Branching Out

A poem, signs of healing, and an update

Mar 14, 2025

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Can any of you relate to the feeling of needing to choose the right path in every moment? Does it seem like the branches of decision-making spread out infinitely, the answer always just out of reach?

I wrote a poem about this feeling:

Branches
Imagine believing that only one choice was good
Only one bud, one branch in a bramble of skinny twigs and twisted foliage
Each moment a test to identify the right direction
Track the branches,
Retrace the splits
Try to predict the mysteries of nature as trees turn and grow
Eyes weary with double vision
Double guessing
Blind to the beauty in front of me
Skin rubbed raw against gnarled bark
Ever climbing, ever sprawling
Ever failing
To identify the perfect path
A tree is not a test
A life isn’t either
Imagine believing there’s more than one right answer
Imagine living like the unveiling of each branch and bud is beautiful
I am beginning to see
I am just getting started

Now, the story behind the poem:

As far as I’ve come in my OCD recovery, self-criticism still slips in occasionally. The day I wrote this poem, I took a nap in the afternoon when I had originally planned to do a cold plunge and then get some writing done. I felt I “should” have plunged first.

But then I woke up and the sun came out and I got to plunge just as the sun was dipping behind the trees. And my husband just so happened to come to the lake at the same time for his plunge and snapped this picture of me, soaking up the sun, thinking about how wrong I was to be convinced that only one version of my day could turn out well.

If I had plunged earlier, the sun, the picture, the poem, the epiphany wouldn’t have happened. My “failure” to make the most responsible and productive choice actually led to greater good and joy.

This is not a new lesson for me, but another example of many. When I let go of my grasp on the right and perfect and responsible choice, I leave space for surprise and delight and good.

While the words of my poem sound harsh and tangled, I am no longer living this reality on a daily basis. I am leaning in to the last four lines, living as if life is not a test, letting my days flow.

There was a time when the compulsion to be productive would have kept me from napping at all. Then there was a time where I would have tried to lie down, but anxiety would have kept me awake: a lump in my throat, fire in my veins, that drop in my stomach, absolutely convinced that something is missing, something is wrong, I am wrong.

This time, I let out a sigh of disappointment that I felt too tired to plunge. Laid down in my bed and slept for two glorious hours, my tiny cat curled in the crevice behind my knees. When my daughter woke up the next morning with a sore throat, I knew that nap wasn’t laziness, but my body’s immune response nudging me to rest.

Even the painting I made to go with the poem is a sign of healing.

There was a time I wouldn’t have been able to paint a tree like that. I would have spent hours copying each branch to match the picture. Started again and again when my art didn’t match reality. I would have made myself sick. Instead, I have learned to let go. I work almost backward, making light strokes of feathery branches attaching to nothing. And I’m okay with it! It sounds silly, but OCD would have convinced me I was cheating. Now, the impression of branches, imprecise and untraceable feels good enough. I painted this in maybe an hour–and only that long to let the paint dry between sections.

What I want so desperately to tell you:

Friends, I am in a place of mental health that I never imagined. In early OCD recovery my therapist asked me, “What would you do if OCD wasn’t in the picture?” At the time, the question was painful, impossible. OCD and its poison infiltrated every part of my life.

Now, I am answering that question with my life. Without OCD, I would plunge and paint and write poetry! I would take the chance to quit my job and start over in a new city. I would be delighted by my own art, and self-compassion would be my new default posture.

OCD used to make me feel torn in every moment, fear failure in every moment.

And now, I go days forgetting to feel bad about myself. I go days without second guessing a trivial decision. It doesn’t occur to me to assume I’ve failed.

On a creative front, I’m making art I love every day. I have encouraging readers. I have a few publishing opportunities coming up. I belong to a couple life-giving writing and creativity groups. I no longer write what I “should” write, but am constantly delighted by the magic of the creative process unfolding. What more could I ask for?

On a more holistic level, I have time to walk my kids to and from school. I connect with nature every day. While keeping in touch with the friends and family we left is hard, I know they love and support me no matter what. I feel buoyed by their love from afar. I’m making small connections here in Coeur d’Alene, not rushing friendships or commitments. I don’t wake up dreading the week ahead or keeping mental lists of essays to grade, assignments to tweak, endless announcements to post in the Learning Management System for the university I used to teach at.

I can paint branches. I can paint at all.

A Glitch Fix Update

My hope for Glitch in the Good Enough and then Glitch Fix specifically was to share my OCD recovery journey in real time, wanting to contribute resources and tips, or at the very least, help you feel less alone.

OCD used to occupy so much space in my brain, in my life, either undiagnosed OCD letting Poison run wild or the early stages of recovery playing whack a mole with new themes and consumed by the tedium of implementing new responses to OCD’s infinite taunts and threats.

Writing helped reinforce the skills I was learning. Writing helped give distance between me and OCD. Writing helped connect me to others who are suffering. I wanted to redeem my suffering. To make good of it. If I’m doing this work, documenting anyway because that’s what I do, I might as well share and make it helpful.

As OCD occupies less space in my life, I would like to allow it to occupy less space in my writing.

I’m not abandoning you. My resources will still be here and still be free. You can click on the Glitch Fix tab or my OCD Resources tab to see all that I’ve compiled over the last three years. I still have a few burning topics (the role of reassurance and why it doesn’t help, the problem with thought/scripture replacement, a letter to loved ones, and a deep dive into mental compulsions) that I want to write and share with you.

I’m thinking I will most likely share these posts about once a month for a while and then I might transition into something else entirely.

There was a time I would have felt beholden to continue with Glitch Fix. Because of the commitment I made, because of the work I’ve already put into it, because of the potential I see for it, because it will help others.

My antidote to OCD: I can and I don’t have to.

I was reluctant to write this post because I know it can be painful to see someone claim the healing you so desperately hope for. I hope my story is also encouraging: healing is possible. And your timeline and healing will of course look different. I hold so much hope for you and it has been a privilege that I could share in a tiny bit of your own journey battling the relentless monster of OCD.

I don’t know what comes next. And I’m okay.

“Imagine believing there’s more than one right answer

Imagine living like the unveiling of each branch and bud is beautiful

I am beginning to see

I am just getting started”

Here are three of my favorite OCD/anxiety experts who produce a lot of helpful content that you may want to dive into.

Kimberly Quinlan

Jenna Overbaugh

Rev. Katie O’Dunne

I would also appreciate it if you’d be willing to share some other resources in the comments that I can add to my resource page.