As is often the case, seeing a diverse group of people come together helped me remember what is truly important.

At my company, O.C. Tanner, we celebrate select work anniversaries with a small ceremony involving multiple speakers who highlight achievements or qualities of the employee. Today was the one-year anniversary of a man who is about to become my new product manager, and I was touched.

Beyond the kind words that were said about him, one fact that spoke volumes of him was the crowd that gathered. Not just the number of people, although that was impressive in its own right. What jumped out at me the most was the makeup of the group. There were so many people from different departments who came to celebrate with him. It was one of the first times I have seen that kind of audience at a one-year anniversary.

The specific group that impressed me with their attendance was our client success team. Many people in our product/technology department work with client success as little as possible. As they said themselves during the ceremony, they are often needy and demanding, reflecting the concerns of the clients they represent. We have a tendency to focus on the new and exciting, and have a harder time embracing the value of maintenance and enhancement, and those whose lives focus on maintenance are often perceived as less valuable.

I left the anniversary celebration inspired. I just passed my four-year mark, which does not have a formal ceremony. As I think about my five-year anniversary next year, I want to approach that with intentionality. Obviously, I cannot control who will choose to come or not. But the more people with whom I work and get close, the more diverse the audience can be. I have realized that the people with whom I work are some of the most important and valuable opportunities for learning and growth that I have. I hope that I can remember that over my next year, and throughout my career.

I loved this article from the Art of Manliness: Sunday Firesides: I Have Kids.

Then one day, for reasons unknown, I suddenly saw the open printer drawer not as an impertinent annoyance, but as the inescapable evidence of a simple fact: I have kids.   

I have kids, and kids inevitably come with some vexations. Yet they’re exactly what I want in my life, and a source of inexpressible joy. Because I have this privilege . . . I also have to accept its aggravations.

This is such an easy thing to forget and so important to remember. Our lives are not meant to be blissful, they are meant to be meaningful.

I thoroughly enjoyed the latest episode of Revisionist History from Malcolm Gladwell to celebrate Independence Day. He expanded the story of our nation’s independence, particularly the Boston Tea Party. Many of the Sons of Liberty were part of a smuggling organization providing tea to early colonialists that didn’t go through England, with the accompanying taxes.

I have to admit that framing them as drug lords defending their turf strikes me as a bit sensationalist. On the one hand, you have people trying to get their own legitimate products at a cheaper price by buying direct. On the other, people who are knowingly dealing in death and destruction. It’s hard for me to compare the two. I think the consequences of the drug in question matter a great deal to the morality of the issue. The fact that the early American patriots also protected their own business interests does not lessen their moral stand in my mind.

That being said, I love the additional perspective his research provided. I laughed out loud a number of times in listening to this episode. I am sharing a clip of one of my favorite segments to give you a taste. I highly recommend you listen to the whole episode. Here is an Overcast link: Tempest in a Teacup.

As much as I learn the skill of self-compassion, it is so far outside of my natural response that I still feel like an awkward novice.

I had a rough morning. In many ways, it wasn’t all that bad, but it rocked me a bit. I got up and rushed away from the family on my holiday for a therapy appointment, trying to be on time. When I arrived, I found that I had received a text from my therapist ten minutes before leaving asking if we could reschedule. She commented, “I know you hate unexpected changes, can this be an exposure to reschedule? 😂😬”

I actually had very little problem adjusting the plan and rescheduling with her. But I was so damn mad at myself for not looking at my phone before I left. Since I am rescheduling for tomorrow, I felt guilty that I will be taking a couple hours away from the kids and my wife in addition to the hour today in travel time.

I called my wife and told her what had happened. She comforted me and tried to challenge some of my thinking. “If you had texted your therapist an hour before your session saying you were ill and needed to reschedule and she didn’t see it and drove in anyway, would that be her fault? Or would it still be your fault, or no one’s fault?” I thought for a minute and replied it was somewhere in between my fault and no one’s fault. She chuckled and reminded me that a little self-compassion might help here.

In my treatment follow-up session a couple days ago, my other therapist reminded me of the steps of self-compassion:

1. Be kind to myself
2. Remember my common humanity
3. Be mindful of what I am feeling

As I thought about those steps, I felt a wave of comfort wash over me. I could tell myself, “It’s ok to be upset. It’s not wrong to be mad right now. This is hard for me, and doesn’t need to not be hard.” I felt able to acknowledge my part in this without beating myself up. We will just move forward and do the best we can with the next couple of days. Almost right on cue, my wife sent me more compassion in another text.

Love you. Sorry it’s hard. There is no right way to do things in this situation. So there’s no failure.

I wanted to record this experience so I can come back to it. I will certainly have a similar situation come up again. I hope that the more I practice, the more easily and naturally the instinct for self-compassion will come. We could all use a little more of that.

Life can quickly get overwhelming, and if you allow yourself to be paralyzed by waiting for perfection, you will miss out on many opportunities.

As I have finished my OCD treatment and returned back to normal everyday living, I have found myself writing less and less. Part of the issue is the natural hustle and bustle of life. But as I step back for some introspection, the brutal truth is that I have been avoiding it. I have been waiting to have something truly meaningful to say.

I need to stop waiting and start writing.

While I was in the middle of intensive treatment, it was clear to me that I was writing to benefit my mental health. But after graduating from treatment, I was taking less time to think about myself—how I was doing and how to improve. In many ways, that is a good thing. I am going to be happiest as I seek to make other people happy. But as in all things, a balance must be achieved.

Deep down, I know that part of what has held me back from writing more is the feeling of shouting into the void. There is not a large reader base waiting for me to publish again, and so the pressure is less than in other areas of my life. However, throughout the course of this year, I have learned that writing is a helpful exercise for me and my mind. I do not need an audience. I am my audience. The act of processing my thoughts sufficiently to express them is healthy and productive, and requires no other validation to be worthwhile. Hopefully I can remember that.

My impressions and reactions from the announcements this morning.

This was an exciting morning. I have the opportunity this week to be in San Jose with my team from work. Along with two other guys, I did not get WWDC tickets, so we are enjoying AltConf and Layers instead.

The thing that struck me most was the inclusion of SwiftUI in the keynote. I am thrilled that it exists, and I love that it got so much stage time. It felt like a portion of the State of the Union got picked up and plopped in a few hours earlier.

Announcing SwiftUI made this keynote feel like the most developer-focused event in years.

As a customer, I am even more thrilled with the iPadOS announcement. When I am not in Xcode, I prefer to be on my iPad Pro, and this will solidify that even more. When the SwiftUI demo was being shown, my first thought was that it looked very similar to Swift Playgrounds, and I have a not-so-secret hope to get Xcode on the iPad this year.

This will be an interesting week. There are so many positive changes I can tell are coming to impact our daily developer life, and I can’t wait to learn more about them.

A special episode recorded as part of my OCD treatment. Thoughts on my experience doing exposure treatment and how success is not the absence of failure, but rather progress.

Note: This episode contains strong language

Links

The OCD and Anxiety Treatment Center

Who is Fernando

My thoughts and feelings for my new one-way friend, Nora McInerny, after listening to every episode of Terrible, Thanks For Asking.

Dear Nora,

This is an odd letter to write. I feel like I’m writing to a close friend who doesn’t yet know that we are friends. Maybe I will start by explaining how our friendship began.

I had a mental breakdown that started last summer and culminated in a night at the hospital in January and nine weeks off work through March. It turns out that I have OCD, and I found a treatment center which has made a huge difference. During that journey, I found The Hilarious World of Depression which was a lifeline. From their website, I browsed other podcasts by APM and discovered yours. I first listened to Episode 65: Sad and Lucky, and was hooked. I downloaded all past episodes and made my way through them over the past couple months.

One interesting effect of listening to you so much over a short time is being gifted a new relationship. You and I are close in age, which has always been a bit sensitive for me. I have always felt too old for my age, and with six kids and one on the way, when people ask how old I am, I have to math it. It was helpful and freeing for me to hear you own your age so matter-of-factly. I recognize that I only see what you have chosen to share publicly, but it seems that you have been authentic and vulnerable in sharing your true self. You are the kind of funny that I always wished I could be—seemingly effortless and natural.

Thank you for normalizing and harboring strong emotions. It would have been easy to focus only on grief, but you have welcomed all sorts of experiences into the show and given permission for all sorts of people to feel their feelings. This has helped me in my own journey toward self-compassion and mindfulness. I added your podcast to my “Funny” playlist in Overcast along with THWoD, but there were some days when I wondered if it was healthy for me to be listening to TTFA. It wasn’t always funny—it was often extremely heavy. But I found that as I opened my heart to feel some of the terrible things other people have felt, it was more open to feel what I was feeling.

I imagine there are days when you question whether being so open and vulnerable and honest is worth it. You have taken parts of yourself that we typically hold in reserve and put them out for all to see. I want you to know what a difference that has made in my life. I see how you have taken a defining, transformative experience and turned it into a catalyst to touch other people. The more I heal and the further I progress in my own mental health journey, the more I feel a burning desire to help other people who have suffered like I have. I don’t know what my future holds, but I draw strength and inspiration from your example and I am filled with hope and excitement.

Hopefully one day I can meet you, give you a hug, and thank you in person for how you have affected me. Until then, I will continue to participate in our one-way friendship.

Your new (but unknown) friend,

Glitter and sparkle,
Spin and shine,
Throw rainbows on the wall.

Ridges and divots,
Towers and gashes
Comprise identifiable topography.

Infinitely unique,
Utterly alike,
Common in our individuality.

Awash in a sea of special souls,
Kicking and fighting to stay afloat.
Wishing to be noticed,
Hoping to stay hidden.

Lifted up on to the shore,
Left alone to contemplate:
All my quirks and gifts and flaws
Make me just like everybody else.

I loved this article from the Art of Manliness: Sunday Firesides: Marriage Isn’t a Game of Russian Roulette

But rather than being the kind of unmanageable risk found in Russian roulette, the risk of marriage is more like that of driving a car. While you can’t 100% eliminate the chance of a crash, nobody lets that stop them from getting behind the wheel every day. Because despite the risk, that mechanical vehicle, like the vehicle of marriage, will take you places you couldn’t otherwise go.

We can allow risk to inhibit us, or we can allow it to help us. When we notice that something feels risky, instead of shutting down, we should recognize that this is something that is more important to us. We need to step up and engage fully and make sure that we meet the risk head on.

Acknowledging and welcoming emotions, even painful ones, makes it possible to process and digest them in a healthy way.

I continue to have experiences that illustrate principles I am learning in my OCD treatment. I suppose that is due to the Baader–Meinhof effect. A skill we recently discussed is emotion regulation, which is essentially the ability to identify and process your emotions healthily. In the middle of learning about this, I had a situation that felt straight out of a textbook.

We had a meeting at work in which some news was shared that was difficult for me to handle. I asked a question, and was frustrated that the answers seemed to not align with what I really wanted to know. Later in the day, I was discussing the experience, and realized what was happening: I was angry. It struck me like a thunderclap. As soon as I realized that, a wave of anger and relief washed over me simultaneously. When I allowed myself to be angry, and validated that the experience was hard for me, I was relieved.

I had not realized that I was repressing my emotions until I stopped. I had been “shoulding” all over myself and invalidating my experience. I felt fear at making someone defensive, and so when they responded in a defensive way, I felt frustrated that they misunderstood me. In reality, it made sense that they were defensive, because I was upset at them for the situation. I was just denying that, even to myself.

Since that moment, I have continued to find that allowing myself to honestly acknowledge my emotions has permitted me to fully feel them, and then quickly move forward. I recognize that I will not always be able to do this successfully, but at least I know it is possible. It is a skill that I can improve with attention and practice. And so can you.

I loved this article from the Art of Manliness: Your Life Explained Through Dopamine.

The key is to toggle between these two sets of chemicals, as appropriate — allowing yourself to be satisfied, but never wholly so; content, and yet eager for continuous growth. You have to be able to enjoy the excitement of the conquest, and be able to hold onto what you secure.

Understanding the function of brain chemistry has been a huge part of the last few months for me. This precarious balance is crucial to master in order to find true happiness in life. One thing that I especially appreciate is the normalization of the ebb and flow. When we understand that force, we can work with it instead of fighting against it.

I announced that I was going to take a shower. Micah (age 6) got a glint in his eye and started running for the bathroom. I said, “Micah, I have a favor to ask of you.”

“Oh, come on!”

As I started getting ready, he said, “Dad, why don’t you want me to?” At this point, it is clear that he is understanding I don’t want him to dump cold water on me like every other day that I shower.

I answered, “Well, sometimes it’s kind of hard, you know?”

His solution was simple. “You could know I’m coming, and so you could turn your back. That way it doesn’t get on you-know-what.”

The Calm app impressed me this weekend when I broke my streak.

I posted recently about my 90 day meditation streak. Last weekend, I missed my meditation on Saturday, which I realized Sunday. Part of my OCD is an obsession for streaks, so when I found that I blew my 90+ day streak, I felt my stomach drop out of my body.

Part of me wanted to not even meditate on Sunday. “What was the point? I already blew it,” my mind tried to convince me. My wife pointed out that I still had the advantage of everything I learned in those 94 days—I did not lose that by breaking the streak.

Almost out of necessity, I took a few minutes out to meditate. When I finished, I expected the app to say something that would feel shaming because I had failed. I was pleasantly surprised to find positive encouragement instead.

Rather than seeing that I now had a streak of one day, I saw that I had 95 mindful days.

That simple choice by a product manager or designer on the Calm app team made a significant difference for me. It was a needed emotional boost on a difficult day. Whereas I had been nearly despondent at losing my streak, I became encouraged. I was reminded how much I had accomplished and not allowed to wallow in my disappointment.

This is a lesson I hope to remember. Whether for myself or others, I want to emphasize what truly matters.

A central tenet of dialectical behavioral therapy became my reality recently; I was able to embrace two apparently contradictory realities.

The first weekend of April was General Conference in the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. It is essentially ten hours of sermons spread over five different two-hour sessions. That has always been a weekend that I have anticipated and enjoyed. It occurs every April and October, and so this was the first conference since I learned that I have OCD. Last October, I was still in the discovery phase, and did not know what I was dealing with.

A big part of my diagnosis is dealing with black-and-white thinking. I struggle to see a spectrum, and view the world through binary glasses. As I mentioned in my coming out story, my family and religious culture growing up fed in to my black-and-thinking, and reinforced my notion of decisions being moral and absolute. I was always following either Satan or the Savior. This is something I have discussed at length with my therapist, who is of my same faith. When I complained to her about the reinforcement that I felt I received, she told me that most people who heard the same thing did not feel the same distress, and instead found it helpful to guide them as they made moral choices. The problem is not the emphasis on righteous choices, but the fact that OCD twists those teachings to mean something different to my mind.

Even with all of that context and preparation, I was taken off-guard with how challenging it was for me to listen to the conference talks. They are addressed to a diverse worldwide audience. I had not realized that I was having a hard time until my sister messaged me Saturday evening and asked how I was doing. When I paused to consider, I found that I was feeling overwhelmed. My sister asked if I was overwhelmed from conference or from normal family chaos. Again, I had to stop to think and found that it was a bit of both. There were a few talks that were especially challenging for me. I left things there that night and did not think about it much.

The next morning, I asked a couple of my kids which talk was their favorite from the previous day. I had a learning moment when my son shared that his favorite talk was precisely the one that I found the most challenging. It was a great reminder to me that most people are not going to hear the same difficult messages that I do, and will instead find hope and encouragement. Before the sessions started up again, I took a few minutes to write in my journal to process my feelings. I wanted to share an epiphany that I had.

I wanted to take a minute and try to shine some light on and reveal exactly what it was that was so hard for me yesterday. The talk that struck me as painful reinforced some of my black and white thinking around right and wrong. It seemed to say to me that I was not doing enough, or well enough, and need to be better. The thing is — that is true. I do need to do better. But I need to allow two seemingly contradictory thoughts to co-exist in my mind. I am good enough, and valuable just as I am today and I need to be and do better. In many ways, President Nelson’s talk about the importance of repentance could have been hard for me but wasn’t. Somehow, I was able to feel both feelings at the same time. I am lovable and loved right now, and I also need to and can improve and become more like Christ.

That dichotomy is from God. Feeling either of those feelings alone without the balancing effect of the other is not what God wants me to feel. That is Fernando, or even Satan himself, wants for me. The more I get to know Fernando, and how his voice sounds and feels, the more easily I will be able to detect his lopsided arguments. It is not that what he says is always untrue — it is just incomplete. God has more for me.

I felt an overwhelming sensation of peace and comfort as I wrote those words. I knew that God did not want me to feel shame and despair, but rather hope and encouragement. I was surprised when a talk was hard for me again later on Sunday. I thought to myself, “I already processed this, and it shouldn’t be hard anymore.” It was a good reminder that this is an ongoing process, and highly uncertain.

I know now that this realization does not guarantee that I will never struggle again. I will continue to see the world in black and white, and will need to pause and confront the distortions. Even more importantly, I need to cultivate the skill of holding two opposite truths and allowing them to co-exist in my mind. Life is messy, and usually non-binary. That is a struggle for me, but I am coming to accept it.

A reflection on my daily meditation habit over the last three months.

My journey

Sunday, January 13 was what I hoped would be rock bottom for my mental health; I had three panic attacks and some suicidal ideation. I was tired of the struggle and the burden I felt I was on everyone else, especially my wife. Monday, January 14, I went to work with an overnight bag. I left work in the afternoon and drove to the nearest hospital with a psych ward, called my wife to let her know what I was doing, and then admitted myself for the night. The psychiatrist asked if I would be safe if I went home, and I replied that I would because my wife was there, but I was done putting it all on her, and I did not feel safe being on my own. I stayed one night, and then drove home and slept 12 hours the next night.

On Wednesday, January 16, I had a meeting with the VP of People & Great Work (HR). Unexpectedly, I told her about my condition and situation. She was kind and supportive and I felt encouraged to keep going. That night, I had a hard time falling asleep. I decided to research which meditation app would be the right fit for me. When I was at the hospital, the psychiatrist recommended that I start meditating regularly, which I had never done before. After some research, I landed on Calm, and that night I fell asleep to Stephen Fry reading a story about fields of lavender.

Since that day, I have done some kind of meditation using the Calm app every single day. A week or so ago, I realized that I had not done my daily meditation and was at risk of breaking my 80+ day streak. It is a good thing for my brain to sit with the distress of breaking a rule that it has created for me, and I almost went to bed without doing anything to intentionally break the streak. Instead, I introduced some uncertainty. I listened to a “Sleep Story” to fall asleep that night, not knowing if that would count to continue my streak or not. It did, so my streak is alive and well. This is a streak that I am more comfortable with than most because it is not so much something that I must do every day, as something that I want to do every day. If I miss a day and break the streak, I will be sad, and I will certainly feel some distress (I feel some just writing about the possibility!), but I will not be crushed.

Lessons learned

The biggest skill that I have gained from meditation is gentleness. Because I have 90 days of Tamara Levitt playing in my head, encouraging me to return to the breath without judgment, when something comes up that would inspire judgment and harsh feelings, I have a sound bite to play to encourage me to be gentle with myself.

I have learned to accept the impermanence of experiences, particularly emotions. It is much easier to sit with an emotion when you know at a deep level that it will not last forever. This allows you to fully enjoy positive emotions, and not shy away from painful ones. I still have further to go on this road, but as my emotional self learns to trust that nothing will last forever, I am not as reliant on my intellectual self to make a rational pitch.

My 2019 goals are to 1) be intentional, 2) be present, and 3) be curious. A daily meditation practice has helped with all three of these, but especially with being present. I have found myself trying to focus in the shower on the sensations of the water hitting my body, the feel of the steam, and the smell of shampoo, instead of planning for the day. I still feel like an awkward novice, but I am at least more aware of the opportunities to practice.

As I continue to learn to accept the present moment as it is, I find myself better able to shed expectations and the distress that often accompanies them. Instead, I am able to approach situations with curiosity. Not what should happen right now, but what is happening right now?

Finally, I feel that this practice has helped me to be more able to learn from my experiences. Often, we say that hindsight is 20/20 — we only understand the lessons that life offers us through reflection. As I build the skill of reflecting on the present moment, I gain the ability to notice and learn immediately. Much of my work over the past few months of treating my OCD is getting to know myself, and I am thrilled with the idea of speeding that process up.

Meditation may or may not be the answer in your quest for mindfulness. I have found it to be valuable in my life, and have already seen great benefits from increased mindfulness. I hope that you might as well.

An exploration of a template I am creating for reviews of books I read.

In 2019, I have read 15 books. And yet, I have not shared any meaningful thoughts on those books. I recently finished Keep Going, by Austin Kleon, and Patrick Rhone asked my thoughts on it. I answered him, but realized I would have rather pointed him to a thoughtful review of the book. I want to push myself to be less passive, especially with content that I consume.

One help for creativity is to set limits. I wanted to create a template for book reviews, to give myself a few sections to complete. Having a template is a framework that I used previously in my daily journal entries. I haven’t done that for a while, but it seemed a great fit for books.

Template

Introduction/overview

A short, untitled section with my overall thoughts on the book. Essentially a micropost.

Summary

A synopsis of the plot or main points. Ideally spoiler-free.

Praise

My favorite parts of the book, or areas I consider objective strengths.

Criticism

At least one thing I think could be improved.

Quotes

One or more of my favorite quotes pulled from the text.

Recommendation

👍 or 👎, with a brief explanation.

Wrap-up

I have a hard time saying something negative about the creative output of another person. On the other hand, the feedback that I value the most about my own work is clear identification of opportunities for improvement. I am hoping that providing more nuance and context will allow me to think more critically of the books I read and form a more balanced perspective.

I would love to hear suggestions to improve my book review format. The main purpose of the reviews is to push me to think more about the content I consume, but I also hope that my thoughts can be helpful to others. If there are sections you would like to see added or omitted, let me know. You can reach me on Micro.blog as @bennorris, or email me at ben@bennorris.org. Thanks.

Thoughts on the book On Writing, by Stephen King, and how it has affected my writing workflow.

Links

On Writing

Final post from editing example image: 🌀 Not a comedian

🌀 My 2019 Goals

I loved this article from the Art of Manliness: Sunday Firesides: You Are Not Responsible for Other People’s Feelings

But when your decision doesn’t carry moral import, and you make it with all the politeness and respect possible, then you’re not responsible for how the other person deals with your choice. Whether they deal with it resiliently or not, rationally or not, generously or not, is up to them. You cannot control their reaction. And you cannot make your own decisions based on their expected response.

Coming to terms with unnecessary and unhealthy guilt has been a huge part of my mental health recovery process. It is vital to learn how to correctly identify your areas of responsibility and neither shirk nor stretch them.

My thoughts on and appreciation for the delightful podcast, The Hilarious World of Depression.

To John Moe and co.,

Thank you. The work you have done in creating and continuing THWoD is truly life-changing. I began dealing with mental health issues in the summer of 2018. I browsed the podcast directory in Overcast looking for comedy shows, and stumbled upon THWoD. Great job on the name by the way. I was drawn in, and all of my many recommendations have been met with a smile at hearing the name.

As I listened to guests share their stories with mental illness, I found validation. As you have mentioned many times, one of the problems with mental illness is that it convinces you that are you alone, a freak, an aberration. Hearing that others felt the same gave me a new level of self-compassion.

The more I listened and progressed in my journey, the more I wanted to share. I finally had the courage to write my own coming out story with mental illness. I found the fear my brain fed me at sharing the personal details of my life was a lie. I received an outpouring of love and compassion, and many people shared their mental health struggles with me.

I recently returned to work after a couple months off for a medical leave of absence. I have tried to share personal details of my struggles with people who ask why I was out. And I have found that those conversations result in the most meaningful and authentic bonding experiences I have had at work.

THWoD continues to be a major part of my life. I tell almost everyone it is my favorite podcast right now. My kids were intrigued and perplexed when I told them about it. “Uh, Dad, I don’t think depression is very hilarious…”

It is clear this is a labor of love. You truly care about what you are creating and the impact it has in the world. John, I’m sure that it takes a toll on you to invest yourself in connecting with the darkest parts of people’s lives. I want you to know what a difference the show has made for me.

Here are some of my favorite moments:

• Learning that good psychiatrists exist and are worth finding
• Discovering Fernando, my very own “Steve”
• Connecting with John Green and knowing he shared my diagnosis of OCD well before it came out in the interview
• Realizing how asinine it is to believe we do our best work while mentally tortured
• Accepting myself as I am without being a comedian
• Finishing all back episodes

Thank you again, and I wish you all the best as you continue your own mental health journey.

It’s ok that I’m not that funny. Just because I’ve listened to comedians on THWoD doesn’t mean I have to be one.

I’ve mentioned a few times, and will again, that my current favorite podcast is The Hilarious World of Depression. Many of the guests have been comedians and have talked about dealing with their mental health through comedy.

The more I listened to comedians grappling with their mental health, the more I thought I should become a comedian too. I even told my wife that was my new life plan—to do stand-up comedy. It seemed like the logical next step. There was only one problem.

I’m not that funny.

I can get some laughs occasionally. I teach at a programming boot camp, and I often say something that is funny enough for the students to laugh. And that feeling! When I say something that connects with people, something inside me is filled I didn’t know was empty.

At the same time, I recognize that I am not naturally funny. My wife is, however. Without much effort, she says and writes things that make people laugh. As a child, I was never particularly funny. I knew people who were, but I was never comfortable enough with myself for that kind of attention.

This doesn’t mean I won’t ever try stand-up. I’m intrigued by improv. There seem to be many associated benefits, and it is scary enough that I think I should give it a go.

The key has been coming to terms with myself as I am now and being content with that. I don’t have to reinvent myself. I also don’t need to hold myself back from exploring desires or dreams that I have. If I want to pursue comedy, I can. But I don’t have to in order to be happy with who I am. I am valuable just as I am right now.

A few thoughts on the process and effects of writing my first series, “What mental illness feels like.”

As I shared in the conclusion of my overview of my series on mental illness, this was a learning exercise for me. This topic had been on my mind for a couple months. Part of the reason was to better understand my own experiences. In that sense, it was a resounding success.

Another big part of me hopes that this series can be helpful to someone. As I wrote a couple weeks ago, I have come to realize that I belong to a special society of sufferers, and our membership numbers at least in the millions. There are so many people who are struggling to cope with crushing despair at learning they have a mental illness. Amidst that despair is also hope. We can learn to live well, even with mental illness as our companion.

Part of the power of fright is the risk of the unknown. When a topic becomes off-limits to discuss or even consider, it gains influence and momentum in our lives. We need to tear open the shutters and let in some daylight to see what we are actually facing. Mental illness festers and strengthens in darkness. When we reveal it for what it really is, we come to see that, yes, it is scary, but it is also faceable. Just as the prophet-poet Isaiah said of the devil,

All they shall speak and say unto thee, Art thou also become weak as we? art thou become like unto us? How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning! how art thou cut down to the ground, which didst weaken the nations! They that see thee shall narrowly look upon thee, and consider thee, saying, Is this the man that made the earth to tremble, that did shake kingdoms; That made the world as a wilderness, and destroyed the cities thereof?

Isaiah 14:10,12,16-17

As we become more comfortable talking about uncomfortable things, those topics can metamorphose. We will probably continue to handle them gently, but we can handle them. One of the first skills that mental illness often steals is that of self-compassion. And so we need to borrow and learn compassion from others.

I loved the experience of exploring a topic in great depth over a series of posts, and look forward to the opportunity to do it again. In the meantime, I plan to continue posting regularly about mental health (💮), as well as other thoughts and feelings I have. I would be thrilled to hear from you with suggestions for future series, or thoughts on what has been helpful for you, or just about anything else. You can reach me on Micro.blog as @bennorris, or email me at ben@bennorris.org.

Having intrusive thoughts come in my mind is like having a terrible friend who keeps suggesting that I do ridiculous things. It can be hard at times to know who is speaking, but the more I get to know this friend, the better I can detect his voice.

Note: This is part of an ongoing series on what mental illness feels like for me. Read the introduction and associated disclaimers here.

I have lived with intrusive thoughts for most of my life. As I have learned more about mental illness, and specifically my diagnosis of OCD, I have come to realize that these intrusive thoughts are not normal. While most people will have bizarre thoughts come into their minds, they are usually able to shrug the thoughts off as strange and move on with their lives. For me, the thoughts are more persistent and visceral and often require great effort to resist.

Jumping for attention

There is a story from my youth that is both funny and sad, as so many things are. I am able to look back on it and laugh, even while I can see and feel the sorrow and pain it represented.

When I was in middle school, I decided that girls would like me more, or would at least give me more sympathy, if I was in a wheelchair. I came to the conclusion that I needed to break both legs for that to happen. I played the tuba in band, and I made plans to put my legs on the arm of the couch and smash the tuba through each of my shins. I remember so clearly thinking that the only hard thing would be doing the second leg after the first. I did not really consider how hard it would to come up with an explanation for the freak accident. I was the oldest child, and I asked my younger siblings what they would do if something happened to me while I was babysitting, and made sure they knew to call an ambulance.

I finally decided that the tuba was not the best option, and that instead I should jump off the roof. I thought and thought about it until I finally decided to act one day. I climbed up on the roof and jumped down to the ground while my younger siblings watched. The problem was, I could not force myself to keep my legs straight. I kept cushioning the impact. So I tried a number of times. I got it in my head that it would work better in the front yard instead of the back, so I moved there. The neighbors saw me and told my parents, and I got in big trouble. Somehow that story spread throughout my extended family, and I still get teased at times when we all get together for jumping off the roof. And I have to admit, it is pretty funny in a way.

Superpowers

Fortunately, my recent examples that involve violence to myself have all stayed at the thought stage. I have been able to resist them. I remember a few weeks ago going for a walk around the track on the upper floor of the local rec center. While I was walking, I had the clear thought come that I should jump over the railing down to the basketball courts below.

There was a big difference between my urge to jump as a teenager to get attention in a wheelchair, and my urge to jump off the track. This time, I saw myself jumping off and grabbing on to the back of a basketball hoop, and jumping horizontally between the backboard and the railing and the wall as I made my way down to the floor. It was so clear that I would be able to move just like Spider-Man.

Finding a name

The Hilarious World of Depression is one of my favorite podcasts lately. There was an episode where they asked listeners to describe ways in which they imagined their depression. One woman said that she given a name to her depression: Steve. This makes it much easier to respond to difficult thoughts, “No, Steve! That’s a ridiculous, horrible idea.” ¹

While I was on a trip recently with my brother in Mexico, I was telling him about Steve, and that I had been thinking of something similar, but did not have a name yet. He suggested Fernando (make sure to roll and exaggerate the “r” and try for a good Mexican accent), and I laughed out loud. It felt like the perfect name because every time I say it or think it, I chuckle a little.

When my brother suggested the name, we were walking around the San Carlos bay, on the edge of the pier. It was so timely to get a name for my intrusive thoughts. I told him that I knew it was right, because I was using it that very moment. “No, Fernando, I should not push my brother into the water. That is a horrible idea!” He laughed and laughed and was glad that I was resisting that particularly intrusive thought.

Don’t feed the bears

One of the challenges of having intrusive thoughts is that they are often reprehensible and cause a powerful reaction. If I am not careful, the way in which I respond to them strengthens the power that they have over my mind. I am learning to be more mindful as they come; notice them, acknowledge them, and then realize that I do not have to feed them. I can just turn away and keep living my life.

Dealing with OCD is similar to how I imagine the Master’s experience in Dr. Who. The sound of drums is always present, although they may be soft at times and deafening at others.

Note: This is part of an ongoing series on what mental illness feels like for me. Read the introduction and associated disclaimers here.

In many ways, obsessive-compulsive disorder is the root of all of my mental illness, and is a topic that I expect to revisit many times. When I wrote my coming out story, I identified myself as someone with OCD. This does not define me, but it is also an integral part of who I am. I have mentioned previously that I am undergoing treatment at the OCD & Anxiety Treatment Center, which has been a fantastic experience. I wanted to capture some of my thoughts around my OCD near the beginning of my treatment, as I am sure that my perspective will change over time.

Buying a bag

A recent example serves as a good illustration of how I view my OCD, and the effect it has on me. A couple months ago, I wrote “Splurging on Patagonia gear”, in which I described my experience revamping my wardrobe. Part of the impetus of that change was considering traveling and wanting to be able to travel even lighter. I took a trip with my brother down to Mexico, and packed everything in a 21L backpack from Minaal, which I loved. But while I was there, I wished at times to have a larger bag to just throw things in as I changed rooms, or to transport without packing everything carefully. I found a bag online that looked like the ideal fit for me: the Patagonia Lightweight Black Hole® Duffel 30L.

I have a real weakness for bags in general, and especially bags that can become small and pack in on themselves. This seemed perfect because it could be extremely small, even to where I thought I could fit it in my backpack when it was collapsed.

When I returned from my trip to Mexico, this bag started to dominate my thoughts. I had already considered it for hours, finding the right bag online and looking at the specs and watching the product videos. Part of my issue was that I had no travel plans in the near future, so there was not really a reason to get the bag anytime soon. But it would not leave my mind. On some days, I would think about it occasionally, and on other days, I had a hard time thinking of anything else. If my mind was not actively engaged in something, it would slip back to this bag.

Part of the struggle was that I had a plan to buy it. After shopping at REI, I had a members coupon to redeem at a certain date. I decided to use that to buy my bag when the time came. But on the day my coupon became valid, I found that they did not carry the bag I wanted. So for three days or so, I agonized over what to do. Finally, I decided that I had suffered long enough and I wanted relief and I ordered the bag straight from Patagonia. When it arrived, I found that it was actually bigger than I expected, and I am not sure if it will fit in my backpack. But I have already used it a couple of times and feel no buyer’s remorse.

Everyday OCD

The example with the bag is a little dramatic, and one that lasted much longer than most of my obsessions. My more nuanced diagnosis is Scrupulosity OCD, which feels like a fancy word for perfectionism. In many cases, including mine, scrupulosity includes a religious component, where your mind is convinced that you are offending God through many of your actions.

One of the real challenges with having this diagnosis is that it does not look like media-portrayed OCD. I do not have to flip the lights on and off a certain number of times, or wash my hands constantly throughout the day. (Although, to be honest, if I get something on my hands, I am often paralyzed and hold them suspended in front of me until I can wash so that I do not destroy anything.) What made this hard was that a number of mental health professionals with whom I met told me that I did not have OCD. One thing my brain craves is certainty, and so to not even know my diagnosis was excruciating.

In practical terms, my OCD most often manifests with my family. I spent my whole childhood anticipating two things: serving a religious service mission for my church, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and becoming a father. I read books and articles and prepared constantly. When I became a father, I found it was very different than I had imagined. The biggest difference was that I was not perfect at it. I frequently lost my temper, or failed to live up to some unrealistic ideal I had created for myself. And as a result, I would constantly punish myself emotionally. One time when we had three children, ages five, three, and two, I wrote in my journal that while I had sired children, I had yet to become a true father.

Over the course of the summer of 2018, my symptoms escalated to the point where I realized that I needed to seek help. This manifested most clearly in interactions with my wife, and sometimes my children. My emotions were very close to the surface, and when I perceived that I was failing, or disappointing them, it would often trigger a physical panic attack. It escalated to the point where I admitted myself to the hospital for a night. It was as if the drums had finally become too loud and too persistent to handle.

Fortunately, through medication and treatment, I am beginning to experience relief from my symptoms. I am learning what it will mean to live with OCD for the rest of my life. There are days when that realization is a crushing blow. But then I remember that I have already been living with it for practically my whole life. Now I will finally have some tools to manage it.