Thirty

 Thirty

This week, I’m celebrating my 30th birthday - something that seemed unattainable or impossible at certain times in my life, but I’m very glad to report that I’m still here, still fighting, and excited to see what the future will bring.

I’ve been in a reflective mood this week anticipating such a big birthday, and I keep returning to this: One thing I’ve learned throughout my life is that my friends and I who live with mental health conditions struggle with self-love. We may take care of ourselves, but in the face of a world still plagued by stigma, it can be hard to actually love what may not be as socially acceptable about us.

I’m starting my 30th year off right in the self-love department as it’s almost time for my dream trip to New Zealand, which will celebrate my positive obsession with Lord of the Rings.

But I also wanted to take some time to really think about acknowledging the things that aren’t as easy to appreciate - the things that have limited me in the past that I have been working on and will continue to work on throughout my life.

With that in mind, here’s a list of 30 things I appreciate about my OCD journey in anticipation of my birthday. It may not be perfect, but these milestones have meant so much to me as I’ve worked hard to live a good life.

1. I’m thankful for my ability to turn my emotions and experiences into stories I genuinely love writing.

2. I’m thankful for the “what if”s that inspire fantasy and science fiction stories instead of all the things that could go wrong in the real world.

3. I’m thankful that I can cherish my small but close-knit group of friends instead of always wanting more.

4. I’m thankful for the ability to support my friends in mental health crises because I have needed such support myself - and the way this helps us form deeper bonds.

5. I’m thankful for macaroni and cheese, orange juice, and my favorite food, baked ziti - just a few of the foods I eat now that I never would have touched as a child.

6. I’m thankful for the people who are kind to me about my food aversions and other OCD symptoms I still show, and my thicker skin with people who aren’t as kind.

7. I’m thankful that I can do “life skills” like holding down a steady job, paying rent, and organizing a social life - which mean so much more when I never knew if I was capable of achieving them.

8. I’m thankful for the strength to advocate for myself and what I need, and to help others do the same.

9. I’m thankful for the fact that my limited experiences during childhood means that there are so many new and wonderful things to discover as an adult - and I no longer hold myself to any timetable of doing these things.

10. I’m thankful for my ability to stop the “runaway train” thoughts I had as a kid and process things in the way I need, at my own pace.

11. I’m thankful for how satisfying it feels to accomplish something I’m afraid of, whether it’s a one-time occurrence or a new part of my life.

12. I’m thankful that I can put my organizational skills to work to make stressful life events that I anticipate as smooth as possible.

13. I’m thankful that I’ve been cultivating independence ever since I moved so far away for college, and continue to rely on myself for a variety of new moves and fresh starts.

14. I’m thankful that I’ve learned how to seek resources for things I need to learn, and the fact that I’m always working to make things better for myself even in the smallest ways.

15. I’m thankful that I can take personality traits that come from OCD, including perfectionism, and use them to make my daily life easier instead of harder.

16. I’m thankful for the medication that helps me survive and thrive - and that I am no longer ashamed of needing.

17. I’m thankful that I can live a happy life after medical trauma due to putting in an immense amount of work that I never could have imagined actually working.

18. I’m thankful that my mental health is now strong enough that I can talk about these and other experiences without flashbacks, panic attacks, or other physical symptoms that stopped me from enjoying life.

19. I’m thankful that I was able to graduate college on time after two separate crises - one physical, one mental - that I wasn’t sure I would be able to conquer.

20. I’m thankful that I now see myself as a fighter, as someone strong instead of weak for having gone through experiences like this.

21. I’m thankful for the fact that I can hug dogs on the street after so many years of being afraid of dogs.

22. I’m thankful that, even though I was afraid, I still took the leap of letting a dog into my life, loved him for all the years he was here, and sought counseling when he passed away.

23. I’m thankful for the fact that I continue to seek help in therapy even after wanting to be “done” when I was a teenager - and recognize that learning about one’s own mind is a lifelong journey.

24. I’m thankful for my ability to set new goals for myself and believe that I can do them, no matter how difficult I find them.

25. I’m thankful for days without panic attacks, obsessive worries about throwing up, and all sorts of other negative thoughts I’ve learned to conquer.

26. I’m thankful I can enjoy endless happiness from my positive obsessions and cultivate this joy through fandom conventions, fan fiction, and more.

27. I’m thankful for the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which brings me so much pleasure during good times and inspires me to keep pushing during hard times.

28. I’m thankful that I am willing to admit when I did not succeed at something or need more help, even if it’s something I had been looking forward to for a very long time or trying extremely hard to do.

29. I’m thankful for the courage to try again with things I’ve failed before, including the fact that I’m willing to go to New Zealand by myself after some unpleasant international trips in the past.

30. Most of all, I’m thankful for and proud of the fact that I am now confident enough in who I am to share these facts with others. I love the thought that I’m helping people feel more comfortable with themselves and working towards destigmatizing mental illness.

 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.

There’s Always One

There’s Always One

So far, I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the reactions of my family, friends, and coworkers as I invited them to read my blog, like my Facebook page, and read the stories I’d hidden from many of them throughout my life.

I had expected a lot more hatred to come my way - and it was shocking to me that it took so long for someone to say hurtful things about the advocacy work I’m so proud to be doing out in the open now.

I thought, once upon a time, that I was close with Dara (name changed for privacy). We spent so much time together in college, even if we fell mostly out of contact when we moved apart from each other. Still, though, I was excited to share my blog and Facebook page with her, and let her know that I’m working on publishing a book about this - something I’ve been eager to do my whole life.

Her response was galling.

She started out with the classic “everyone has OCD, you’re not special,” and then launched into the good old stereotypes of organizing and alphabetizing. Apparently, everyone who likes to keep a relatively clean home or organized desk at work has OCD…

When I told her that I was diagnosed at a young age, before anyone would start organizing - even if that wasn’t an offensive and incorrect stereotype - she told me, “Three years old isn’t old enough to know what’s going on in your head.” (I’m offended at this one not just for my sake, but for people like my best friend from college, Alex, who knew he was transgender at an early age.)

At the same time, though, she told me she “always knew you had issues” and “you had better be on the right meds.” She said this in a patronizing tone, as if I was still three years old and needed someone to tell me how to live my life.

She went on to tell me that she thought I was just autistic, since apparently autism and OCD are the same thing now (to clarify, there can be symptom overlaps, but they are absolutely not the same thing).

And then, perhaps the most galling thing of all: “Why would you keep it a secret?”

Why did I keep it a secret?

Because of people like her.

Because there are people who say they would have been supportive, but show their true colors immediately. Who would lend credibility to my negative thoughts of being a bother, a nuisance, and a problem. Who would teach me that it’s not safe to tell people who I am and drive me further into pretending to be someone else.

Until now, I have kept my mental illness a secret because I didn’t know who was safe. I didn’t know who I could trust and who would still want to associate with me after they knew. I didn’t want to give them the chance to hurt me, so - like an overprotective turtle - I stayed huddled in my shell.

And then, I poked my head out a little bit to do a podcast for No Shame On U. I gave a speech at work and realized that most people are not like Dara. For every Dara out there, there are plenty of people who have offered me unexpected support, kindness, and love.

Although I can’t say I’m grateful for my first hate comments, they’ve shown me so much about how most people around me are on my side. This support has encouraged me to keep going with this project even if more people say hurtful things, and instead of letting Dara’s words get me down, I’m going to keep writing and fighting until words like hers are a thing of the past.

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.

Beautiful Minds

Beautiful Minds

This week, I got to experience something I’ve wanted to for a very long time - a room full of people like me.

I found out about a Zoom writing workshop for people with OCD from the International OCD Foundation, and was excited at the thought of finding creative inspiration while making new friends.

The workshop was holiday themed, and before we began, we took some time to get to know each other. I was surprised to learn that the workshop included people from all over the world signing in at a variety of time zones of varying convenience; there were also people of different ages, genders, and life backgrounds.

As someone who has not interacted much with other people with OCD, I found it fascinating to observe how people reacted to different things. I could tell differences and similarities in my own OCD versus other people’s, something I have found interesting for a while but haven’t really had the chance to explore.

Growing up, I always wanted to know other people with OCD. I wanted to see if we had any obsessions or compulsions in common; more than anything, I wanted to feel like I wasn’t alone as I figured out how to live a successful life with my condition. The only examples I had were negative and very public; I wasn’t aware of people around me who I could ask questions or learn from.

Writing was a common denominator of a hobby for all of us on the call, and unlike what I’ve experienced in any writing workshop before, we started the session by working together on prompts. It started out pretty simply - we identified common symbols for holidays around the world - and then branched out into coming up with holidays for pictures of random objects.

Contrary to most of the time when I’m in a writing workshop, I mostly stayed quiet and observed. I wanted to hear other people’s ideas and learn how they got there - but when there was a prompt to come up with a holiday based on a photo of bacon and eggs, I gladly contributed that this could be a celebration of Second Breakfast Day.

After we moved to individual prompts, I took some time to reflect. I don’t usually share my passions immediately, but in this setting I felt comfortable. I knew that other people were doing the same thing, and the space felt like somewhere no one would be bullying anyone else for how they expressed themselves.

Some people were shy and some were loud; some were excitable and others overanalyzed every prompt. But in the end, what mattered was how the facilitator described what she wanted us to do with the various writing exercises: to show off our beautiful minds.

This phrase made me stop and think. So much of the time, it’s discouraged from showing too deep of a window into a mind that isn’t neurotypical. It’s easy to fall prey to that with friends and family to the point that there aren’t many opportunities to share what really matters. But in this setting, where we all had a mental health struggle in common, it felt like a space to not only be safe but be celebrated.

In other words, in addition to the made-up holidays we wrote about, we were all celebrating ourselves - something I’ve found to be incredibly rare among neurodivergent people.

Joining this group has inspired me to continue to seek community. The more it’s clear that we don’t have to suffer alone, the easier it will be to speak up and smash the stigma preventing us from being “out” in the first place.

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.

Reclaiming Pakli

Reclaiming Pakli

This week, my parents visited my cousin as he performed in his school play. I phoned on their drive home, and we got to talking about school plays I’d been in.

I went to a Jewish elementary and middle school, and most of the performances were in a combination of Hebrew and English. I was one of the top in the class in Hebrew, and always hoped this would catapult me into a lead role where people would have a chance to see me shine instead of the ordinary life where I was either getting bullied or fading into the background.

The most I ever got out of one of our singing shows was a single line from a song in “Hair” that was too high for me to reach the proper notes, but I practiced and tried my best and was overly pleased to wear a blue pixie cut wig on stage.

Then, in eighth grade, there came an opportunity to perform in a play entirely in Hebrew. Knowing that I wouldn’t get cast for singing ability or for teachers liking me, I did know that they needed people who could memorize lines in Hebrew and say them correctly. I thought that would be my way in since there would be no way to fake it like in some of the other performances.

The play was The Jungle Book, specifically the Israeli version, which has some differences to the American one. I hoped to play Baloo the bear, but I wasn’t disappointed when I wound up with a pretty big role from the Israeli script - Pakli, a squirrel.

Pakli served the role of narrator, which meant I got a lot of lines - including the very first part of the play. I got to interact with basically every other character and had some really fun physical acting, including a little dance to a song from “Mission Impossible.” I even had my own props - sticks and acorns designed just for me.

At the time, the only thing that upset me was that I was supposed to have a lead role in a song, but that was taken away from me and given to someone else who could never get the words right. I was told this was because I was a bad singer - but I knew I was good at talking, and no one tried to touch my monologues.

Over the course of the rehearsals, I started to like squirrels very much. I hadn’t really noticed them before, but they were quickly becoming one of my favorite animals and a continuation of a longstanding tradition of animals as positive obsessions. Today, you’re likelier to hear me squeal about goats, cows, and puppies, but back then, squirrels were the coolest animals in the world and I got to pretend to be one on stage.

I felt like a star. Even though the other kids in the show didn’t like me any better, I still got to perform in front of people - something I still find a thrill in now through improv and musicals.

Little did I know that when the curtains opened, my parents were angry.

Not at me - and I had no idea at all. They were supportive and loving, and it took fifteen years until we had a conversation this week about why they were mad about my part in the play.

I was surprised to hear this. After all, I still have a photo from the performance - the first time I ever wore makeup - and tell people about how heavy the life-size squirrel tail was for someone my height. I was proud of myself for having so many lines in my second language and memorizing them all.

But then, my mom pointed out the most obvious features about Pakli - that were also the most obvious things about me when I was that age: Pakli the squirrel never shuts up, and is constantly belittled and shut down by others around her.

I honestly never considered this when I took the part, and when I think about it now, I’m pretty sure I know why: I was completely used to being treated like this. I knew I talked all the time but had such a hard time not doing it, since whenever I wasn’t talking I was caught in an endless loop of obsessions and compulsions. Talking about my positive obsessions was my way out, even if I didn’t have the language to explain it.

And I knew that everyone hated it, and me by extension. I knew my teachers hated that I wanted to be involved in everything and do extra homework and socialize with them because they weren’t as cruel as the kids. And the kids were even worse - including the ones who told Pakli to shut up in the play.

I never saw anything unusual in playing Pakli that way because that was just my life. I had family members who listened to me and treated me kindly, but for the most part, I was used to being the person who talks too much, can’t help it, and is shunned for that.

I didn’t understand at the time that my mom was in frequent wars with my school, and the part of Pakli was meant as an insult - to call me out on stage for being the annoying person I was every day, always bothering people. I didn’t know until fifteen years later, when we talked on the phone and my first experience of being on stage became tainted.

The good thing is, I don’t plan to let it stay that way. I am going to process this like I do everything else, and quickly move on. I know who I was then and who I am now, and as someone with more experience sharing about these issues, I hope I can help others speak up about the way they are perceived and treated.

And in the meantime, I’m going to continue to love the heck out of squirrels. My most powerful Magic: The Gathering deck is based around amassing a squirrel army and I’m known for the strength of my “squarmy” in game stores across the Chicagoland area. I have a signed Squirrel Girl comic book and enjoy looking for squirrels on my frequent walks. I find it entertaining that I’m a squirrel fan who’s allergic to nuts - and less entertaining that several years ago, squirrels broke into the engine in my car and wrecked it.

Casting me as Pakli may have been meant as an insult, but I can choose to remember the joy I felt of being on stage, of being the first voice anyone heard in the play, of being the one who everyone was looking at and listening to. I can move forward to other roles in theater projects where I am treated well, and although Pakli will always be my first role, I am learning and evolving every day to become a person who is both me and socially acceptable.

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.

Next Steps

Next Steps

The process of becoming a more vocal mental health advocate has led to quite a few surprising things - many of which have come about thanks to being open with family, friends, and colleagues about the challenges I live with.

When I first started blogging for No Shame On U nearly four years ago, I imagined my advocacy as a solely online endeavor where I’d be able to hide my identity and keep myself safe. After being bullied throughout my childhood, and seeing how vicious people can be on the Internet and beyond, I was wary of sharing anything that could be traced back to me.

And so, I inverted what I usually meant by “personal” and shared the exact opposite of what I share with people in real life. Blog readers knew my medical history, but not my name. It was a strange way to interact with the world, but things got even stranger when - as I solicited more advice about publishing a book about my experience with OCD - I was told that I’d have to put a face to the fake name.

This week, I took another step in this process as I made a Facebook page to share memes, photographic examples of life with OCD, and old and new blog posts to people I have known for years. With some of these people, I prided myself on being such a good actress that they either didn’t know I had anything “wrong” with me or that I simply seemed to be a more anxious person than most.

When I sent invitations to like the page, I felt a pang of nervousness. It was like I was removing years’ worth of shields that I had erected to protect myself, in the hopes that the world had evolved in the time since then to the point that I would not become a target for no reason other than being myself.

The moment after I pressed the “send” button, I worried about what people might say. But unlike when I was a child, I have good friends now, people who care about me for who I am, not despite. I’m not in a position where I have to hold onto “friendships” with no reciprocity out of desperation for social contact. Which means that if anyone has negative comments to offer on my page, I can cut them out of my life and not have to worry about what they’ll do to me next.

In addition to inviting people to like the page, I also posted about the page to my personal Facebook profile. The post is visible by people who bullied me in middle and high school, some of whom have since called me “brave” for the same characteristics they used to pick apart.

I don’t know what to make of that, just as I have a hard time answering any compliments given to me about the work I’m doing. It feels so strange to talk about mental health in the open that I sometimes catch myself standing there slack-jawed like a dead fish before remembering to say “thank you.”

As I share who I really am with more people, I’ve noticed even more changes:

I’m beginning to lose the reputation of someone who is more mousy and submissive, and gaining one as someone who will speak up for what’s right.

People around me are more willing to take “no” for an answer without an explanation, which makes things easier in situations I tend to find hard - like eating out.

And so far, the comments on my Facebook page have made me cry - but not in the way I feared. People are offering respect and kindness instead of cruelty, something I never could have anticipated when I used to dread going to school out of fear of a new day’s bullying.

Things like this show me that we are living in a more tolerant world than when I was a child - and I hope that we continue in this direction.

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.