Trigger Warning: This article contains descriptions of personal experiences with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD), including intrusive thoughts and compulsive behaviours, which may be distressing for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Progress is impossible to define. In my experience, I have spent years comparing myself to others, wondering why I find it so hard to do simple things that people around me seem to do so effortlessly. Wondering why I cannot just “live” a peaceful existence without constant battles in my head. Me, myself and my OCD seem to be living in a bubble of torment, where I cannot leave the certainty of my room without freaking out and falling into the rabbit hole of anxiety, obsessing and compulsions that span endlessly throughout the day. This leaves me feeling rather weak, like I am incapable of “just getting on with it” and living a life that my brain wants but will not give itself. I have now been in therapy for over a year, and today I went outside myself and bought myself a coffee. An entire £3.40 that has needed a year of lead up to be able to do, journaling, anxiety breathing and lots of working myself up to this moment of feeling like I deserve to be able to treat myself. That my life is worth more than mere existence. I think what I am trying to say here is that whilst most people are accustomed to a morning coffee, and don’t think a second thought about buying themselves this, I made a tiny step towards healing today and it was big to me even if to others it seems trivial. Small steps are not trivial. They are huge.
My OCD thrives on routines, certainty, compulsive work, and money. These are the things that consume my day, every day, all year. I find decision making anxiety inducing, to the point that I physically cannot make a decision. My head is too full, like a crowd all shouting to different songs; At the same time; on full volume. No wonder I can’t hear what I actually think. Last year I couldn’t leave my room to socialise, would spend around 13 hours a day compulsively working and fixating on a routine I had conjured up for myself, and feeling both depressed and calmed by this isolation. How paradoxical! I wouldn’t allow myself to ever spend money on myself, so existed on the bare minimum and having a rather negative mantra of “the more you save the better”, which basically meant I wouldn’t spend a penny unless feeling pressure by someone else doing the same. I have been in therapy over a year now, having exposure treatment for my OCD to gradually challenge these compulsions and emerge from the rabbit hole. But money has been one of the hardest challenges for me personally. Many people feel unconformable talking about money, and I appreciate everyone is in a different position so this piece is only about my own experience, but many people with OCD have compulsions related to money, so I hope this may resonate with even one person who has shared similar difficulties.
It’s not the coffee I am aiming to write about here (whilst it was a good one!). It’s the fact that when my therapist asked me to remember the last time I treated myself to anything, all I could think of was three years ago in Cambridge during exam season going to Waterstones to buy myself a coffee- with my laptop to study. It’s the fact that this makes me want to cry. The fact that I have become so much less than what I used to be and I want her back. Three years since I last bought myself anything that I would call a “treat”, and it was about £3 and I only did it to study. This makes me mad, and if anyone is reading this and can’t remember the last time they actually took a break for themselves and did something which wasn’t useful- because, well life doesn’t have to be useful all the time- then please, go do it.
I walked into a small coffee house, a little independent one with cute pottery style mugs (I am a killer for a stylish mug) looked at the prices, felt that OCD portion of me tutting at myself and frankly well told it to F*** off. Yes, I don’t need this, but maybe I want it. So, I ordered my decaf, oat latte and went to sit down in a quiet corner and opened my journal to write how I felt in the moment. Thrilled? Terrified? Wanting to ask if they would give me a refund if I didn’t drink it? But more than anything I was proud. I don’t care that such a small thing has taken me so long to achieve. I don’t care if other people don’t see how big this is, or why it has been out of reach for so long. For me, and I think many other people with OCD, social anxiety, or many other mental health challenges, emerging from the hole is so huge in the first place. It’s a step towards healing; towards allowing myself the care I give others, allowing myself a life outside of my mental health. It’s making my OCD a part of me, but not the defining part.
Mental health is a complicated one, that much most people can agree on. I think what a lot of people don’t see is the long process to reaching small steps, but how big an impact they can have. £3.40 worse off okay, but what I gained from this was so much more than £3.40. I felt happy, giving myself something that I enjoy but rarely allow myself. Taking time with myself, alone but not isolated. Time to appreciate the fancy mug, the coffee flavour, immerse myself in a good book and just live a little, even if for a few hours. Small steps are huge. One exposure leads to another, and next time I will push myself even a little bit further perhaps.
But for now, I am content to go at my own pace. Mental health is unique in every person, and there is no wrong or right way to heal, but in my experience, being pushed past your limits is never helpful. Doing something tiny for yourself, making the first move is always the hardest, but it is so rewarding. I came back from my exposure and am writing this straight away so its real. It’s not been crafted to look a certain way or changed so I seem stronger, more able, or further through my journey than I am. It’s my life, exactly how it is without the “yea I’m fine!” that people expect. And I think everyone could do with a bit of honesty when it comes to mental health. So, I’m writing for me, for anyone with OCD who is challenging themselves in exposure therapy, for anyone who hasn’t yet taken that step, for anyone with mental health challenges that feel silly shouting about how proud they are to achieve the small things, and everyone who doesn’t understand so that hopefully maybe they will just a little bit more.