Winning the War
It started with a conversation with a group of friends who also love Lord of the Rings.
As new friends, we were trying to get to know each other better. One person started a conversation by saying that he gave both of his children middle names from Tolkien’s books, followed by almost everyone saying that they had named a pet after a Lord of the Rings character. A cat named Eowyn. A dog named Samwise.
In another world, I could have said that I have a dog named Elanor for Elanor the Fair, Samwise Gamgee’s daughter.
At moments like these, even when I know that things have happened that were out of my control, even when I know I made the right choice, I still feel horrible.
The puppy I loved dearly but couldn’t keep is just one of several experiences throughout my life that, if I remember them, I feel immense shame. These aren’t like regular moments of embarrassment, which I also have plenty of. These are different because they are intrinsically rooted in my war against OCD.
They are markers of battles I lost.
I remember the pride I felt in a special honors class in college turned to immense sorrow when I realized I’d failed due to reasons related to my recovery from my junior year breakdown. Even though it didn’t make a difference in the level of diploma I received or my later success in academia and my career, I can still barely think about it.
These times are moments I can’t defend, even if I have a valid defense.
Many of them I’ve blocked out, or just remember vague things. I remember certain talks in middle school, the way people turned away from me my junior year when I sobbed in the dining hall and the way my theater professor gave up on believing my “medical related” excuses for missing class.
I had a chance, after finding out that I’d gotten a B+ in that honors class in college where only an A- or above counted as passing, that I could have a chance to explain myself to a committee. It would be after graduation and wouldn’t change the little marker missing by my name in the commencement pamphlet or the way several people in the class came up to me to express their condolences. It would be a chance for me to speak, and I initially said yes, only to chicken out later. What could I possibly say to justify myself when I didn’t even believe my own excuses?
Then, there was the time in grad school when I was told I would be able to receive my degree as I had completed my coursework, but I wouldn’t be certified as a teacher due to my very anxious performance in the classroom. I had no words to explain myself as I cried in the dean’s office, and no words the next morning when I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders and I could finally pursue a career in writing.
It is only now, years later, that I have found my voice about my mental health journey in this blog. Now, I am able to talk to my friends openly about the things I am still ashamed about. Most days, the memories don’t even crop up, and I live a very happy life.
But sometimes, I need to remind myself of the steps I’ve taken when I encounter moments like the Lord of the Rings pet names conversation. I need to remind myself that I will have another dog one day, when I am no longer living alone, and I can have the pet I want so badly even if I have to do it in a different way than many of my friends. I need to remind myself that I legitimately earned my master’s degree, even if it’s not in a field where I’m interested in working, and that degree helped me get steady employment over the last 5 years.
In other words, no matter how ashamed I am of these moments of failure, they don’t dictate the course of the rest of my life. I can try to learn from these mistakes, and even if I make different ones going forward, I won’t make the same ones.
My psychiatrist taught me to think of these moments as battles in a larger war. Any war in history - as well as the ones I’ve studied in Tolkien’s works - has victories and losses on both sides. What matters most is strategy and keeping up the fight, never giving up. I’m still fighting, and even though more of these moments may join the others - even though I am likely to lose more battles in my life - I know I can win the war.
Ellie, a writer in 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.