On December 26th of 2018 I met my therapist for the first time. To be completely transparent, I do not remember much about that first session. I was in such a heavy fog back then. I was so paralyzed with fear that I was barely functioning. In just a few short weeks, I had transformed from a happy and healthy young woman into a girl that I no longer recognized. My life was spiraling out of control and I knew that if I did not get help I was in jeopardy of losing everything I had worked so hard for. Attending my job each day was becoming increasingly difficult and felt nearly impossible at times. As the guilt and shame grew larger I became smaller. I was a shell of my former self. In those first few weeks I lost sleep, my appetite, and so much more. Those first few weeks were beyond agonizing and devastating and they will forever remain a painful part of my past. OCD had distorted my vision so badly that I saw no future for myself. I was completely and utterly lost.
Well very little is remembered from that first appointment, there is one special moment that I will never forget. As I sat across from my therapist with swollen eyes and shaky hands she told me she believed that I could get better — and not only could I get better, but it would be only a matter of months before I was back on my feet. I was extremely weary of her words, but it was the first piece of hope I had been offered. The first glimpse of light at the end of a very long and very dark tunnel, and so I reached out and took it. What happens next is the part of my story I wish I could tell you was easy — but than I would be a liar. I started treatment with my therapist and was introduced to exposure and response prevention therapy. I thought that nothing would be more painful than the torture I was already suffering from at the hands of OCD, but I was wrong. It took me three solid attempts before I was able to commit to the treatment and put in the effort that was required of me. There were many times I felt that ERP was counterintuitive. The exercises I had to do during my sessions and at home were far more challenging than I expected. To not only intentionally seek anxiety out, but then to be starved of any reassurance seeking during the process was grueling.
Treatment was not easy. I will not lie and say I enjoyed it. But I will also not lie and say that it wasn’t worth it, because it was. Every painful moment I spent to get better was worth it. Every tear shed and every frustration was worth it, and after months of self hatred that was influenced by OCD I started to realize that I too was worth it. I deserved recovery. I owed it to myself to give it my all. And I did.
Two days ago, November 18th of 2019, I had my final session with my therapist. The moment was bitter sweet. It seemed unnatural and slightly wrong that I would not be scheduling my next appointment. Of course I am aware that OCD has many peaks and valleys and that there may be a time where I will need to go back for more treatment and that is OK. But for now, both my therapist and I have agreed that I have the tools I need to continue my journey on my own. I am going to miss her deeply. I am happy but I am also mourning a relationship that was very important to me. I know that I did the hard work, but she led the way out of the darkness. No words will ever express the gratitude I have for her and for this process. I am now working through the trauma of the past and moving towards healing so that I can be of better help to others. I have found my purpose through the pain.
To end this post I want to share a bit of hope with each and everyone of you. Recovery is possible and looks and feels different for everyone. I know my fight will be one I have for the rest of my life, but this time last year I was stuck. Among many compulsions, I was repetitively checking my rear view mirror every time I drove over an uneven surface. I just had to be sure I did not hit a person. I craved a certainty I would never have. But now I hit a bump in the road...and I don’t look back. 💖
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