Confirmation
One of my earliest memories from my childhood is sitting in the back seat of my family’s car on the short drive to school, being told by my mom that if I asked one more time for her to tell me I didn’t have a fever, I was going to lose my computer time for that night. But I couldn’t help it. I remember trying so hard to get myself to not say the words I’d already said so many times, but in that moment, the need to speak overcame my (often very large) need for computer time.
“But Mom, do I have a fever?” I asked, and I had no computer time that night. I also didn’t have a fever, and never did.
As a child, I often confirmed that I was okay with my parents or any other adults around. I thought that these adults would protect me, and if they said I was okay, I knew that I was going to be okay. For a few seconds. And then the thought would occur to me that maybe they were lying, or trying to hide the worst from me to protect me, and I wound up right where I started.
My child therapist told my mom that confirming my thoughts would only make my thought patterns worse, that I would learn to only feel okay if my being okay was confirmed by someone else instead of me figuring it out on my own. That’s why she, after telling me I didn’t have a fever at least half a dozen times, threatened me with taking away my computer time. I was supposed to learn from this experience to trust Mom when she said I was fine the first - or the fifth - time I asked, and eventually, to learn that I was okay without asking at all.
Thankfully, most of my impulses to ask for confirmation that I’m okay or my thoughts are valid have gone away with time. After many repeated experiences like the one on the way to school that day, I learned not to ask so many times and eventually, to not ask. I kept the cyclical thoughts in my head, where they gnawed away at me until they would eventually be disproven.
As an adult, experiencing a thought that I feel the need to have confirmed is deeply upsetting to me. It feels like backsliding into old habits, and I’m always ashamed when I feel the need. But it’s the same feeling that I experienced as a child, perhaps even stronger for its rarity: the intense need to know that my thought is valid, that I’m not crazy, and I am going to be okay. My heart starts to thud faster, my thoughts race through my head at an astonishing speed, and I find myself unable to think of anything else until I can get the idea out of my head.
One of these thoughts cropped up this week when I was attending a Zoom work meeting. I got a text message, looked down at my phone, and saw that it came from the second of two French bulldog breeders I found after I got scammed. I knew what this breeder was going to say as soon as she sent me two pictures of a brindle French bulldog puppy that looked about a week older than the one I put my deposit on from the other breeder. I wasn’t surprised at all when she said that there had been a cancellation on her waiting list and this puppy was now available.
I was, however, surprised that my first reaction was not relief but panic. This breeder supplied two dogs over the last decade to my coworker who vouched for her reliability, and the breeder I put a deposit with was someone who I found online and vetted as best as I could without knowing any of her clients. I instantly became panicked that I was falling for another scam and that I was going to miss my chance to have a puppy if I said no to the breeder my coworker knew.
Even though I had plenty of evidence to support the claim that the breeder I chose was legitimate, my mind instantly went in the exact opposite direction. I thought about the fact that she let me choose from six puppies when the puppies were already born when I put my name on the waiting list. In the beginning, the breeder was more proactive with reaching out, but as time went on, I usually initiated our interactions, even though she replied quickly. I hadn’t seen pictures of the parents, and the puppy pictures could have been taken at any time.
Throughout the rest of the meeting, I could barely focus, I was so worried. I kept looking down at the message from the breeder my coworker knows, realizing that that breeder is a 100% safe choice and as someone who hates taking risks, I would normally gravitate towards odds like those. If I hadn’t sent in a deposit to the other breeder, I might have changed my mind just then to ease the anxiety. But I did, and the puppy from the breeder I chose has a coloration I vastly prefer (black and white pied).
In the end, I broke an unspoken promise to myself that I made when I first made the agreement with the breeder. I reached out to her, not about a legitimate question I had, but to assuage my fears. I asked her for a photo of the puppy she promised me next to a piece of paper with my name on it, photos of the puppy’s parents, and an explanation for why I got to choose from so many puppies when I was so recent to the waiting list.
By the time my work meeting was over, I had a response to every one of these items. I got a picture of my puppy, looking tired and a little dirty from the mushy wet food she’s learning to eat, sitting next to a piece of paper with my name on it. Photos of both of her parents, and they looked like the breeder told me when I first inquired about the litter. And an explanation that this litter was composed of black and white pied and brindle Frenchies, and she called people on her waiting list who rejected the puppies because they wanted blue or merle.
Instantly, I felt a deep sense of relief. She was as kind as she always had been, and I was able once again to see the evidence that she is legitimately going to give me a puppy the day before Halloween: she asked for a small deposit up front and let me pay by check to avoid scams; she takes cash on the day of pickup, which I consider safest since if there’s no puppy I keep my money; and she has repeatedly cited a history of being scammed and would not want to do that to someone else when she seems like such a nice person. Not to mention that when I was setting up an Instagram for my future puppy, I found another account of a French bulldog puppy that came from this breeder and was now living in Chicago.
Although I felt relieved in the moment, it didn’t take me too long to feel guilty. I had decided, when I first signed a contract with this breeder, to not bother her with silly things. I didn’t ask her opinion on toys I bought or other supplies I might need to get. I didn’t ask her for advice about owning Frenchies, even though I still have many questions. I was determined to present myself as normally as possible and not make her think I’m too much, and yet, my first impulse when I was anxious was to contact her.
Thankfully, she responded to me quickly and kindly, with no indication that she was bothered by my requests or questions. And with this worry out of my mind, I don’t see other reasons to contact her except to coordinate the details for picking up the puppy. While I hope she contacts me in the meantime to share puppy photos like she promised, I am convinced that she is a legitimate breeder and is not going to scam me.
Although I’m ashamed that I had to ask, it occurred to me that unlike that morning in the car, I only asked once, and took her answer at face value. I didn’t let the thought that frightened me cycle around endlessly in my mind. I put it to rest after getting just one answer - which, if I’d done that that day, would have meant I got to play on the computer.
Living with OCD means taking these little milestones as signs of improvement and seeing how far I’ve come even if some behaviors and thought patterns still stick with me. Even though I have very high standards for myself and always yearn for perfection, I have to realize that there are some things that are innately part of me, and by working with them instead of against them, I can get a better quality of life.
Ellie, a writer new to the Chicago area, was diagnosed with OCD at age 3. She hopes to educate others about her condition and end the stigma against mental illness.