The False Protection of OCD

Isn't it ironic?

Today we’re going to talk about the false protection of OCD compulsions. In the Obsessive-Compulsive cycle, compulsions are often referred to as safety behaviors. The person engages in these behaviors in order to relieve distress or decrease the likelihood of a feared outcome, therefore keeping them safe from harm or perceived harm. The sad and ironic truth, however, is that giving into these safety rituals can actually make the feared outcome more likely to come true.

Let me give you some examples from different seasons in my life:

***

I'm three-years-old. I scribble the few numbers I learned in preschool onto wooden blocks, probably only up to 10. I stack the blocks in numerical order. 1-2-3-4. “Want to make a tower?” my brother asks. “No!” I scream as he makes me lose count of the numbers. I knock over the structure I’ve made. Start back at 1. My rules are designed so that I play the right way.

Funny. It doesn't feel like play at all.

***

I'm five years old. Mom has made spaghetti and meatballs, a salad, the milk I thought everyone hated but drank anyway because their moms made them, and for dessert, a brownie. First, I make sure the foods are not touching. I scooch back an errant piece of lettuce that is getting soggy in the spaghetti sauce. I gulp down equal waves of nausea and relief. Only one lettuce leaf has been tainted. I can handle the rest.

I used to plan my bites in order from least favorite to favorite: milk, salad, meatball/noodles, brownie, milk, salad, meatball/noodles, brownie. But it became too tricky to be sure I’d end on brownie, so I upped the ante. Now I have to finish each course entirely before I can move on to the next. Still in order from least favorite to favorite. I smirk as I watch my brother scarf down his brownie mere seconds after we finish our family chorus of Johnny Appleseed grace. He’s gonna regret that, I think as I grimace through my glass of milk. My rules are designed for maximum enjoyment. I want to end on the best bite.

Funny. By the time I reach the brownie, I’m full. I don’t enjoy it all at.

***

I'm seven. Each night before bed I begin the arduous process of rotating my stuffed animals around the room. I start by bumping a teddy bear named Mama Bear off the bed, moving clockwise, she displaces the tiger, Stripe, on the bottom left of the bookshelf to the right of my bed. Stripe then moves over a slot, displacing the bear twins, Lemony and Peachy, who move over a slot to displace Grizzle, the brown bear puppet from a gift shop in Yosemite. I move them each clockwise one by one until the right bookshelf is adjusted, then I continue the cycle on the left side of my bed. Until one lucky stuffed animal gets promoted from the bookshelf to the coveted snuggle position next to my pillow for the night. My rules are designed so that no animal feels left out. So they all they feel loved equally.

Funny. My rotating only fuels resentment and I wish I didn’t have any stuffed animals.

***

I'm 14. I pray every hour on the hour. I make an evangelism calendar and determine to share the gospel with kids in my class. At 8:07am, I pause my essay writing to look at the clock. A flood of hot shame washes over me. Seven minutes late. Do you think God cares more about your essay than eternal salvation? Stupid, selfish, worldly Aly. My rules are designed to help me be the Christian I am called to be.

Funny. I don't feel God's love at all.

***

I'm 18. I replay the conversation with my roommate over and over. I think back to her tone and body language. Was that a hesitation when she invited me to dinner? A furrow in her brow when I replied? Certainly she must be mad at me. I sulk and snap when we interact the next few days. Then I try to avoid her completely. She pulls back, stops inviting. I knew it, she does hate me. My rules are designed to help me be a good friend, to make sure I haven’t committed an offense.

Funny. I’m so caught up in the drama in my head, I don’t act like a friend at all.

***

I'm 20. Freshly back from a semester abroad program my fellow students and I referred to as “the poverty tour of Central America.” My zeal for evangelism has been replaced with an urgent need to serve “the least of these.” I don't buy new clothes. I yell at my mom because she thinks Cuba is a godless, atheist country. I scoff at my roommates with their iPods and SUVs. Judge anyone whose world doesn’t revolve around social justice. My rules are designed so that I love my neighbors well.

Funny. I miss loving the people right in front of me.

***

I’m 25. I track every calorie I put in my body. Make sure I go to bed hungry. Imagine fat burning as my stomach churns. I chart my workouts. Never miss a day. Punish myself for each indulgence. I notice each dip and dimple, the cellulite behind my thighs, the double chin when a friend catches me off guard for a photo they later post to Facebook. I lift my shirt every time I pass a mirror, just to check I haven’t ballooned up overnight. In church, I can’t focus on the sermon because I swear I can feel my love handles expanding over my waistband from the Krispy Kreme donut I ate in a moment of sugary weakness. I am the thinnest I have been since quitting gymnastics at 16. My rules are designed so that I have a body that, if not attractive, is at least small. So that someday, my body may even be lovable.

Funny. I hate my body more than ever.

***

I’m 30 and teaching English to adults for the first time. Grad school taught be a million and one classroom best practices. I feel like I am failing every day. I must explain everything the right way, consider diverse learning styles, check my own bias for racism, use a variety of multimedia tools, don’t be boring or dumb, make sure there’s nothing in my teeth. My lecture is forced and stilted. When I get flustered, we're all thrown off track. I’m so focused on getting through the lesson I had planned, I dismiss my students’ questions, overwhelm them with unrealistic expectations. My rules are designed to maximize my student’s learning, for me to be the kind of helpful teacher I always wanted to be.

Funny. My teaching doesn’t seem that effective.

***

I’m 35. The house is filthy. I know it. The dirt and mess are visual proof that I have failed again. I have failed as a mother, wife, and as a responsible adult. I feel the disgust in every inch of my body as I heave and swallow back fiery tears in the base of my throat. From the kitchen to the dining room to the living room I fume. Hours of my day pass as I clean one mess after another. My daughter plays alone upstairs. After picking up my son from school, they both need snacks, which require more dishes and produce more crumbs. My words are curt, my tone icy with these little people who just want to enjoy their pouches and veggies straws.

“Lean over!” I yell at my son as crumbs fall from his open mouth and onto the freshly cleaned counter.

I wipe the crumbs as they fall. I hover and nitpick until their bowls are empty. Then I bark at them to go play.

My rules are designed to prove I’m not failing as a mom.

Funny. I failed to connect, be kind, and actually mother my children.

***

I’m 37. Planning my day. Scheduling the right tasks in the right order for the right reasons. All. the. damn. time. so that what? So I'll know I lived right?

I’m beginning to see the cracks in these rules.

Wonder if being perfect is really living anyway?

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One of the first steps of OCD recovery, is realizing that the behaviors you thought were serving you, aren’t actually protecting you.

If you have OCD or anxiety, I'd encourage you to try out this exercise.

First, list out your rules, compulsions, or safety behaviors—your default actions when you feel scared or anxious. What are these rules or safety behaviors trying to accomplish or protect you from? What is the short-term benefit of these behaviors (maybe it helps ease anxiety in the moment, helps you feel like you’re being responsible, etc.)? What do these behaviors actually accomplish in the long run?

If you’re realizing these behaviors aren’t helping, would you be willing to try something new?

Fun Updates

In non-OCD related news, I have been doing a fun February Plunge / Paint / Poem challenge. You can check out my paintings and poetry here. Despite getting wiped out by the flu, I have been able to do 16 days in February so far and I am having so much fun!

I am beyond thrilled that I have been chosen to share an essay on motherhood with Listen To Your Mother Spokane this Mother’s Day. I’ll be sharing about my own experience with motherhood and worry and questioning the tendency we have to equate worry, especially maternal worry, with care/love.

“I am all for normalizing our hard experiences, but it’s more than a little problematic to equate worry with care. It becomes a faulty equation. Is the opposite then true? Does a lack of keep-you-up-at-night-stay-glued-to-Dr.-Google worry signal a lack of love?”