When I pick up my son from preschool, I embrace him tightly and rest my head against his, feeling the soft strands of his hair brush against my face. At first glance, I appear just like the other parents welcoming their little ones home, and in many ways, I am. However, what remains hidden is the internal struggle I face. I live with obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD), and as I touch my son’s hair, my mind races with thoughts like: What did his hair come into contact with while he was at school? It’s probably full of germs. Should I hurry home and give him a bath? No? Are you certain? LISTEN TO ME, THIS COULD BE DANGEROUS!
School was a place I cherished, filled with laughter, friendships, and learning. Unlike many who develop OCD during their formative years, my symptoms surfaced only after I graduated college, in my early 20s. Therefore, I don’t recall the anxiety about germs that often plagues those with OCD today. I remember the joy of the playground, the thrill of learning, and the absence of worry. Sneezes and coughs were mere background noise, not threats to my well-being.
For me, a simple doorknob transforms into a minefield of potential illness, as my mind races through the possibility that countless hands have touched it, many of whom may have been unwell. The root of OCD is tied to a malfunction in the brain; the amygdala, which regulates emotions and responses to fear, is hyperactive in individuals like me.
While many associate OCD with fears of contamination, it can also manifest in unexpected ways. For instance, I’ve experienced intrusive thoughts that link mundane actions to catastrophic outcomes, like believing that wearing a specific shirt could cause harm to my loved ones. Such thoughts evoke anxiety, and to cope, I often engage in compulsive behaviors.
Yet amid this turmoil, I remind myself that I can manage these feelings. The hard truth is that I must continue to embrace my son, which I genuinely love. Before he drifts off to sleep, we cuddle and read stories together. As I absent-mindedly play with his hair, I feel him snuggle deeper into my lap.
My amygdala warns me: “You’re definitely going to get sick.” I counter with, “Yes, that possibility exists.” My heart races, and I feel a wave of nausea, but I persist in twirling his hair, redirecting my focus to our story and asking him about his day. The internal voice continues to scream, but I let it fade into the background, recognizing it for what it is — just a thought. Thank you for the exposure, I mentally say to myself. We might get sick, but I choose to enjoy this precious moment with my son. I continue to twirl his hair, shower him with kisses, and sing a lullaby. Afterward, I get up, brew some coffee, and carry on with my day.
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In summary, parenting with OCD can be incredibly tough, but through love and perseverance, I find ways to engage with my child while managing my condition. Embracing these moments, despite the internal chaos, helps me navigate the challenges of parenthood.
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