Two Steps Forward, One Virus Setback
Not too long before the pandemic started, I started seeing a new therapist. In the days leading up to the first visit, I started wondering how I was going to explain myself and my head to someone who’s never met me.
Like many people living with mental illness, I don’t “fit the mold” of the definition of OCD exactly. I was a lot closer when I was younger, but many years of therapy and just growing up have helped me get rid of a lot of the more classic signs. My therapist at home knows this, and since she’s been seeing me since I was 9 years old, she has a lot of context to work with when giving advice.
But ever since I moved to Chicago, she’s been encouraging me to find a new therapist, someone local. I don’t usually see her all that often, but a few months ago, I started to feel like I’d benefit from a refresher course on fighting back against negative thoughts and living my best life.
It took me a very long time to even find a therapist who didn’t talk condescendingly over the phone or demand to see me constantly at first, but I eventually found someone who works on my block, sees patients on evenings and weekends, and listened when I told her that I didn’t need constant appointments.
As soon as I made that first appointment, though, I felt the need to impress her. I wanted to show her that yes, I was diagnosed with severe OCD at a very young age, but I have a master’s degree, hold down a job, have friends, and am actively working on the problems that I still have. I wanted to show her that just because she’s seen a textbook doesn’t mean she’s seen me, and for the couple of appointments I had before I first heard the word “coronavirus,” I thought I was doing a pretty good job.
But then, the virus struck. I started to feel anxious about things I hadn’t worried about in years, like germs and the various ways I can touch them and get infected or infect others. I only felt safe coming home to my family, and once I got home, I realized that my senior dog’s occasional fecal incontinence and coughing up food also bring up things I haven’t felt in a long time.
Part of me wanted to discuss those thoughts with my new therapist, but another part of me hated the idea of paying to work on something I’d already worked on, something I already “won” years ago and was no longer part of my life the vast majority of the time. I didn’t want to become the stereotypical OCD sufferer I see all over the media in her eyes. I wanted her to respect me and treat me like someone who could do things, not like the weak person I thought I was as a child when I had these thoughts.
In preparing for my appointment, I started nervously rummaging through my desk to keep my hands busy, and I found a stack of note cards I thought I lost years ago: my homework from when I did cognitive behavioral therapy (CBT).
These notes are from the only other time I ever saw a new therapist - during my crisis five years ago, when all that mattered was the immediate, and I was there mostly to learn techniques to fight against very specific kinds of thoughts that I had never encountered before and (thankfully) haven’t had since.
When I found my notes, I was struck by the fact that the homework (a common element of CBT) was written in the therapist’s handwriting for the first month, then in mine afterwards. I realized that during that time, I was going to therapy to get guidance, not necessarily to teach the therapist everything about myself and every thought I’ve ever had in my entire life. I wasn’t there to tell her that I was normal or pretend things were fine when they weren’t. I was there to get help, and she was there to give it.
Since I considered my months of CBT to be a great success, and still use the techniques I learned to this day, I started thinking about how to approach my new therapist now. Sure, there’s a heck of a lot more to me than what’s going on in the world right now, but it’s also a strange time to work on conquering hurdles on the back burner when there’s something far more important in the forefront of my mind.
When the appointment came, I was still fighting the impulse to qualify my statements with “that’s not how I usually am!” when I talked about how it’s easier to fall back into old germaphobic thoughts. But it occurred to me that even if I take pride in the victories I’ve won under normal circumstances, these are not at all normal circumstances. My victories might look smaller (like that I wash my hands once, and how the CDC recommends, instead of plenty of times for an extremely long time), but they are still real.
Once the pandemic is over, and I can see this therapist again in real life, I hope to bring her other concerns to work on, like continuing my exposure therapy for picky eating, working on my fears about romantic relationships, and more. But it’s not the time for that. Now is the time to admit that, yes, I do have germaphobic and emetophobic thoughts in my head right now, and it’s not something to be ashamed of.
It’s time to realize that I’m not losing a battle by feeling like this right now - it’s like if an army of orcs was attacking a city once, and they repelled it with heavy losses, then it would be so much easier to defeat a small insurgence of orcs years later after the fighters have plenty of practice.
Not to mention, there’s no need to be ashamed of having thoughts that many people are having during this pandemic - and seeking help is the best thing I can do to keep it a small insurgence rather than a mental explosion. Any therapist worth their salt would say the same about not being ashamed of thoughts, and although it’s a lesson I’m still learning, I’m happy to pass it along to you. I hope you all stay well and whether or not you’re seeing a therapist during the pandemic, believe in yourself even through heightened levels of anxiety. When this fades, we’ll be stronger for the fight we won!
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.