Nice to Finally Meet You

Nice To Finally Meet You

Hi, my name is Michelle Cohen, and I’m proud to introduce myself as No Shame On U’s head blogger for the last three and a half years.

Until this post, I was known as “Ellie” - a nickname I’ve never personally used. I’m not much for nicknames, but I was determined to make sure no one would know that I was the writer behind this blog - especially since I had just moved to Chicago to take a job at JUF, without knowing anyone.

I thought my work and social life would go away if I said who I was.

I grew up feeling like I was worth less than other people because of my mental health condition, and even though I was told over and over by my family that I was wrong, that didn’t make the thought go away any easier.

I had gotten used to people noticing ways in which I was different - my diet, my interests, my anxieties and fears - and using that to set me apart. I moved to Chicago as a fresh start and wanted nothing more than to present as “normal” of a first impression as I could.

I couldn’t stand the thought of my coworkers in my brand-new job thinking less of me for having OCD. And so, when I found out about No Shame On U and reached out to ask if I could write posts, I was determined to remain anonymous.

Anonymity felt safe, but after nearly four years of writing about my mental health experiences, it also felt stifling. There’s little about my mental health journey that long-term readers don’t know about me. But beyond sharing stories through the written word, I felt like there was no way I could keep spreading the idea of a world free of the stigma against mental illness.

And so, I decided to make an appearance on No Shame On U’s podcast and reveal my name to the community. While my family members and close friends who knew were surprised, they only had one question for me: Why pull back the cover after so long?

Part of it is because I am trying to get a book published about my experiences. I’d like to help people feel like they’re not alone and destigmatize mental health one story at a time - like I’ve been doing with this blog, but on a bigger scale. It’s been my lifelong dream to be a published author and there is no truer story I can tell than the one I live every day.

The book - which is currently named I Eat French Fries With A Fork in honor of my first post here - is a compilation of essays, some of which are adapted from here, others which I have never shared before. They are filled with the joy of my positive obsessions and the pain of negative ones. They take a trip deep into the harrowing night ten years ago when I thought I would die by my obsessions if not from my body, and the therapy, friendships, and kindness that pulled me out of despair and into my currently happy life.

I would love to share my story more widely as I continue to share it here - and in addition to that, I wanted to share my name to go along with one of the principles of my life: I put my name on things I’m proud of.

At work, I don’t turn in articles that I’m not proud of if they’re going to have my byline. I take pride in what I put my name on, and I wanted to show people - including the people at work who I was so afraid of - that I am not ashamed of being myself.

I am not ashamed that I grew up doing visible compulsions.

I am not ashamed that it took me until I was eighteen to try mac and cheese, sleep away from home for more than a night, and have my first sincere friend.

I am not ashamed that it took me a long time to do things other people around me have found easy, whether that was drinking orange juice, having my first kiss, or recovering from medical trauma.

I am not ashamed that I take SSRI medication every day, and I have relied on a variety of kinds of therapy throughout my life to stay afloat.

And most importantly, writing this blog and book have helped me realize that I shouldn’t be ashamed to not be “normal.”

This is who I am, and it’s not changing. No matter how much I continue to evolve and grow, I do so with a neurodivergent mind and that makes a huge difference. I was recently asked, if I could choose to take an imaginary cure and become neurotypical, if I would - and the thought scared me. I don’t know who I am without OCD, and whoever engages with me in any way gets to know it somehow. Whether it means I don’t eat at work lunches or get way too excited about conventions, it’s part of me that I have learned to work with and if that part of me is not welcome, I am not welcome.

I sincerely hope, as I send this out to the community, that I will be welcomed. I hope that, unlike the experiences I had in my childhood and early adulthood, people will see that I’m trying my hardest and am determined to help others do the same.

So, here I am. I hope you’ve enjoyed my story so far, and I look forward to continuing my active involvement at No Shame On U and in the realm of mental health advocacy for plenty of time to come.

Michelle Cohen, 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.

Give What You Don't Have

This week, I found myself thinking about a piece of advice I received from my mom: “Give what you don’t have.”

She means it in the way of giving someone something that you want deeply for yourself, to find fulfillment in the act of giving even if you can’t receive what you want. I had an opportunity to do this when - during a Pokemon Go event - I met the four-year-old child of a friend’s friend.

Jake (name changed for privacy) was eager to learn how to play the game. So eager that he ran into poles and didn’t notice when it was time to cross the street, in fact - and he was so full of questions for anyone who would give him the time of day. Most people wanted to keep the Pokemon Go event going faster than what he could do, but I found myself hanging back, enthused about his discovery of something to get so excited about.

It reminded me a lot of myself as a kid - trying to engage the adults around me in whatever my newest obsession was, and Pokemon was absolutely one of them. The trading card game came out when I was six years old and I quickly got my entire family involved.

Dad played with me as much as I wanted, competitively. Nana didn’t quite understand the game, so she told me to look at her hand of cards and play whichever one was best for me (much to my surprise, I almost always won). Mom humored me with occasional games and somehow became the Cohen family champion in a bracket tournament I set up.

I used many of my cards in decks, but I also had a big binder with all of my extra cards arranged in numerical order of the set. It was Base Set, the first one to ever come out, and it included all of my favorite pokemon from the original 151. I had a diglett card that I used to take into my dad’s office and slap him with it while yelling “Mud Slap,” one of the moves on the card, before I would run away giggling. And when he went to Japan for a business trip, he brought me back a pack from the Team Rocket expansion, and gave it to me when I lost a tooth. I pulled the rarest and most expensive card from the set: a Dark Charizard, plotting evilly on the front of the card I couldn’t read but loved to bits anyway.

I loved my cards so much, even when my initial obsession with Pokemon faded a little. It’s something that has stuck with me all my life, but back then, I didn’t know that. All I knew was that a girl in my grade, Caitlyn (name changed for privacy), came up to me one day on the playground and asked me if she could have my Pokemon cards for her little brother who was learning to play.

I wanted her to stop bullying me. I wanted her to tell the other girls to do the same. I thought it would be a good trade - something I loved for something I needed. I thought I was being mature and doing what I needed to do, making sacrifices like a proper adult. And so, I snuck the binder to school the next day and gave it to her.

When my parents found out, they weren’t mad - just incredibly sad. My dad was so hurt that I hadn’t kept the Dark Charizard. Truth was, I meant to take it out of the binder, but forgot. I instantly felt so guilty that I couldn’t wait for school the next day so I could undo my mistake.

But as soon as I went to Caitlyn and asked for the cards back, she said she’d lost them.

It didn’t stop me from begging her with increasing desperation for the next few weeks. It didn’t stop her from telling me to kill myself in middle school - the same bullying I feared and hated. And the exchange never left my mind, to the point that even years later, I reached out to her on Facebook to see if she had any idea of where the cards could be and offered to pay for their safe return. She’d told me she had thought of me when her parents cleared out their house, but found nothing.

I don’t think I’ll ever know for sure what happened to those cards. When I had my mental health breakdown in my junior year of college, I equated having Pokemon cards with feeling good, and spent money recklessly to get a collection again. I’ve sold most of the cards I impulsively bought back then, thanks to the bad memories, but I’ve kept some and over the years I’ve gotten more.

The only problem is, these cards are all different and new - and when I’m having a bad time mental-health-wise, I need things to stay the same. It’s why I watch Lord of the Rings on repeat or listen to the same song on my Pandora station over and over. But the Base Set cards I once owned and loved are now worth way more than I can justify spending.

The practical side of me misses the fact that any cards I wasn’t particularly emotionally attached to would be worth hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars - and I’d be able to keep the ones I loved. It would be my choice, as an adult, and I wouldn’t feel like I was being backed into a corner. The sentimental side of me misses the cards I used to play with on the living room floor, spreading them out and putting them in decks and playing with my family. I still have the memories, but they feel tainted with shame.

I am ashamed that my younger self felt so desperate that I thought the only way to avoid bullying was to give away the cards for nothing. As an adult, I sometimes wondered why no one stepped in and forced Caitlyn’s parents to give me back the cards right away, even if it made the bullying worse. But the school would never have helped and my parents wouldn’t have wanted me to get bullied more, and now, decades later, it’s far too late.

I did, at one point, buy a Japanese Dark Charizard card on eBay. I tell my friends about how Dad brought it back for me from Japan and how thrilled I was, and I keep it in a place of honor on my desk along with the very, very few cards I treasure as much as my old ones.

But sometimes, when I’m particularly down on myself, I’ll look at the Dark Charizard on my desk and see something different.

I bought you to fill a hole you can’t fill.

You’re not my Charizard.

My Charizard that Dad brought me from Japan is gone forever.

When I listen to people talking about dreams that will never come to fruition, I feel silly for thinking about my old Pokemon card binder that I might not even recognize if I were to miraculously find it. I don’t remember what the cover looked like or what any of the pages looked like beyond the first. I don’t remember if the cards were Shadowless, which would mean they were worth thousands more.

What I do remember is the immense shame of having given in to peer pressure, having felt like this was something I had to do to protect myself because no one else was looking out for me in this way. My parents did their best when I was at home, but in school, I had to deal with everything alone.

All these thoughts ran through my head when my friend asked me if Jake could have a few of my cards. I wanted him to feel like he was getting something special - an adult who was feeding into an interest instead of making it a bother like so many other people did even on that one day I met him. I picked out a Pikachu in a hat because it’s his favorite, and a Diglett because it was mine. I picked out shiny cards that would appeal to a child and cards that made me smile with nostalgia.

I’m not going to get my collection back. But a little kid is going to have the option to run into his parents’ or little brother’s room and whack them with a Diglett card while yelling “Mud Slap” - and maybe my Dark Charizard is out there too, enjoying a good life with the rest of my collection.

As a writer, and someone trying to deal with the difficulties of my past, all I can do is make up the story and try to move on in the best way possible - and not let other people’s treatment of me get between me and my happiness again.

Michelle, 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.

Happiness Overload

Happiness Overload

When I was little, I had a POO-CHI robot dog that, whenever I played too much with it, would enter a “happiness overload” mode where it would sing and make a variety of noises as it scooted around my kitchen.

When I met the actors for the four hobbits at Fan Expo Chicago recently, I had the same reaction.

The Lord of the Rings movies have been my longest-lasting positive obsession and the first thing I clung to when my psychiatrist told me, “You’re always going to be obsessing about something. Why not pick something you enjoy?”

The idea was revolutionary to me. Not only that I could pick what I thought about, but also, I could have obsessive thoughts that weren’t bad or something to try to eliminate? I felt like I spent most of my life trying to stop myself from obsessing and receiving this permission to work with what was already going on in my head instead of trying and constantly failing to stop it was life-changing.

Overnight, I allowed myself to sink into the Lord of the Rings movies like nothing before. I gave myself permission to obsess, and even though it was a rocky road, the movies were always there for me and I always felt a sense of safety when I put in another DVD.

When I had my first opportunity to meet an actor from the movies in 2018, I felt a sense of delight that led to me literally sobbing with happiness as I stood in line. I felt like I was meeting a huge part of my childhood and told him as much - and he was incredibly kind and told me all sorts of fun stories about filming.

Four years later, I found myself in line to meet not one, but all four of the actors who played the hobbits - the main characters - in the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I met Sean Astin at a No Shame On U event in 2019 and was so excited I counted down the days for weeks, but meeting him as well as Elijah Wood, Dominic Monaghan, and Billy Boyd seemed to be too wonderful at once.

I saved money so I could do the backstage pass, which included front-row seating at their panel, autographs from all four of them, and a photo with all four of them. I was so excited that I counted down the days for months on end, and could hardly sleep or get anything else done when it was time to head to the convention.

Somehow, my favorite moment was not any of the ones I’d paid for or expected. It ended up being so much more.

You see, a week before the convention, the organizers offered an opportunity to create and submit a 30-second video telling the hobbits what they and the Lord of the Rings movies mean to you. I spent a while crafting mine, where I shared how LotR and the journey of the hobbits helped me through my initial diagnosis with OCD and have kept me afloat ever since.

I was utterly unprepared to see my face fill the screen that night. My video was the only one chosen from Chicago, shown in segments in its entirety, and my “you didn't just carry the ring to Mordor, you carried me” was the last thing the hobbits saw and heard before they came on stage.

In that moment, as people around me nudged me and messages poured into my phone from people who I didn’t even know were in the room, I felt so overwhelmed that my feelings couldn’t even keep up. I wasn’t happy or thrilled or ecstatic, I was beyond being able to put words on the sense of pride that these movies got me to the point where I am now and I was able to share my story and help others.

I knew I was helping others because people told me so - people with anxiety who came up to me afterward and told me that they were inspired by my words. It was the cherry on top of a perfect experience that ended with photos, autographs, and memories I will cherish for the rest of my life.

That night, I felt “happiness overload” like never before. My positive obsessions have always made me happier than anything else can, but this was a whole new level I had never experienced before and don’t know if I can until I go on my planned New Zealand trip next year. It’s impossible to explain, but it felt so wonderful to know that even though my OCD has caused me immense pain throughout my life, it has also enabled me to feel these moments of pure, unadulterated joy.

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.

Peanut Butter's Not That Complicated

Peanut Butter’s Not That Complicated

Or is it? I found myself thinking more about peanut butter than I ever had before when the recent JIF recall made me look beyond my usual brand.

As my OCD is very rules-based, the food I eat needs to follow a variety of rules. Even if a food is something I consider safe - something that won’t trigger any thoughts that I might get sick - there are still rules about eating it, primarily that it needs to be familiar.

This means I have trouble going to a new restaurant even if I plan to order the same dishes I always do. And with store-bought foods like peanut butter, I always buy the same brand regardless of price, and if one store is sold out, I’d rather go to another store than buy from a different brand.

When the recall happened, I checked my peanut butter jar and realized that mine was among the recalled serial numbers. Even though I’d eaten from the jar that same week without getting sick, I knew I wouldn’t be able to do so again now that I knew about the recall. I decided to go to Mariano’s, read through the serial numbers of all the JIF jars, and find one that hadn’t been recalled.

To my surprise, all of the JIF jars were missing. Not just the creamy (the only texture of peanut butter I find remotely appealing), but everything was gone. There was an empty, gaping spot in the shelves surrounded by jars of peanut butter from every other brand, explained by a piece of paper pinned to the shelf.

My brain decided that was the perfect time to get anxious. In the middle of the peanut butter aisle in Mariano’s, not when I’m alone or in a good place to process. In the middle of the aisle, where other people were able to shop normally and that started a whole wave of my usual “you’re not normal” negative thoughts that keep coming back no matter how hard I fight them.

The coping mechanisms I thought of to ensure the peanut butter was safe wouldn’t work. I couldn’t compare the ingredients from JIF to other brands, since none of the JIF jars were there. I couldn’t go by what my family members use, since they had uncontaminated JIF jars. I couldn’t think of anything else in the moment, and reading labels while trying to distinguish the brands just started to stress me out.

And to add insult to injury, I was thinking a lot about my late dog, who always “tested” any peanut butter I was going to eat, and I started missing him as I grabbed a Kroger brand jar at random and headed for the checkout.

The unopened jar of Kroger peanut butter sat in my apartment for over a week before I took it out and decided to give it a chance. I opened the jar, smelled it, and noticed it looked just like the peanut butter I was used to. Still, though, I decided to wait to eat it.

I knew how stupid it was to be scared of peanut butter. But at the same time, I couldn’t just turn off my fear at will. In the end, it took a surprise visit from my friend Olive for me to get brave enough to actually try some of the peanut butter - with company.

I asked Olive to try it with me so that I wouldn’t chicken out again or overthink things, which was an inevitability if I was left to my own devices. When we tried it together, I felt supported and cared for, especially since she didn’t make me feel bad for asking her such a strange request.

“Would you eat peanut butter with me?” is not a typical question, but the fact that Olive was willing to help me meant so much. Even such a small gesture reminded me that I’m not alone, and even if my friends don’t have the same mental health condition(s) as me, they have empathy and are willing to do things like this even if they don’t understand why it’s so hard for me to try a new brand of peanut butter.

The Kroger brand, as we found out, is slightly runnier than the JIF, but has the same taste. I’m probably going to end up buying JIF for my next jar. But for now, I’m proud to even take this very small step to opening my culinary world.

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.

Just What I Needed

Just What I Needed

I’ve cried so much in the last couple of weeks. Somehow, in such a short time span, I lost my beloved D&D group that I’ve been playing with for almost 3 years and was broken up with in a surprising and cruel way - not to mention that I’m worried about my mom who recently had major foot surgery and still not super happy with the results of a recent procedure on my nose.

I didn’t know what to do when faced with all of this. I tried so many things, mostly involving distracting myself and not being alone, but I still felt angry, resentful, and liable to burst into tears at any given moment.

I decided, after trying and failing to meet with several friends, that I needed to be the one to solve this problem myself - but what could break through so many negative emotions at once? I started to think of things that would make me happy in the future - books, video games, vacation, and the like - and put them on a list. The closest thing was the release of a video game towards the end of June, but in the meantime, I wallowed in self-pity and had no clue how to get out.

And then, I found out that a demo of the game was released a couple of weeks early. I normally wouldn’t let myself play part of a game before I could access the entire thing, but I figured this had to be the time for relaxing my rules. After all, I tried everything else that could make me feel better, to no avail. It was worth a shot.

So, as I hid inside my closet from a tornado warning, I booted up my Nintendo Switch and started to play the demo of Fire Emblem Warriors: Three Hopes.

I knew, right away, that I would have no patience for the storylines I didn’t like. As soon as there was a choice within the plot, I chose to follow my favorite character - someone I picked out many years ago for surviving significant medical trauma and also managing to be a badass at the same time. The battle style of the game was easy enough that I could just fall right in even though my head was in no place for sophisticated strategy.

The first two battles went pretty okay. By the third, I was surprised to see that the story was changing direction in a most pleasant way. The more I clicked through, it was like someone at Nintendo had asked me what I wanted to see in the story and they’d written it exactly like that. It was like a fanfiction come to life, and I couldn’t help but smile as I saw that the third battle was going to take place in an area of the game I’d wanted to play with for a long time: the palace.

Instead of focusing on strategy, I ran my character all around the map of the palace, getting increasingly happy as I made mental notes of where everything was. Indoor and outdoor gardens, how fancy - and the throne room that had only been in the first game for a minute, and a waterfall that looked and sounded real… Oh, and here’s a “Chamber of the Eagle,” that’s such a cool name for a room!

In my short time playing the demo, I found the fairness and control I felt like my real life lacked lately. I got to see my favorite characters - who live with mental illness and trauma just like me - emerging victorious. And all of this set to an amazing soundtrack with beautifully written dialogue sent me over the edge.

For the first time since my D&D group ended - the impetus that started all of this - I started crying happy tears.

In that moment, the happiness was stronger than the sadness. I could feel my old, familiar urge to reach out to others who love this series like I do and read fanfiction until I go cross-eyed and prepare my wig for this year’s DragonCon. For the first time since all of this happened, I felt like myself again - all thanks to my positive obsession with the Fire Emblem: Three Houses universe.

Just like my other positive obsessions, I didn’t know that it would start when it did. I didn’t know it would last as long as it has. But I know that, at least for now, this is something that makes me happy - happier than I would have thought was possible - and it renewed my faith that even if my brain was causing me pain, it also provided me the perfect way to get out of it.

As I played through the rest of the demo, the positive and negative emotions came out that needed to - and as I sit here writing this, I feel like I’ve taken many steps on my way back to my normal self. In the end, it turns out my OCD was just what I needed.

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.