A week has passed since I decided to jump in and give exposure therapy a try. Everything was going well. Then, this week, I noticed that I had a whole new set of concerns to add to my list. I had become very concerned with developing another obsession.
I've done quite a bit of research on Primarily Obsessional OCD as well as the more recognizable types of OCD. I know that it is common for OCD obsessions to change over time. I also know that it is pretty common for new obsessions to develop. I had never really worried about that, though. I'd had the same religious obsession for nearly a decade, and my second obsession reared its ugly head as a result of some medication I tried before to treat my anxiety. I had been lucky in regard to obsessions so far, in that I wasn't constantly developing new ones.
Then I remembered something about my mind. I'm working through my religious obsession in therapy, so that means one less thing to kick my brain into anxious overdrive. That sounded like a good thing, but then I remembered that my brain doesn't really know how to chill out our go into neutral, at least. I had dealt with replacement anxiety before, when I first started therapy over the summer. I could feel the same thing happening again.
This time, the replacement anxiety wasn't taking trips down memory lane or making me hyper-aware of my behavior so that I constantly analyzed how I behaved to see if it was normal. (Which were things I knew how to pull myself out of.) This time the replacement anxiety attached itself to the idea that I could develop a new obsession at any moment. Any new thought could trigger an anxious brain meltdown, and there I would be, with a new obsession to terrify me. I was suddenly even more aware of my thought patterns than I had been before. I was aware of every strange, nonsense thought generated by my brain, even though I was trying not to get caught up in any of them. (How could I manage something that hadn't happened yet, even if I thought I knew it was going to happen?!) I was having replacement anxiety about replacement anxiety.
How did I handle this new fear? Not very well. (Until after I talked to my therapist, anyway.) I tried to avoid anything that might trigger a weird thought that could turn into an obsession. That really is impossible. So, after I realized how irrational I was being, I went back to the beginning. I pulled out my old workbook, and I went back to making my charts. I feel like I narrowly avoided a setback, but at least I didn't beat myself up about it this time.
I'll end with this: It's impossible to avoid everything that might send you into a setback. It's also impossible to change an anxious brain overnight. Replacement anxiety can happen, but it can be managed using the techniques that I've mentioned in previous posts or that you might have learned from your own therapeutic journey. Don't beat yourself up if it happens because that'll just make it harder to get back on your feet.
Wednesday, June 15, 2016
Wednesday, June 8, 2016
Baby Steps
I finally get it. I finally understand the importance of progress in baby steps, in tiny puzzle pieces, when working on recovering from mental health conditions. It all just came together this week, and I actually got to see some of the baby steps pay off. Now, I understand why my therapist stressed over and over that I shouldn't push myself so hard to make leaps and bounds.
I took one small step this week, and I discussed beginning exposure therapy with my therapist. I put it off, and I put it off for around a month. Every time I thought about it, I pictured this downward spiral that would set me back to the place when I couldn't function at my usual level. I was also terrified of the process. To me, exposure therapy felt like diving headlong into the deep end of the pool even though I can't swim and hoping I didn't drown.
My therapist never pushed the idea of exposure therapy. She always told me that I would be in control of whenever and however we worked on that part of my treatment. She always also stressed one other thing about exposure therapy: it would happen in baby steps. She wouldn't start exposure therapy with me unless I agreed to go in baby steps, one piece of my OCD puzzle at a time.
I agreed to go about exposure therapy in baby steps. After I agreed, though, I wondered if it was even possible for me to go at the baby steps pace. I'm sort of an all or nothing, just dive in and force myself to swim even though I might actually drown, sort of person. What if my idea of baby steps is different than my therapists idea of baby steps? (It is...thank goodness.)
It took a couple of weeks of planning, but by this week, we were ready to try out an exposure exercise during my session. I was so anxious by the morning of my session that I was doing chores just to try to keep myself distracted before I left. By the time I got up to her office and sat on the couch, my palms were sweaty and my chest hurt a little. I dreaded the exposure. (I had been flooded by a previous therapist, so I knew an exposure might put me in the same place.)
Then she explained how things were going to work. I was literally just looking at something triggering (a list I had made the night before that revolved around my religious obsessions) for 5 minutes at most. I was also only allowed to let my anxiety go up by 2 points from my baseline anxiety on a scale of 1 to 10, which was the limit I set for myself. I also had to tell her the relaxation methods I was going to use before we began. This was my therapist's idea of baby steps.
I was relieved. My idea of baby steps was that I was actually going to do the thing that triggered my OCD (that I had brought the list for) for the whole hour session. I expected that I would be in sheer panic the whole time, and that I would have to just tough it out because that's what you did during exposure therapy is you toughed it out. I expected that I might have to take an Ativan when I got home. That was my idea of baby steps. (Maybe I really don't understand baby steps after all.)
My first exposure went well. I had some trouble with intrusive thoughts for the rest of the day, but I knew how to cope with them. (A baby step from the talking part of therapy.) I had slightly elevated anxiety after I got home and realized that I actually had to be alone with my anxious brain, but I also knew how to cope with that, too, because we had worked on that in therapy as well. (Another baby step.) I realized that progress in baby steps might not be a bad thing after all. The baby steps had turned out to be just as important as the big leaps I had pushed myself toward.
I'll end with this: Learning how to do things in baby steps may be more difficult for some of us (me...definitely me). Progress in baby steps when we're dealing with mental health conditions doesn't mean that we're lazy or not trying hard enough; it means we're trying to hang on to the little bit of progress we may have already made. Sometimes, even just the baby steps feel like we might lose it before we get one foot in front of the other, but as long as we're still going we're doing great. Baby steps are a good thing. The baby steps of progress will come together one day, and make a big picture of improvement that we've accomplished.
I took one small step this week, and I discussed beginning exposure therapy with my therapist. I put it off, and I put it off for around a month. Every time I thought about it, I pictured this downward spiral that would set me back to the place when I couldn't function at my usual level. I was also terrified of the process. To me, exposure therapy felt like diving headlong into the deep end of the pool even though I can't swim and hoping I didn't drown.
My therapist never pushed the idea of exposure therapy. She always told me that I would be in control of whenever and however we worked on that part of my treatment. She always also stressed one other thing about exposure therapy: it would happen in baby steps. She wouldn't start exposure therapy with me unless I agreed to go in baby steps, one piece of my OCD puzzle at a time.
I agreed to go about exposure therapy in baby steps. After I agreed, though, I wondered if it was even possible for me to go at the baby steps pace. I'm sort of an all or nothing, just dive in and force myself to swim even though I might actually drown, sort of person. What if my idea of baby steps is different than my therapists idea of baby steps? (It is...thank goodness.)
It took a couple of weeks of planning, but by this week, we were ready to try out an exposure exercise during my session. I was so anxious by the morning of my session that I was doing chores just to try to keep myself distracted before I left. By the time I got up to her office and sat on the couch, my palms were sweaty and my chest hurt a little. I dreaded the exposure. (I had been flooded by a previous therapist, so I knew an exposure might put me in the same place.)
Then she explained how things were going to work. I was literally just looking at something triggering (a list I had made the night before that revolved around my religious obsessions) for 5 minutes at most. I was also only allowed to let my anxiety go up by 2 points from my baseline anxiety on a scale of 1 to 10, which was the limit I set for myself. I also had to tell her the relaxation methods I was going to use before we began. This was my therapist's idea of baby steps.
I was relieved. My idea of baby steps was that I was actually going to do the thing that triggered my OCD (that I had brought the list for) for the whole hour session. I expected that I would be in sheer panic the whole time, and that I would have to just tough it out because that's what you did during exposure therapy is you toughed it out. I expected that I might have to take an Ativan when I got home. That was my idea of baby steps. (Maybe I really don't understand baby steps after all.)
My first exposure went well. I had some trouble with intrusive thoughts for the rest of the day, but I knew how to cope with them. (A baby step from the talking part of therapy.) I had slightly elevated anxiety after I got home and realized that I actually had to be alone with my anxious brain, but I also knew how to cope with that, too, because we had worked on that in therapy as well. (Another baby step.) I realized that progress in baby steps might not be a bad thing after all. The baby steps had turned out to be just as important as the big leaps I had pushed myself toward.
I'll end with this: Learning how to do things in baby steps may be more difficult for some of us (me...definitely me). Progress in baby steps when we're dealing with mental health conditions doesn't mean that we're lazy or not trying hard enough; it means we're trying to hang on to the little bit of progress we may have already made. Sometimes, even just the baby steps feel like we might lose it before we get one foot in front of the other, but as long as we're still going we're doing great. Baby steps are a good thing. The baby steps of progress will come together one day, and make a big picture of improvement that we've accomplished.
Wednesday, June 1, 2016
The Words I Needed to Read
I read something last week, and it has sort of stuck with me since I read it. I read a Tumblr post by author Veronica Roth (author of the Divergent series), in which she detailed her struggle with anxiety. Her post about how hard she struggled for a while hit close to home for me, and I almost felt like I wanted to cry reading it. She also painted such a real, un-romanticized or sugar-coated picture of life with anxiety and the process of getting help that works for your brain. (Her post is titled "Anxiety, Meds, and Words from the Horizon. (So to Speak.)" if you want to look it up on Tumblr and read it. I recommend reading it. You can find the link for it on her Twitter account.)
One thing in particular Ms. Roth said made me stop for a second. She said her therapist told her at one point, that she didn't have to fight so hard. Veronica Roth, according to her Tumblr post (like me for a time), didn't want to try medication because she thought she could handle her anxiety on her own. I just sat there for a moment after I read that, thinking, "Man, I wish someone would have said that to me this past summer when I was struggling and still too terrified to ask for help." The statement is simple, but to me, after I fought so hard for so long, it was profound.
Ms. Roth basically detailed everything that had gone through my head at the idea of asking for help, especially if medication was involved. (I have since changed my way of thinking about medication.) Ms. Roth also pointed out in her post that she doesn't think therapy is fun either, but she went anyway to help get herself to a better place and not be so controlled by her anxiety. It was one of those moments, when you read someone else's story, and you think, "They get it. They really understand." For me, those moments are very rare.
Ms. Roth also got real about the (sometimes) struggle to find the right medication. This is an area that I don't have a lot of experience with since I stopped trying medications after my first and terrifying experience with a certain medication I tried when I started experiencing the symptoms of Panic Disorder. I encourage you to read her post if you're on the fence about medication that could help you or if you're on the fence about getting any kind of help.
I'll end with this: I'm so glad that Tumblr post from Veronica Roth popped up in my Twitter feed last week. I honestly wish I could have seen something like this sooner, especially from someone like Ms. Roth, since I look up to her as a writer. She basically said everything I needed to hear over the past summer when I felt like I was losing what little bit of sanity I had clung to over the years. I still need to be reminded of the things she said even today, as I work toward getting to a better place.
One thing in particular Ms. Roth said made me stop for a second. She said her therapist told her at one point, that she didn't have to fight so hard. Veronica Roth, according to her Tumblr post (like me for a time), didn't want to try medication because she thought she could handle her anxiety on her own. I just sat there for a moment after I read that, thinking, "Man, I wish someone would have said that to me this past summer when I was struggling and still too terrified to ask for help." The statement is simple, but to me, after I fought so hard for so long, it was profound.
Ms. Roth basically detailed everything that had gone through my head at the idea of asking for help, especially if medication was involved. (I have since changed my way of thinking about medication.) Ms. Roth also pointed out in her post that she doesn't think therapy is fun either, but she went anyway to help get herself to a better place and not be so controlled by her anxiety. It was one of those moments, when you read someone else's story, and you think, "They get it. They really understand." For me, those moments are very rare.
Ms. Roth also got real about the (sometimes) struggle to find the right medication. This is an area that I don't have a lot of experience with since I stopped trying medications after my first and terrifying experience with a certain medication I tried when I started experiencing the symptoms of Panic Disorder. I encourage you to read her post if you're on the fence about medication that could help you or if you're on the fence about getting any kind of help.
I'll end with this: I'm so glad that Tumblr post from Veronica Roth popped up in my Twitter feed last week. I honestly wish I could have seen something like this sooner, especially from someone like Ms. Roth, since I look up to her as a writer. She basically said everything I needed to hear over the past summer when I felt like I was losing what little bit of sanity I had clung to over the years. I still need to be reminded of the things she said even today, as I work toward getting to a better place.
Resources:
Roth, V. (2016, May 23.) Anxiety, meds, and words from the horizon. (so to speak.).
(Web log post). Retrieved from http://theartofnotwriting.tumblr.com/post/144829690341/anxiety- meds-and-words-from-the-horizon-so-to
Wednesday, May 25, 2016
They're Just Words, Right?
Crazy. Psycho. Insane. Nuts. Mental. We've all heard these words used to describe someone, and we've all probably used them to describe someone as well. All those words (and plenty more I didn't list) are often used to describe a person that behaves in some way that doesn't fall in line with our particular standard of socially acceptable behavior. I know I've thought of myself, in the past, as crazy because of my OCD because I no longer fit into the box I'd given myself of socially acceptable behavior.
They're just words, right? Remember the old saying: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me? Well, I disagree. Words do hurt, even if we pretend they don't. Words like the ones I mentioned in the previous paragraph can be especially damaging to someone who may not be meeting your socially acceptable standard of behavior because of some mental health condition or disability.
Before I decided to seek help for my mental health condition, I would hear people calling someone they knew names as they related some story. Someone was crazy because they had gone to inpatient care at a hospital for a few days. Someone was psycho because they said (and believed) that God had spoken to them and told them to do something in particular. Someone else was mental because they attempted suicide or had a panic attack in public. I would hear these stories or read them, and I would just become more certain that no one could know what I was going through. I mean, if they thought all those other people were crazy (or whatever term they used), imagine what they would think of me if they ever had a glimpse into my mind.
So...no, those aren't just harmless words. Those words are yet another layer of the mental health stigma that pervades our society. I knew they were derogatory terms applied to people that behaved in a way that wasn't socially acceptable or maybe they just had ideas that someone didn't like, so they were crazy. Words like that are just another way that our society shames people for failing to meet society's standards.
A great number of people that deal with a mental health condition are ashamed of that condition. I know I was ashamed for years. I was so ashamed of the weird stuff going on in my mind that I thought I didn't deserve love from anyone, including myself. I don't need someone else shaming me and making me feel even guiltier than my OCD makes me feel regularly. My opinion of myself was already negative, and hearing someone call someone else psycho or crazy for something that wasn't nearly as bad as the intrusive thoughts rolling around my mind only sunk my opinion of myself even lower.
I'll end with this: Calling someone a name like psycho or crazy or mental because they live with a mental health condition that you don't understand is basically the adult (or not-so-adult) equivalent of shaming the poor kid on the playground during recess because their clothes aren't as nice as your clothes. Contrary to what the old saying wanted us to think, words do hurt people, and it's the kind of hurt that can stay around, in our minds, for the rest of our lives. It's the reason that so many people refuse to seek help, because they've basically been bullied and shamed for needing the help by someone that wasn't very careful in choosing their words.
They're just words, right? Remember the old saying: sticks and stones may break my bones, but words can never hurt me? Well, I disagree. Words do hurt, even if we pretend they don't. Words like the ones I mentioned in the previous paragraph can be especially damaging to someone who may not be meeting your socially acceptable standard of behavior because of some mental health condition or disability.
Before I decided to seek help for my mental health condition, I would hear people calling someone they knew names as they related some story. Someone was crazy because they had gone to inpatient care at a hospital for a few days. Someone was psycho because they said (and believed) that God had spoken to them and told them to do something in particular. Someone else was mental because they attempted suicide or had a panic attack in public. I would hear these stories or read them, and I would just become more certain that no one could know what I was going through. I mean, if they thought all those other people were crazy (or whatever term they used), imagine what they would think of me if they ever had a glimpse into my mind.
So...no, those aren't just harmless words. Those words are yet another layer of the mental health stigma that pervades our society. I knew they were derogatory terms applied to people that behaved in a way that wasn't socially acceptable or maybe they just had ideas that someone didn't like, so they were crazy. Words like that are just another way that our society shames people for failing to meet society's standards.
A great number of people that deal with a mental health condition are ashamed of that condition. I know I was ashamed for years. I was so ashamed of the weird stuff going on in my mind that I thought I didn't deserve love from anyone, including myself. I don't need someone else shaming me and making me feel even guiltier than my OCD makes me feel regularly. My opinion of myself was already negative, and hearing someone call someone else psycho or crazy for something that wasn't nearly as bad as the intrusive thoughts rolling around my mind only sunk my opinion of myself even lower.
I'll end with this: Calling someone a name like psycho or crazy or mental because they live with a mental health condition that you don't understand is basically the adult (or not-so-adult) equivalent of shaming the poor kid on the playground during recess because their clothes aren't as nice as your clothes. Contrary to what the old saying wanted us to think, words do hurt people, and it's the kind of hurt that can stay around, in our minds, for the rest of our lives. It's the reason that so many people refuse to seek help, because they've basically been bullied and shamed for needing the help by someone that wasn't very careful in choosing their words.
Wednesday, May 18, 2016
Anxiety vs. Intuition
I'm an intuitive person, and I'm one of those highly sensitive people. I always have been. I get vibes and feelings from people. I walk into a funeral home, and it feels like I've slammed into a brick wall of grief even if I don't know the person being laid to rest. I can walk into a room full of people, and I immediately feel it if something isn't quite right. I've even sometimes known something about someone without knowing how I know that something, like they're an open book I can read. I thought these things happened to everyone, but according to my therapist things like this only happen to certain people. According to research, my Myers-Briggs personality type is to blame. (I'm an INFJ.)
While I was growing up, and even until the past year or so, I never questioned my intuition or the fact that I sometimes felt other people's feelings like they were my own feelings. I trusted my intuition above logic most of the time. If something didn't feel right about a person, situation, or anything, I didn't hang out with that person or I exited the situation as quickly as possible. I didn't even second guess myself about it later.
Then I started having trouble with anxiety, and I was diagnosed with Pure O. I know some types of OCD involve not feeling right about something, like moving something a certain number of times until it feels right. I also know that anxiety can make the anxiety sufferer avoidant. I'd made most of my life decisions based on what felt right instead of logically figuring out which was the best decision. Had I been swayed by my anxiety or OCD in any of them?
As a result, I started to second guess myself when it came to feeling "off" about certain people or situations. I could be so uncomfortable around them or in whatever situation I found myself that it would actually cause me more anxiety, and I would be ready to climb out a window to escape them or the situation. I would ask myself, "Is this an actual weird vibe? Or is this my anxiety just making me think I feel "off"?" I would obsess about it, even, for hours or days. I was terrified that it was the latter and that I had been letting my anxiety and OCD dictate my friends and social life.
I could no longer tell the difference between my anxiety and my intuition, or at least I thought I couldn't. So, what did I do? I stayed in situations that made me feel "off", and I continued to be around people that also made me feel "off". I basically subjected myself to more anxiety because I was afraid my anxiety would make me screw up and make a wrong decision.
I started to notice some things while I was doing that, though. I started to notice slowly that my intuitive alarm bell and my anxiety alarm bell are slightly different from each other. One goes away (the anxiety alarm bell) after I adjust to something or someone new while the other (the intuitive alarm bell) tends to hang around, which adds to my anxiety if I overthink it or if I stay wherever I might be that caused the alarm bell in the first place. My anxiety and my intuitive nature can mix together sometimes, and the lines can blur, but I usually get it sorted out later, when I have time to take a few deep breaths and just sit with myself.
Distinguishing between my intuition and my anxiety these days still isn't always easy. That definitely doesn't mean that I don't trust my gut. My mom's advice was to always trust my gut, and I still try to live by that. It's just a bit of a slower process than it used to be because I have to always double check my anxiety (which may or may not be a bad thing).
I'll end with this: Trust your gut. Don't doubt yourself because you think your inner alarm bells are faulty just because you now live with some mental health condition. You're still the same person you were before, just like I'm still the same intuitive person I was before OCD reared its ugly head. The processing of the vibes and feelings may just take longer to separate from the anxiety, but maybe that's not a bad thing.
While I was growing up, and even until the past year or so, I never questioned my intuition or the fact that I sometimes felt other people's feelings like they were my own feelings. I trusted my intuition above logic most of the time. If something didn't feel right about a person, situation, or anything, I didn't hang out with that person or I exited the situation as quickly as possible. I didn't even second guess myself about it later.
Then I started having trouble with anxiety, and I was diagnosed with Pure O. I know some types of OCD involve not feeling right about something, like moving something a certain number of times until it feels right. I also know that anxiety can make the anxiety sufferer avoidant. I'd made most of my life decisions based on what felt right instead of logically figuring out which was the best decision. Had I been swayed by my anxiety or OCD in any of them?
As a result, I started to second guess myself when it came to feeling "off" about certain people or situations. I could be so uncomfortable around them or in whatever situation I found myself that it would actually cause me more anxiety, and I would be ready to climb out a window to escape them or the situation. I would ask myself, "Is this an actual weird vibe? Or is this my anxiety just making me think I feel "off"?" I would obsess about it, even, for hours or days. I was terrified that it was the latter and that I had been letting my anxiety and OCD dictate my friends and social life.
I could no longer tell the difference between my anxiety and my intuition, or at least I thought I couldn't. So, what did I do? I stayed in situations that made me feel "off", and I continued to be around people that also made me feel "off". I basically subjected myself to more anxiety because I was afraid my anxiety would make me screw up and make a wrong decision.
I started to notice some things while I was doing that, though. I started to notice slowly that my intuitive alarm bell and my anxiety alarm bell are slightly different from each other. One goes away (the anxiety alarm bell) after I adjust to something or someone new while the other (the intuitive alarm bell) tends to hang around, which adds to my anxiety if I overthink it or if I stay wherever I might be that caused the alarm bell in the first place. My anxiety and my intuitive nature can mix together sometimes, and the lines can blur, but I usually get it sorted out later, when I have time to take a few deep breaths and just sit with myself.
Distinguishing between my intuition and my anxiety these days still isn't always easy. That definitely doesn't mean that I don't trust my gut. My mom's advice was to always trust my gut, and I still try to live by that. It's just a bit of a slower process than it used to be because I have to always double check my anxiety (which may or may not be a bad thing).
I'll end with this: Trust your gut. Don't doubt yourself because you think your inner alarm bells are faulty just because you now live with some mental health condition. You're still the same person you were before, just like I'm still the same intuitive person I was before OCD reared its ugly head. The processing of the vibes and feelings may just take longer to separate from the anxiety, but maybe that's not a bad thing.
Wednesday, May 11, 2016
I Am...
Ever since my OCD diagnosis, I've talked a big game about being open about the topic of mental health. I whole-heartedly believe the best way to eventually end the mental health stigma faced by everyone in our society is to be open and have conversations about mental health. I'm pretty open about my life with OCD. Yet, sometimes, I find myself very hesitant to engage in the topic of my mental health with certain people that I know, and especially with new people.
I'm not hesitant because I'm ashamed of the fact that I live with OCD. It's just like the fact that I live with Cerebral Palsy, too. Both of those things are part of my normal, but they aren't the part of my normal that I usually share straight away upon meeting someone. I've just noticed that, usually the first things you tell someone about yourself are the things that tend to define you in their eyes. I don't mind sharing the story of my OCD or my Cerebral Palsy if a new person asks, but, if left up to me, those two things will come out tagged onto the end of the way I think of myself.
I noticed when I first received my diagnosis that there is a fine line between being open about my mental health and thinking of the disorder as something that defines me as a person. I've heard people say, "I'm so OCD", or "I'm bipolar" like these things define who they are. I never say, "I'm so OCD." Instead I say, "I have OCD." It's one of the ways I try to keep myself separate from my mental health condition.
I know life with a mental health condition can be difficult some days. I also know about the preconceived notions and stereotypes that surround every mental health condition out there. Those of us with a mental health condition think enough about our mental health, so we really don't want to be defined by it. It took me a while to stop thinking of myself as the girl with the messed up brain.
I was more than "the OCD girl" before I got diagnosed, and I still think of myself as more than that after diagnosis. It just took me a hot minute to figure myself out again, but I got there. I'm a college graduate with a psychology degree. I'm a bookworm. I'm a writer. I'm a photographer. I'm a cat parent. I'm a Christian. I'm somebody's friend, sister, daughter, or cousin. Oh yeah, and I have Obsessive-Compulsive, Disorder, and I was born with Cerebral Palsy. Those last two items on my list are part of me, but they aren't things that I use to describe myself to other people anymore.
I'll end with this: Your mental health does not define you. You don't have to think of yourself as the Bipolar person, the OCD person, or anything like that. You are so much more than that. Don't let other people define you based on your mental health or anything else in your life. In the words of Robert Frost: Define yourself.
I'm not hesitant because I'm ashamed of the fact that I live with OCD. It's just like the fact that I live with Cerebral Palsy, too. Both of those things are part of my normal, but they aren't the part of my normal that I usually share straight away upon meeting someone. I've just noticed that, usually the first things you tell someone about yourself are the things that tend to define you in their eyes. I don't mind sharing the story of my OCD or my Cerebral Palsy if a new person asks, but, if left up to me, those two things will come out tagged onto the end of the way I think of myself.
I noticed when I first received my diagnosis that there is a fine line between being open about my mental health and thinking of the disorder as something that defines me as a person. I've heard people say, "I'm so OCD", or "I'm bipolar" like these things define who they are. I never say, "I'm so OCD." Instead I say, "I have OCD." It's one of the ways I try to keep myself separate from my mental health condition.
I know life with a mental health condition can be difficult some days. I also know about the preconceived notions and stereotypes that surround every mental health condition out there. Those of us with a mental health condition think enough about our mental health, so we really don't want to be defined by it. It took me a while to stop thinking of myself as the girl with the messed up brain.
I was more than "the OCD girl" before I got diagnosed, and I still think of myself as more than that after diagnosis. It just took me a hot minute to figure myself out again, but I got there. I'm a college graduate with a psychology degree. I'm a bookworm. I'm a writer. I'm a photographer. I'm a cat parent. I'm a Christian. I'm somebody's friend, sister, daughter, or cousin. Oh yeah, and I have Obsessive-Compulsive, Disorder, and I was born with Cerebral Palsy. Those last two items on my list are part of me, but they aren't things that I use to describe myself to other people anymore.
I'll end with this: Your mental health does not define you. You don't have to think of yourself as the Bipolar person, the OCD person, or anything like that. You are so much more than that. Don't let other people define you based on your mental health or anything else in your life. In the words of Robert Frost: Define yourself.
Wednesday, May 4, 2016
A Family Struggle and a Family Effort
This week, I've been thinking about how a mental health condition affects our loved ones. A lot of times, life with a mental health condition is different than life before the symptoms set in. We might not notice because we're the ones struggling with the psychological symptoms, but life (sometimes) changes for those closest to us as well. (I know this isn't always the case, but it has been in my experience so far with my family.)
Life in my household changed when I finally came clean about my OCD symptoms. My mom was prepared to do whatever she had to do to make my life easier. She was willing to change shifts at work (which would have caused a drop in her pay); she was willing to take time off work (which she did); and she was even willing to quit her job if they wouldn't let her have the time off she needed. Her boyfriend even asked if he did or said anything that would trigger my OCD and Panic so he could stop doing whatever I said was the trigger.
I also had to come clean about my triggers as well. The things that trigger my OCD are easier to pinpoint because my OCD mainly revolves around 2 obsessional topics. My panic triggers are varied and random. Sometimes my panic triggers vary from day-to-day. Sometimes, my intrusive thoughts cause my panic attacks, but not always. Sometimes, I have no idea what triggered a panic attack. I just know that, if I have a particularly rough Panic or OCD episode in a certain place, like a restaurant, the movie theater, or church, (church was a big trigger), then I desperately want to avoid that place out of fear that just the memory of the rough time I had while I was there will trigger another Panic episode or more intrusive thoughts. My mom avoids these things and places with me until I feel up to trying them out again. (I had a panic attack in the movie theater, and we didn't go to the movies for at least 2 months after that, and it was my decision to go to the movies when we finally went back.)
Living with a mental health condition, some days can feel like you're hanging on by a thread. Our loved ones can see that most of the time, even if we think they can't. I know the hardest part for my mom is seeing me struggle on my bad days knowing that she can't fix it or take it away.
I also know that having a loved one that struggles with a mental health condition can be hard because some days are tense. Yes, conflict is part of any relationship, but with some mental health conditions that include anger-related symptoms, conflict can occur more often, and life can be tense at times. They love us anyway, and they will continue to love us.
I'll end with this: Life with a mental health condition is a rough road to travel, especially if you try to keep your friends and family out of the loop. I've learned that the hard way. As much as I hate to admit that I need other people to help me, it's a family effort to make the most out of treatment and recovery. You're loved ones truly want to help you and make your life better in any way they can, so if you're struggling, don't keep them out of the loop out of fear of suddenly becoming a burden or anything like that. They love you already, and they will continue to love you.
Life in my household changed when I finally came clean about my OCD symptoms. My mom was prepared to do whatever she had to do to make my life easier. She was willing to change shifts at work (which would have caused a drop in her pay); she was willing to take time off work (which she did); and she was even willing to quit her job if they wouldn't let her have the time off she needed. Her boyfriend even asked if he did or said anything that would trigger my OCD and Panic so he could stop doing whatever I said was the trigger.
I also had to come clean about my triggers as well. The things that trigger my OCD are easier to pinpoint because my OCD mainly revolves around 2 obsessional topics. My panic triggers are varied and random. Sometimes my panic triggers vary from day-to-day. Sometimes, my intrusive thoughts cause my panic attacks, but not always. Sometimes, I have no idea what triggered a panic attack. I just know that, if I have a particularly rough Panic or OCD episode in a certain place, like a restaurant, the movie theater, or church, (church was a big trigger), then I desperately want to avoid that place out of fear that just the memory of the rough time I had while I was there will trigger another Panic episode or more intrusive thoughts. My mom avoids these things and places with me until I feel up to trying them out again. (I had a panic attack in the movie theater, and we didn't go to the movies for at least 2 months after that, and it was my decision to go to the movies when we finally went back.)
Living with a mental health condition, some days can feel like you're hanging on by a thread. Our loved ones can see that most of the time, even if we think they can't. I know the hardest part for my mom is seeing me struggle on my bad days knowing that she can't fix it or take it away.
I also know that having a loved one that struggles with a mental health condition can be hard because some days are tense. Yes, conflict is part of any relationship, but with some mental health conditions that include anger-related symptoms, conflict can occur more often, and life can be tense at times. They love us anyway, and they will continue to love us.
I'll end with this: Life with a mental health condition is a rough road to travel, especially if you try to keep your friends and family out of the loop. I've learned that the hard way. As much as I hate to admit that I need other people to help me, it's a family effort to make the most out of treatment and recovery. You're loved ones truly want to help you and make your life better in any way they can, so if you're struggling, don't keep them out of the loop out of fear of suddenly becoming a burden or anything like that. They love you already, and they will continue to love you.
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