Brighter Realities of O.C.D.
Hey, it’s not completely terrible.
There are some things in life that will never be labeled “good” under any circumstances. Abuse. War crimes. Climate change. Vegan cheese. One might suspect that Obsessive Compulsive Disorder would fall into that category, as well, given that it’s rated by the World Health Organization as one of the top ten most debilitating mental illnesses. (For good reason.) It’s scary, isolating, and, when left untreated, potentially life-threatening.
It’s also a bit more nuanced than that.
I was diagnosed with O.C.D. in my late twenties and didn’t receive any serious treatment for it until after my daughter was born in 2013. For years, I managed my obsessions and compulsions on my own because I had no real concept of the disorder beyond the most common (and inaccurate) stereotypes. Later, a therapist said I was “a perfect fit” for the DSM criteria1—and rather than experiencing grief over this news like a normal person, I felt a deep satisfaction in said perfection—so I would add that while O.C.D. is often harrowing, there have been moments in my life where it’s also funny, interesting, or neutral altogether.2
O.C.D. is my only diagnosis, so I won’t speak to any others here.3 I’m currently in what my therapist calls O.C.D. remission—meaning that I still have the disorder but am no longer presenting with any obsessive or compulsive behaviors—and it’s because of my currently healthy status that I thought I’d examine my diagnosis with a less critical eye and point out a few of its—dare I say—better qualities.
(Obviously, these are based on my personal experience of O.C.D. and not anyone else’s, so read them with that knowledge tucked away in your pocket.)
Let’s begin!
1) I can honestly say I’m trying my best, even if my best is an utter failure.
I’ll admit a clear conscience is a bit of an idol in my life. Too often, I’ve based my ability to be at peace on the reactions of other people. But lately, especially in the past two years, I’ve come to rest more and more in my inherent, God-given goodness and find a sort of gratitude for the Karen In My Brain™, who is like a built-in warning system against mediocre efforts. (Not regarding laundry—she could give two shits about that—but definitely when it comes to relationships or ethics.) I’m always going to try my best because it’s just the way I’m wired. Even if my best turns out to be laughable, there is peace in being able to say that I honestly gave my all.
2) It’s fun to make other people uncomfortable when they say “I’m so O.C.D. about [insert item they like to be organized here].”
I am a Christian, which means I need Jesus, okay? Because the delight I feel in saying “I actually have O.C.D.”—as deadpan as possible—to someone who has just claimed that their desire for color-coded closets equates to mental illness is really unparalleled. It’s the wide-eyed panic for me.
Don’t worry, though. I always break the awkward silence with a villain laugh so they never make the same mistake twice.
3) Everyday moments that might not register with other people can be huge victories for me.
As I’ve written before, an activity as simple as being at home alone with my kids once seemed so impossible that my entire body would flood with cortisol at the mere thought of it. Now I do it all day, every day, without issue. This was accomplished with years of therapy, medication, persistent exposure to my fears, honest conversations with my loved ones, and stubborn faith. I’ll never take for granted that I’m able to be at home with my children each day. It’s more than a dream come true; it’s perpetual proof that God’s strength is made perfect in my weakness.
4) I have a very special community.
One of the few good things about social media, IMO, is how it gives us access to people with experiences similar to ours. I’ve made genuine connections online with a number of people—mostly women—who are often just learning they have O.C.D. and have found some hope in my story. While I don’t know many of these people outside of the internet, the kinship that exists between two mothers who are coming to terms with their harm obsessions, and finding ways to thrive in spite of the compulsions that threaten to steal their joy, is a real comfort. I’m thankful for every single person who has reached out to me and said, “I thought I was the only one.” What a gift it is to shine a light in the darkness.
5) O.C.D. offered me a truer, deeper faith.
Suffering from a mental illness showed me real quick who was God and who was not. (👋🏼👋🏼👋🏼) I wrote all about this in my book, so I won’t say too much here except that God used my diagnosis to burn away the lies keeping me from real intimacy with Him. It’s what gave me the freedom to let go of legalism and white-knuckled faith and begin to live in the joy of knowing—and trusting—my Lord.
6) For better or worse, my imagination is a wild thing.
When it comes to harm obsessions, having an exceptionally vivid imagination is not fun; however, as a writer, the very thing that grieves me is also what allows me to be a creative thinker. I don’t think it’s a coincidence that so many artists, writers, and musicians throughout history have lived with mental illness. Pain used well makes for beautiful art, and I have the same hope for my years on earth as did American actress Elsie de Wolfe, who said, “I’m going to make everything around me beautiful—that will be my life.”
There have been so many moments since my diagnosis when I’ve railed at God and prayed for Him to heal me of this illness. I won’t pretend that O.C.D. hasn’t been the cause of major grief in both my life and in the lives of people who love me. I simply write about the hope I experience because I’ve lived it and I want people who don’t have that same hope to see that their present suffering is not for nothing. There are brighter days ahead, and it’s okay that the path is not a linear one. It winds its way through forests so dense and dark that the sky is blotted out…through meadows of light and birdsong…and through valleys where the heat presses in on you from all sides.
Don’t be discouraged by the ever-changing scenery.
Just keep walking. You are not alone.
For more information on what it’s like to live with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder, I created the Sooo OCD Podcast where I shared stories of what it’s like to live—and thrive—with O.C.D. Listen wherever you get your podcasts.
The Diagnostical and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, 5th Edition is the clinical standard for diagnosing mental illness.
I admit this claim feels a bit like how you’re allowed to tease your own siblings without mercy, but should anyone else try to do it they’ll have their heads shoved into a locker. If you don’t live with a mental illness it’s only polite that you generally keep your thoughts about it to yourself, unless those thoughts are of the “Tell me more about that” or “I’m here for you” variety. If we cry, feel free to let your tears fall, too. And if we laugh, then go ahead and laugh along with us. Just don’t ever do it at our expense.
I did survive severe postpartum depression after the birth of my son in 2019 but have only experienced depression in that particular capacity. While much beauty was born from those ashes, postpartum depression also remains firmly in the category of “Things That Will Never Be Good.”
I love you, friend!