NOT GIVING IN (FOR NOW)

A strange silver lining of recovering from knee surgery is that I am getting a bit of a “break” from my OCD. For the last two weeks, I have been physically unable to give in to my cleaning compulsions. I can’t meticulously do my own laundry or immediately wipe down any surface I suddenly deem contaminated. I am at the mercy of other people’s cleanliness standards, and it’s shown me two important things: 1) I can handle more than I think I can handle and 2) my mental illness makes up a whole lot of rules. For example, I cannot change my clothes for over a day and still feel okay. I can climb into bedsheets that are less fresh than I would like and still fall asleep. I cannot wash one of my legs in the shower and still feel clean afterwards. OCD has less of a mental hold on me when physical pain shows up to the party. 

Despite this reprieve, I have a lot of conflicting feelings about this new phase in my mental health journey. On the one hand, it is a huge relief to know that in crisis I don’t prioritize my compulsions. John recently remarked that he was surprised I was letting him handle my bath towels for the first time and I replied, “I don’t have much a choice!” But that’s cutting myself short. There is a version of this recovery where in addition to asking for him to hand me my towels I also demand that he wash his hands first and not let them touch his body. But I have the tolerance to not do that. I am able to focus instead on simply wanting to get out of the shower and back to the couch. Do the thoughts still cross my mind that I would prefer he did it my way? Absolutely. But (for now) they remain thoughts instead of compulsions.

My goal for my mental health is not to be OCD free. It’s to not let my OCD control me in ways that are extremely detrimental. I don’t really care if I have to wipe my phone down two times a day to feel better. There is no real cost to that other than a couple Clorox wipes, which I already buy in bulk. But I do care if my compulsions get in the way of my health, the health of others or my relationships. This experience has shown me that it doesn’t have to be that powerful. When something else matters more, I can overcome the made-up rules that normally run my life. While I don’t know if I’ll ever have kids, this knowledge that I will most likely be able to prioritize their well-being over my OCD is a huge comfort. I have finally found the Achilles heel of my mental illness: bigger problems.

Unfortunately, I already know this mental vacation won’t last forever.  As I start to get physically better, I can already feel my OCD coming back online. I have more energy now to worry about the mess around me, while still being unable to physically do anything about it. It is getting harder for me to bite my tongue or not push myself to wipe down the coffee table balancing on one leg. I’ve started to worry about the return to normal and losing all the progress I’ve made. I’ve felt a bit like a failure for things I haven’t even done yet. But then I remembered that our mental health journey isn’t linear. Even if I do end up backsliding to how I was before the surgery, I’ll still have the memory of this experience. I’ll have evidence that not giving into my compulsions doesn’t automatically lead to me having a terrible day, when I can’t think about anything else or feel safe in my body. I’ll have even more proof than before that my OCD lies to me. And even if that doesn’t directly translate to me changing my behaviors right away, it is still a secret weapon in my arsenal.

When I lamented to my therapist about my fears of relapsing, she suggested that I make a list of changes that I really want to keep. Things that have significantly made my life easier and are worth tolerating discomfort for. I don’t need to keep everything, but I can strive to keep some things. This approach, which is the opposite of all-or-nothing thinking, felt scary but doable. While I doubt I will want John to keep doing my laundry, I would like to be less stringent about how I handle it in the future. Instead of attempting to fold it in the air, maybe I can let it touch my body as I have let it touch his these past few weeks. I also hope to be able to remain less strict about my towels and my bedding. I am not putting pressure on myself to emerge from this experience totally different or “healed.” Instead, I am creating small goals that are only actionable if I choose to take on the inherent discomfort that comes with disobeying the orders in my head. I’m sure some days I will be more willing to tolerate that discomfort than others. But some is always better than none.

There is so much self-judgment that comes from struggling with your mental health. Why do I feel compelled to listen to rules that I intellectually know aren’t true? Why is it such a struggle for me to not give into silly compulsions when I have excelled at so many other parts of my life through sheer willpower and hard work? Why is this one area of my life so different than every other? Because OCD is a disorder. It is an illness that sticks its tentacles into my life and brain. It fucks with me, but I am also able--on occasion--to fuck with it. Sometimes I just need to have major knee surgery to remember that.

xoxo,

Allison