anxiety Disorder
My symptoms were textbook: persistent and excessive worry, restlessness, fatigue and rapid heartbeat. I figured medication was the next logical step. Easy, right? Anxiety + anxiety medication = fixed Anna. What I didn’t anticipate was the word of caution my PCP: everyone’s body reacts differently on these medications, and it might take a few tries to find the one that was right for me. And most importantly, some of them might actually make things worse. I nodded along, thinking sure, sure, but not me. Spoiler alert: it happened to me.
Take one
My first selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor (SSRI) made my stomach hurt. I won’t overshare; let’s just say I visited the restroom more frequently than I did before. Puzzle-solving Anna knew this was a common side effect, and my anxiety was mostly gone, so I decided it was worth it. When I shared this with my PCP, she gently pointed out that there might be other options that didn’t wreck my stomach. Fair enough. We tried something new.
Take two
The next SSRI I tried caused a severe depressive episode. Because of the pandemic, I already wasn’t doing very much socially—but now, the thought of leaving my apartment felt impossible. I was barely eating, I was constantly tired, I had no interest in anything I usually loved. Life didn’t feel worth living. Even though my PCP had literally told me some medications could make symptoms worse, I couldn’t bring myself to ask for help.
What finally broke through was my dog Yoshi. About a month into this depressive episode, my husband had left for work and Yoshi needed to go out. Just the thought of putting on his leash and walking him down two flights of stairs made me want to die. I looked at Yoshi’s sad face and cried. After I finally got him outside, I came back in and called my doctor.
Third time’s the charm
Reaching out to my PCP and asking to change my meds again saved me. I’m not exaggerating when I say that. The third SSRI we tried is the one I am still on today. While I still have anxious thoughts or feelings, they’re no longer debilitating.
While I will never be cured of these anxious thoughts and feelings and I may never be cured of my generalized anxiety disorder, I no longer desire to fix them. They’re part of who I am and honestly are probably a tiny bit of the reason why I love solving puzzles. My anxious brain doesn’t need curing; it just needs space to be.
How do you know if your SSRI is working?
The first thing I’ll say: talk to your doctor. They’re the ones who can help you figure out what’s right for you.
That said, here’s how I knew mine was working: my anxious thoughts quieted down. I still had them, but they weren’t all-consuming. For the first time in over a month, I could go about my day without my body fighting me every step of the way.
If you’re not there yet, that’s okay. Sometimes it takes a couple tries to find the right fit. It’s frustrating—I won’t sugarcoat it—but when you land on the medication that actually helps, it’s worth every single false start.