The year 2025 was a heavy one. Even counting the pandemic years, with its disruptions, uncertainty, the loss of over a million of our neighbors, this year left me reeling. 2025 brought a ceaseless bombardment of international and domestic political violence, misinformation, and government misrule. Injustice after injustice.

I tried to fight off the dread by throwing myself into local political campaigns, attending protests, and educating myself to how these times reflect broad currents and earlier chapters in our country’s history. And, in my deeper look at how we build and nurture friendships, I have brought greater attention to the presence and care I bring to my family and friends.

In 2025, the simple question of “How’s it going?” may have yielded a simple “Fine, and you?” response. But as often, it began a deeper dialog about the state of our world. It was not just me reeling from the impacts. A look of vulnerability might reveal the truth many of us grappled with: I’m not well at all.

For those of us with underlying anxiety issues, putting on a brave face and “gutting it out” was harder to do in 2025. As one who has dealt with anxiety for nearly 30 years, I know what it’s like to not feel like yourself. It’s an ongoing learning process, knowing when I need more help than I am getting or learning to navigate a sudden, unseen wave that seems certain to capsize my boat.

It was 1998 when I had my first panic attack. It happened on Mother’s Day.

In our household, Mother’s Day was treated like a national holiday: flowers, gifts, a magnificent brunch prepared by my father with all kids assigned supporting chores. The house and grounds had to be immaculate, which meant the lawn was mowed, roses pruned, and flower beds weeded. We would eat a ginormous brunch, making sure to use every dish, pot, and pan we had—even the holiday stemware. All of which we kids dutifully cleaned as Mom and Dad headed out to a nursery where a bounty of Mother’s Day plantings were purchased. While this sounds like a tale of familial obligation, it was also true that we celebrated with much love and laughter, poking fun at Mom’s love of excessive pampering.

In my 30’s, Mother’s Day traditions changed. I was building new family traditions with my own two daughters. We still would make our way over to Grandma’s house for a family gathering, saving our own rituals for our family time at home. Modest by nature, Kate was as flexible as my mother was demanding as to what constituted a great Mother’s Day. For her, the less fuss the better.

Then came 1998.

With plans to attend my 15^th college reunion on the second weekend in May, I drove from the DMV to Breezewood, PA to meet two classmates from the Philly area. I remember Paul and Frank, excited and looking fit enough to play in the alumni soccer game. We immediately fell into the energy of our raucous, joking team van rides we took to play traveling soccer together.

Somewhere along the Pennsylvania Turnpike, I started to feel queasy. It wasn’t that I was sick, exactly, but my digestive system seemed off. I decided to hit the next rest stop. Reaching the exit ramp, my van’s engine suddenly cut out, dropping our speed and leading me to coast. I quickly dropped the gearshift into neutral and started the engine, completing the exit.

When we made our pit stop, Paul looked under the hood while I experimented with the gas pedal. Seeing nothing untoward, we continued our journey with Paul at the wheel. I climbed in the back seat, my stomach now inflamed and my mind wrapped in a swirl of intrusive thoughts: What’s wrong with the car? This isn’t safe. What if we crash? Should we stop and get it looked at? If we do, we’ll never get there. What if we stop and there’s no mechanic to help us? What if they have to order a part?

We had planned to stop outside of Dayton to visit another teammate, Ned, before he and his wife, Carol, left for campus. I quickly ask Carol for a glass of water, then excuse myself to go to the bathroom. Safe behind the latched door, I asked myself, “What is going on?” “What am I worrying about?” Why do I feel this way?”

The loop just kept playing again and again. I couldn’t seem to distract myself or engage with others. My mind bounced back and forth between worries about the car and a digestive system in full revolt. My boat was taking on water fast, heading unknown and my journey in question.

Was it the fact that I realized it was Mother’s Day and I was not where I was supposed to be, according to tradition? Or that this was the first Mother’s Day since my mom was diagnosed with cancer, a year filled with visits to the doctors, second opinions, and putting together her medical team. I learned what a “hospital siege” was: the days of consecutive visits to spend time with a loved one taken ill, helping them to rally, or to say goodbye. It seemed that my car learned how to drive itself from DC to Johns Hopkins hospital in Baltimore as my mind wandered and worried, as the visits multiplied and Mom’s recovery took much longer than expected.

I don’t recall when I started to feel better. Returning to campus, seeing old friends, and getting into the rhythm of the weekend helped the intruding thoughts recede. They were still there, but more of an echo. The relentless onslaught of worry had receded; the panic of being drowned in my own thoughts remained.

Back home from the reunion, I called for an appointment with my doctor. Describing how I spent my weekend, I was encouraged by the quick diagnosis from the advice nurse: “Sounds like a classic panic attack. Let’s get you in to see someone.” A dozen simple words that brought a large dose of relief—this was something common, and treatable.

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Working with a counselor, I was quickly diagnosed as having suffered a panic attack, brought on by situational anxiety. I talked through the events of the weekend and in future sessions I was able to put together what was going on with me, the mixture of guilt about being absent for Mother’s Day and the impending loss of my mom. She died in December of 1998, less than two years after her diagnosis.

The grief passed. Occasional panic attacks persisted, treated first with Xanax and later with other anti-anxiety medication and a conscious decision to explore practices that would help guard against future rising tides of worry.

I knew that exercise had always been good for me – first as an athlete, then to keep in shape, and now as a way to improve my mood and general wellness. So, I began a walking practice (see my piece Walking Man). My local Unitarian Universalist Church offered weekly meditation where Tara Brach was becoming a nationally-recognized practitioner. Inspired by her insightful teaching and amazingly supportive voice, I became a student, dipping into the literature on the benefits of meditation and soon developing my own practice.

The last piece was tai chi. It combined mindfulness with my love of dance and movement and offered a new practice that helped me relax as I learned the form consisting of over 100 moves, with gentle music to add flow and regulate the breath. I took to it quickly and moved from student to teacher of my local community center’s class. The combination of all these practices isn’t a cure—it’s a solid deck to stand on when waters get choppy.

At age 37, I had my first look at the abyss. It’s hard to think of it as a gift, but given the pervasiveness of anxiety and depressive disorders across our society, my experience gave me insight into the suffering anxiety causes.

I can’t remember my last panic attack. I can also say that today my exercise routine, mindfulness practices and tai chi are no longer deployed as defenses against anxiety, but for the pleasure they bring.

In a year that made us all a little more anxious and overwhelmed, I continue to choose these practices to help me see a world of abundance, opportunity, hope and connection.

Do you have practices that help ground you in your own daily life? Or maybe a practice you’d like to explore in the new year. I’d love to hear about them in the comments!

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I used to describe myself as a Harvard Business Review type of coach. My practice was largely informed by my experience teaching Strategic Leadership at the National Defense University on a detail from the U.S. Agency for International Development. The curriculum was engaging to teach, but so much of the theory and literature came from the corporate sector. My students included U.S. civilian and military leaders as well as visiting international students in my classes, and everything had to be translated for this new audience.

With this foundation in hand and informed by my real-world leadership experience from my time at USAID, I embarked on my “encore” career as a Certified Professional Coach. My practice centered on three different kinds of client conversations: professionals in career transition; leaders looking to build their skills; and peers looking for a partner for collaborative thinking. Because I was trained at USAID, where challenges and solutions cross disciplines, I included a fourth “cross-cutting issue” of practicing self-care, which was received enthusiastically by all, particularly when COVID-19 hit.

After eight years, my passion for coaching has only grown. And recently, I began exploring how to bring embodied practices into my coaching, starting with my own embodied transformation. The Strozzi Institute, based in California and focused on leadership and somatics, came recommended to me by Gina LaRoche, author, fellow executive coach and co-founder of Seven Stones Leadership. At Strozzi, I began a path in somatic techniques designed to bring the whole person into my daily life and practice rather than thinking of my body as a robot that carries my brain from place to place.

It was time for me to ask, “what does the body know?”

One new practice I am cultivating is to integrate two different types of energy – known as bowl and arrow.

These concepts draw from the work of Staci K. Haines and came to me via my Strozzi instructor, LeaAnn Mallorie.

“Bowl” energy embodies roundness, the capacity to take in more. It greets the world with openness, a sense of spaciousness, receiving and embracing what arrives. It is inclusiveness, abundance, and allows for a container to hold what is received.

“Arrow” energy is electric and direct. Clear and decisive, it galvanizes action to get things done. It is output, with laser focus and determination, titrated down to the most essential details.

Neither is better or stronger. They exist and can be channeled by leaders in different measures and in different contexts.

Bowl energy immediately appealed to me as an allied force in creating the container for my coaching, conjuring a state of deep listening, openness and empathy as a way of receding to allow clients (or friends in conversation) and their experience to emerge more fully. “Listen better” is already a core part of my practice and how I approach all my relationships.

Now, I integrate the “holding a temple bowl” practice into my meditation. Here I can conjure mindfulness around feeling grounded, opening and preparing myself for deep listening and human connection, with brain and body. The impact is immediate: I feel simultaneously grounded and uplifted.

On the other side, arrow energy was available to me in moments of decision, action or crisis. It is a growth edge for me when I need to be more direct in asking for what I want in service of my own dignity and self-worth. Bringing this into my practice has made me confident in making decisions, summoning embodied energy to move forward, even in times of uncertainty or self-doubt.

What embodied practices do you use to bring out the most authentic version of yourself? I would love to hear about other people’s practices in the comments — our own container for conversation.

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Dispatches from the X Bureau

For those of you watching in horror at the takedown of the U.S. Institute of Peace last month, keep an eye out for my next Dispatch from the X Bureau. It was another Friday afternoon confrontation between USIP and DOGE officials accompanied by FBI and local police that ended with the firing of the USIP President and the takeover of its privately-owned headquarters. This independent, non-partisan think-tank, created by Congress and signed into law by President Ronald Reagan in 1984 has been a cornerstone of the nation's peacebuilding architecture. The U.S.-based staff -- none of whom are federal workers -- have all been dismissed.

When the U.S. spends roughly $823 billion for defense, it's hard to understand ending this $55 million investment in peace.

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From the Bookshelf

Thanks to all who have begun sending me books and other resources on friendship.

At the suggestion of my editor and thought partner, Haley Houseman,I recently read Big Friendship: How We Keep Each Other Close by Aminatou Sow and Ann Friedman. There are some big takeaways that I want to explore in a mini-book review coming up, including how women help other women shine, the landmines in navigating friendship across race and how to understand the ebbs and flows in friendships over time.

The EC 1983 Alumni and Friends Book Club had a fantastic discussion of War by Other Means by Daniel Akst about WWII pacifists with many participants sharing the experience of their parents as conscientious objectors, with a feature reflection from George Lopez, former EC professor and now Rev. Theodore M. Hesburgh, C.S.C., Professor Emeritus of Peace Studies. Next Up: Small Things Like These by Claire Keegan.

Levine Brothers Book Club is also reading Three Kings by Todd Balf, a Beverly, MA author writing about the 1924 Men’s Olympic Swim Team.

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