How To Love Someone With OCD
Although I was single this Valentine’s Day, I felt more loved than ever from my friends, family, and community. As someone who once thought my mental illness made me unloveable beyond my family who was “forced” to care, I was thrilled to have a busy week full of all different kinds of love, and it made me think about the types of love I experience in my life now rather than bemoaning that I don’t have the one most commonly celebrated on Valentine’s Day.
It got me thinking about the different ways to love someone living with mental illness. This can apply to love of all types - familial, romantic, friendship, and more - and as I brainstormed, I enjoyed that I could pick out specific examples of these types of love. It’s not a place I would have expected to be considering I moved to Chicago a little over a year ago and started over, but now that I’m here, I’m thrilled to share the types of love that have bolstered me in my own internal struggles.
First and foremost is the love of acceptance. Even if people aren’t talking about me specifically, when I hear conversation about mental illness, I tune in. If I hear tolerant language, I’m more willing to open up, both about my history and everyday things that have nothing to do with OCD. When I know that people don’t throw around words that demean people with any kind of mental illness, it shows me that that relationship is a safe space to be myself, even at times when I’m not stuck in my head.
Case in point: I’m still Facebook friends with the person who told me “I don’t care” when I tried to share some negative thoughts with her, but the only interactions we have are surface-level, and generally all about her. It’s hard for me to feel comfortable sharing anything at all when I know she doesn’t care when things really matter. On the other hand, I can start a text to someone who I’ve had positive interactions with in this way with “ack my brain is attacking again” and feel instantly comfortable diving into what’s wrong.
Love as demonstrated through acceptance is especially important in tough moments. The other day, when a friend in my D&D group saw that I was feeling overwhelmed, he offered me a hug. I couldn’t believe how much it helped and how good it felt to know that someone could see me acting anxious and get closer, rather than running away.
Sometimes, I need tough love. I need for my family and friends to push me out of my comfort zone, or else I might stagnate there. I need to be told if I’m doing something too annoying, even if it hurts me to hear it. I’m sure that kind of love is as hard to give as it is to receive, but it helps me learn how to conquer my fears and bad habits and move on to a more productive life.
I also need the love of inclusion, whether that means not minding if I bring my food to an event or going to a place I feel comfortable, or if I do something strange, not asking about it or staring. All my life, I’ve known these things are strange, and I beat myself up over it whenever I feel like I can’t do something “normal” enough to fit the situation. Thankfully, I’ve been doing this less lately, but I haven’t eradicated it entirely - and it helps to feel like I have a safety net of people who will support me even if I don’t feel able to conquer a hurdle at that very moment.
The love of true companionship - feeling like I’m not alone - comes into play when I hear other people’s experiences, even with something so simple as hearing that something “makes me anxious” without any specifics. When my improv class discusses our anxiety levels at different tasks, I feel the love of a community that accepts people who have fears.
An often-overlooked type of love I need is the love of my passions. The happiest moments in my life are when people ask me about a story I’m writing, book I’m reading, game I’m playing, or cosplay I’m making. When people want to hear about what makes me happy, even if that something is a positive obsession that they might not understand, it makes me feel like I am loved for who I truly am.
All of these forms of love can appear in any relationship, at any time. As I sit here writing this post, I’m smiling as I think of the ways my friends and family have loved me even when it’s difficult. On Valentine’s Day and every day, I want to make more of an effort to be grateful for the love in my life, and do my best to extend this love to others who I meet.
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.