Living with OCD: The Things You Don't See
The rituals started early in life. Doom sat within me like a sacred poison, constantly bubbling up to the surface. I didn't have a name for it then. I just knew that something terrible might happen, and somehow, in my little nine-year-old mind, I had the power to prevent it. I remember one cold winter evening, watching my parents pull out of our driveway. They were heading to a school board meeting, and my little brother and I were staying home, happily munching pizza and watching television. A perfectly ordinary evening. Except my brain had other plans. As their vehicle disappeared down the driveway, an overwhelming feeling of dread washed over me. What if something happened to them? What if they didn't come home? I held my breath. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. I exhaled. For a moment, there was relief. But that awful feeling hadn't completely disappeared. So I did it again. Deep breath. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Over and over again until nd again, my little body finally relaxed enough that I could return to my pizza and whatever was on television.
I had no idea that evening would mark the beginning of a lifelong relationship with obsessive-compulsive disorder that would follow me for decades, and let me tell you, OCD is a TERRIBLE roommate! It doesn't pay rent, it doesn't respect your boundaries, and it has an opinion about absolutely everything that goes on in your life.
When Five Became My Magic Number
Before long, counting backwards from five became as natural to me as breathing. Actually, that's not entirely true. Sometimes I had to stop breathing to do it! I became quite the professional at performing rituals without anyone noticing. I could count, tap, repeat, and carry on a conversation like nobody's business. Dance class, however, was another story. If you've ever taken dance lessons, you know the familiar rhythm: "and...FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!" Oh, for heaven's sake. My poor little OCD brain didn't know what to do with that! There was my dance teacher, innocently counting away, while I was mentally trying to negotiate with the number five. I couldn't exactly raise my hand and say, "Excuse me, could we please start at six? Five and I are having some disagreements."
So as always, I adapted. That's something people don't always understand about OCD. You become incredibly good at hiding the things that are quietly exhausting you. For a while, things settled down. My counting and tapping rituals were still there, but I seemed to manage them. Then something horrific happened at our school, and the OCD that had been quietly sitting in the background came roaring back.
When My Rituals Became My Responsibility
Following that incident, my OCD changed. It wasn't just about calming an uncomfortable feeling anymore. It became about survival. Not necessarily my survival, either. Everyone else's. Somewhere along the way, my brain had convinced me that the safety of the people I loved depended on my ability to do things correctly, and by correctly, I mean according to a completely unreasonable set of rules that only my OCD understood. Everything became a ritual. How many times I turned my locker combination. How many stairs I counted going down. And yes, if I got it wrong, I'd go back and take those last two stairs again. I couldn't step on cracks. Doors had to be locked, unlocked, and locked again. My pillow had to be flipped a certain number of times. My hair had to be brushed an even number of times. Straightening my hair? Same rules. Plugging in my hairdryer? Unplugging it? You guessed it. More counting! Even my laundry wasn't safe from the madness. My clothes needed to be washed separately, placed outside, and folded in a particular way, and if something didn't feel right? I'd start again.
Now, imagine trying to get ready for school when your hairbrush, your pillow, your locker, and the staircase are all holding you emotionally hostage. It's exhausting just writing about it, but here's the part that isn't funny. my now 14-year-old brain genuinely believed that if I didn't complete these rituals, something terrible could happen to someone I loved. Imagine being a child and carrying that responsibility. Imagine believing that forgetting to tap something five times could somehow cause your parents to have an accident, or that stepping on a crack might mean someone you loved wouldn't come home. There was no logical connection, but OCD doesn't need logic to make fear feel real, and fear, especially when you're young, can be incredibly convincing.
OCD Is Not a Cute Little Personality Quirk
We've all heard it. "I'm so OCD about my kitchen!" "My OCD can't handle that crooked picture!" "Oh, I'm totally OCD! I love everything organized!", and listen, I understand that most people mean absolutely no harm when they say these things, but here's what I'd love people to know. OCD isn't a quirky love of cleanliness, organization, or matching shoes. Obsessive-compulsive disorder is a mental health condition involving unwanted, intrusive thoughts, images, feelings, or urges (obsessions) and behaviours or mental rituals (compulsions) performed to relieve distress or prevent something feared from happening. Those compulsions aren't always visible. Sometimes they're counting, sometimes they're silently repeating words, sometimes they're checking, sometimes they're seeking reassurance, sometimes they're avoiding situations altogether, and sometimes they're standing perfectly still, holding their breath, counting backwards from five, desperately hoping that everyone they love will be okay.
OCD can attach itself to the things we value most: our families, our relationships, our health, our faith, our sense of responsibility. It can make a person question their character, their memories, and even their intentions. While many people recognize the handwashing and cleaning stereotypes, OCD can take many different forms. Some people experience frightening intrusive thoughts they would never want to act on. Others become trapped in endless cycles of doubt, checking, mental reviewing, or reassurance seeking. Having an intrusive thought doesn't mean you want it to happen, and having OCD doesn't mean you're dangerous, weak, or incapable. It means your brain has become caught in a cycle of fear, uncertainty, and temporary relief. The cruel irony? The rituals that make you feel better for a moment can actually keep that cycle going.
The Invisible Exhaustion of OCD
I often wonder how much time I've spent counting in my lifetime. How many perfectly lovely moments I missed because I was busy negotiating with my own mind. How many times I arrived somewhere already mentally exhausted because getting out the door had involved a dozen invisible battles. How many times I appeared perfectly fine while internally trying to quiet a storm. That's another thing about OCD, you can be smiling, you can be laughing, you can be successful, outgoing, loving, and completely engaged in life, and still be struggling.
People don't necessarily see the effort it takes to appear okay. They don't see the mental gymnastics. They don't see the fear. They don't see the frustration of knowing something doesn't make sense but feeling compelled to do it anyway. They certainly don't see the embarrassment that can come with explaining why you just walked down the same two stairs three times. Trust me, there's no graceful way to explain that one.
The Little Girl Who Thought She Had to Save Everyone
Looking back, this is the part that makes my heart ache. Not the counting or the tapping. Not even the hours spent completing rituals. It's the little girl who believed she was responsible for keeping everyone safe. Nine years old, just simply eating pizza, watching television, and carrying a responsibility that no child should ever have to carry. I wish I could go back and sit beside her. I'd tell her that her parents' safety wasn't determined by how long she held her breath. That she didn't have to count the stairs. That her family would not be protected by the number of times she brushed her hair, and that the terrible feeling in her tummy wasn't a prediction. It was anxiety. A feeling, not a fact. Most importantly, I'd tell her she didn't have to figure it all out on her own.
Then Came Healing
I was officially diagnosed with OCD when I was sixteen. Finally, there was a name for what I had been experiencing, and while having a diagnosis didn't magically make the rituals disappear, it gave me something I desperately needed. Understanding. Eventually, I learned about exposure and response prevention therapy, commonly called ERP. ERP is a form of cognitive behavioural therapy that helps people gradually face the uncertainty and distress associated with OCD without performing the compulsions that keep the cycle alive. In other words, I had to learn that I could feel uncomfortable without immediately trying to fix the feeling, and goodness gracious, did my OCD have opinions about THAT!
After years of believing my rituals kept everyone safe, learning to resist them was frightening, but little by little, I began to understand something very important. I didn't need to earn safety through counting. I didn't need to prevent every possible disaster, and I didn't need to obey every frightening thought my brain produced. I could allow uncertainty to exist. I could feel anxious and still carry on. I could choose not to count. Eventually, over time, that freedom became more familiar. Today, the counting ritual that once dominated my life has largely faded away; the still manifests from time to time, but nothing like it once did. It took years, patience, practice, and plenty of uncomfortable moments to get here.
I don't pretend that my experience represents everyone's journey with OCD. Some people struggle much more severely. Others experience different symptoms, setbacks, or treatment needs, but I do know that OCD is treatable, and meaningful recovery is possible, and that is something worth talking about.
Why I'm Sharing This During OCD Awareness Week
October 11–17, 2026, is OCD Awareness Week. After living with OCD for most of my life, I wanted to share a little piece of my story. Not because I want sympathy. Not because I have all the answers, and certainly not because I think my experience is the only way OCD looks. I'm sharing because somewhere out there is another little girl holding her breath. Another teenager counting the stairs. Another parent quietly checking something for the tenth time. Another person feeling ashamed of thoughts they never asked to have. Someone who thinks they're the only one. I want them to know they aren't. I also want us to remember that mental health isn't always visible. Sometimes the person who seems to have everything together is working incredibly hard just to get through an ordinary Tuesday. Sometimes the person who makes everyone laugh is carrying worries they don't know how to explain. In fact, sometimes the person who appears perfectly calm has just won a battle inside their own mind that nobody else even knew was happening. We can be kinder about that. We can listen without judgment. We can stop turning mental health conditions into punchlines or personality traits. We can encourage people to seek appropriate support, and we can remind one another that asking for help is not something to be embarrassed about.
Five, Four, Three, Two, One…
It's funny how something as simple as five little numbers can hold so much history. For years, they represented fear, responsibility, exhaustion, and the desperate need to feel certain in a world where certainty simply doesn't exist. Today, those numbers remind me of how far I've come. I still love my family fiercely. I still worry sometimes. I'm still human, after all. I no longer believe that my ability to protect the people I love rests in a counting ritual, and perhaps that's one of the greatest gifts recovery has given me. The freedom to love people without believing I must control everything that happens to them. The freedom to be uncertain. The freedom to be present, and the freedom to simply be me. Imperfectly perfect, just as I am.
If you take one thing away from my story, I hope it's this: You never really know what someone else is carrying. Be kind, be curious, and please, take mental health seriously. As for that little nine-year-old girl? I think she'd be pretty proud of the woman who finally learned she could stop counting. Between you and me, I think she'd also be delighted to know that she can now eat her pizza in peace.
With love, laughter, and a whole lot of self-worth,
Cheers,🩷
Coach Jo | Pinkicing Self-Esteem Workshops
If you or someone you love is struggling with OCD, the International OCD Foundation offers education, resources, and information about evidence-based treatment.
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