While there are cases in which the output of an activity matters a great deal, in much of life the infinitesimal changes that occur in you matter even more.

My therapist suggested a few weeks that I adopt a daily practice of writing Morning Pages to help clear my mind and get in touch with the emotions I am holding in my body. As I was talking about it with my wife, she suggested that I use loose-leaf lined pages, mostly because I hate lined paper. That would help transform the act of writing my morning pages to be more of an exposure, which is always helpful in my ongoing struggles with OCD. To increase the effectiveness of the exposure, I further decided that I would throw the pages away each day.

I have a hard time throwing things away, especially writing. Throughout the years, I have often taken copious notes, and rarely reviewed them. After every therapy session, I would immediately sit down in my car and write an outline of what we discussed. I finally realized one day that the urge to write these things down and keep them comes from the fear of losing or forgetting something that is important. I discussed the issue with my therapist, and she kind of laughed. She commented that she would have stopped me if I ever tried to take notes during a session. The important thing for me is not to perfectly recall everything that we discuss, but rather to internalize one or two major takeaways.

The first few days that I wrote my morning pages, I felt a little surge of panic as I threw them away. I slowly habituated to the perceived destruction of important information, and my brain settled down. As I did, I noticed an interesting phenomenon. Knowing that I was not going to keep the pages freed me up to write more things. I allowed myself to express whatever was going through my mind, without worrying about whether it would be valuable later or not. As I quieted the inner editor that is constantly at work, I found myself getting in better touch with my emotions. I would often just create a prompt for myself, and write, “Right now I feel” and write whatever word came to mind.

Through this process, I realized an important lesson. The process of change that occurs as I write out my emotions and thoughts matters so much more than the output I create. This is true in so many areas of life. As we interact with each other, we are constantly changing each other. We are the result of all of those tiny changes. If we want to be different than we are now, we merely need to repeatedly expose ourselves to different situations and influences.

Whether you struggle with OCD or not, I imagine at times you feel the twinge of panic that you are losing something vital. Hopefully this lesson can help you, and me, to remember what really matters more. The kind of person we become is almost always of infinitely more importance than the artifacts we create.

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.

💮 I finished my series “What mental illness feels like” today, and posted an updated conclusion. This has been my best writing—maybe not the most well-written, but the most vulnerable and therapeutic. I hope it helps others face the horror of mental illness with less fear.

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.

Mental panic attacks are the scarier version for me because they seem to come from nowhere. Often, my mind starts buzzing and filling up, even resembling the ESPN app multicast feature. Multiple streams are playing simultaneously, but only one has audio.

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

As I wrote before, I differentiate mental panic attacks from the more common variety I experience, physical panic attacks. In a physical panic attack, I am usually triggered as a result of intense emotions, and I can feel it building to some extent, or at least notice warning signs. Mental panic attacks seem to strike out of the blue, and thus are more uncertain and terrifying to me.

First episode

Even though I described them as being like an ESPN multicast in the introduction, it is not always this case for me. The first mental panic attack I experienced occurred while out on a walk with no headphones. I had been walking on a regular basis throughout the summer and fall last year, and one morning at the end of October, I was having trouble with my AirPods, so I just went walking without anything to listen to. As I neared the one mile point, I started to think that I needed to talk with my psychiatrist because my medications were not working out well. I am still not sure where my mind went, but I had the distinct thought, “I am not ok.” I decided to turn around and get straight home, even though I had planned for my walk to be longer.

Even later that morning, I could not remember the content of what was playing in my mind. I got to the point where the voices were shouting, and I felt completely overwhelmed. I wished that I had brought my headphones so that I would not be alone with my thoughts. I began to sing church hymns to myself as I walked, and one verse in particular stuck with me:

When dark clouds of trouble hang o’er us
And threaten our peace to destroy,
There is hope smiling brightly before us,
And we know that deliv’rance is nigh.
We doubt not the Lord nor his goodness.
We’ve proved him in days that are past.

We Thank Thee, O God, for a Prophet

I sang that over and over to myself until I got home and immediately crawled back in bed. My wife asked if I was ok, and my response was, “Not really.” She then asked if I could tell her about it, to which I replied, “Not yet.” She gave me a couple minutes and then told me she was scared and asked if I had gotten hurt or if I was having suicidal thoughts. I told her “No” and she just curled up to me and held me so I could fall asleep. A few hours later, she came back down and asked if I would let her in, and I was able to tell her about what had happened.

Multicast mode

One of my next mental panic attacks happened a couple months ago. I got up early one morning, and was getting ready to go to the temple. I could not find the right clothes, and started to get stressed and sat down in our closet. This is from my journal that day:

After a couple minutes, I reached up and grabbed my robe, turned out the light, and used it as a pillow to lay down for a bit. As I was laying there, I found that my mind started going like crazy. I had a few different trains of thought going loudly at the same time, and started picturing them like the ESPN app with multiple games at once. I started with two going on, and progressed to four happening all simultaneously. In the app, you can choose which one has audio at any time, but you can watch them all at once. That’s exactly how it felt. Then I heard some of the kids get up, and felt the stress that inevitably comes from them starting to get after each other. Luckily, I feel asleep.

Looking ahead

There are some similarities for me between physical and mental panic attacks. In both cases, I get to a point where I am overwhelmed by the sensations and cannot continue normally. They both exhaust me to the point where I need some recovery. They are both terrifying because I lose control of part of my body. And fortunately, the frequency of both is decreasing as I learn to manage my OCD more effectively.

I prefer to watch a single game at a time, whether in the ESPN app, or among the thought trains of my mind. That is not always my reality, and I am learning to not be so afraid when things do not go as I expect or intend. Moving forward, I may continue to experience mental panic attacks, but my goal is to step into them instead of recoiling and assuming the fetal position. Much of life is hard and scary, including my own mind at times. I am beginning to accept that.

The best analogy I have found for physical panic attacks is the Obscurus discovered by Newt Scamander. It sits dormant inside of me, ready to burst out and wreak havoc and destruction at any time.

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 had a number of panic attacks over the past few months. There are two different flavors, or types, that I have experienced. I will cover the second type, mental panic attacks, in a later post. I think of first type as physical panic attacks. During one of those, I become physically debilitated, and essentially lose control of my faculties for a time. These are usually short in duration, typically one to three minutes or so, and then the recovery can be anywhere from half an hour to an hour.

As I have worked through the beginning of treatment at the OCD & Anxiety Treatment Center, I have found out that I do not meet the criteria for panic disorder. That means that my panic attacks are a function of my OCD, which also means that as I work on managing my OCD, I have a good chance that my panic attacks will decrease in frequency and severity.

In the movie Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, we were introduced to the Obscurus creature, and its host, the Obscurial. When I watched the movie, I was struck by the similarities between Credence losing control of his Obscurus, and my experience of a physical panic attack. Physical panic attacks have always come as a result of a heightened and flooded emotional state. Often, I am dropped to the ground, even forcibly, so that I end up with bruises on my arms and knees. My breathing becomes rapid and shallow, and sometimes I am left screaming. I am usually overcome with a physical sensation of pressure and tightness. I clutch my arms and squeeze and feel as if I am holding on for dear life. When it passes, I am left completely weak, in mind and body. I feel totally exhausted.

On the Harry Potter Fandom site, we read:

An Obscurus was the manifestation of the repressed energy of a magical child (known as an Obscurial). Described as a “dark” and “parasitic” force, an Obscurus was created when the child in question consciously attempted to repress their talent or were forced to do so through physical or psychological abuse. This energy could manifest itself as a separate entity that can erupt in violent, destructive fury.

This further solidified the connection for me. The energy inside me that bursts out during a panic attack feels just like a separate, violent, destructive entity. I often feel like I am repressing it and pushing it back down inside me. The more I fear it, the more power it has over me.

Unfortunately, most of my panic attacks have occurred at home with my family. I have made sense of this as I learn what triggers them, and come to a greater understanding of the distortions in my brain surrounding my family. I often feel a deep sense of failure when I do not live up to my unrealistic and idealistic expectations of myself. I project a lot of disappointment on others toward myself, especially on my wife. This means that at times, I can be a difficult person to live with. In a household of six children, there are ample opportunities for patience to be stretched thin, and for me to make choices that are not in line with perfect parenting. This is particularly challenging when those choices can lead me to an emotional outburst and physical panic attack.

I do not know what the future of the Fantastic Beasts movies holds, and how things will go with Credence. I would like to think that he will learn how to control his Obscurus more so that he is able to live his life. That is how I see myself moving forward as well.

There will always (at least it feels like always at this point) be an undercurrent of risk that the beast inside of me could awaken and leave me writhing on the floor. But as I get to know it better, it loses some of its potency. And as I learn to manage my OCD more effectively, hopefully I will experience fewer and fewer attacks.

When depression is weighing me down, I feel like I am staring down the dark pit Rey faces on the island of Ahch-To.

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

Early in my experience with mental illness in the summer of 2018, I was trying to explain how I was feeling to my wife. I had the idea to show her a clip from Star Wars: The Last Jedi. The first time Rey learned from Luke Skywalker about the Force, she saw various aspects of the island, and the balance that existed. She saw the pit on the island, and sensed the great darkness it represented. For a few seconds, her perspective was poised over the pit, looking down into the depths as it looked larger and larger.

My diagnosis does not include clinical depression. So when I speak of my experience with depression, it is in the context of depression associated with OCD and anxiety. Many mental illnesses are related—feeling anxious leads you to a mental state that is discouraging and feels depressive.

With that disclaimer, I will state that I have felt the crushing effects of depression. There have been many days since I started to grapple with these issues that I have felt that I was floating in the air above that dark pit, ready to plunge down at any moment.

Most of the time that I recognize the pit in my mind, it is accompanied with feelings of hopelessness. When I am staring down into the darkness, it feels like it will never end. My mind revolves around the darkness, and starts telling me that there is no light at the end, and I will never escape these feelings. Those are dark days.

In the movie, the scene climaxes with a huge fountain of water spurting up through the pit like a geyser and Rey collapsing on the rocks. This seems like it would be the perfect end to one of my depressive episodes. No matter what, I know that I am going to be exhausted, and left gasping for air, either physically or mentally. But to have the sweet cleansing rush of water course through the last bits of my mind feels like the best possible outcome.

This cleansing purge is not always what comes to me at the end of a depressive episode. When it does come, it is often in the form of writing. I am able to process the overwhelming thoughts and feelings I am having through getting them out on the page. As I write, and read what I have written, I am able to identify destructive patterns and distorted thoughts that I can confront with compassion and truth. The reality is that things are rarely as bleak as my mind sees them. And nearly always they are more nuanced. I have a tendency to see everything in black and white, and the more that I can see in between two extremes, the healthier my mind can be.

The most important thing for me to remember is that any episodes, or even days, in which I am staring down the pit will come to an end. The darkness does not last forever. If you find yourself floating above a fictitious island, looking down in a dark pit, remind yourself that this, too, shall pass.

Anxiety for me is like the arc reactor, as shown in Iron Man 2. At times, it pulses and the energy it emits ebbs and flows. But it is always spreading poison throughout my body.

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

As I wrote about in my coming out story, I only became aware that I was affected by mental illness in the summer of 2018. One of the first physical symptoms that I noticed was a burning in my chest. I remember so clearly the day when I realized it was present. My wife had arranged for us to have a nice date together, and we went to the carnival for the night. We had a lovely evening. I had started therapy by that point, and when I realized that there was a sensation in my chest, I felt almost betrayed by it. My thinking was that because I was in therapy and I was working to make things better, I shouldn’t be feeling this now. It felt like I was doing worse than before starting therapy. I chuckled at myself with my wife, and came to the conclusion that the feeling had been in my chest for a long time, but I had learned to ignore it. I felt worse now because I was finally becoming aware of how I was actually feeling.

Since that time, I have noticed the same burning sensation come and go. In religious terms, sometimes you hear of a “burning in the bosom” which is not what I was experiencing. I struggled for a long time to find the right analogy to help me to understand the feeling I was having. Finally, I watched Iron Man 2 again, and saw the early arc reactor. In the movie, this is the device that gives Iron Man his power, but it is also killing him as he uses it because it is spreading poison throughout his body. It hit me that this was nearly the exact way in which I experienced anxiety. The analogy breaks down if taken too far, with the most glaring discrepancy being that I do not believe I derive my power from my anxiety.

Having a mental image to associate with the feeling that was sitting in my chest made it a little less scary. Instead of having a small monster inside my chest writhing and clawing to get out, there was just a small, powerful disc of energy. The disc would glow and pulsate at times, and the feeling would be stronger, and at other times it would lie dormant. But since I noticed it that day in the carnival, there has not been a single day without it.

The poisonous aspect resonated with me as well. When the arc reactor is powered up and emitting energy the most strongly, it is causing physical harm and side effects. The same thing happens for me. When my anxiety flares up, it often has immediate physical symptoms. I will write more about the most of extreme of those separately in How physical panic attacks feel. But long before the panic strikes, my body is noticeably affected. My heart starts to race, and my breath gets more shallow, as if my chest is not capable of expanding fully. My judgment begins to be impaired, and my temper shortens. Sounds startle me much more easily. Patience wanes, and I feel as if I am losing some control of my executive functions. In many ways, this is easy to understand or explain, especially after listing a number of the symptoms. This is what happens when your brain gets in a fight-or-flight mindset, which is exactly what is happening. I am being flooded with adrenaline, and responding to threats that I perceive.

Learning to live with this anxiety reactor is remarkably similar to Tony Stark’s work. Left unchecked, this is going to cause serious damage to me and my life. In Tony’s case, he had to invent a completely new element to create another model of the arc reactor. I am unlikely to build a centrifuge in my basement and synthesize an element, but I am finding ways to adjust the arc reactor with which I will keep living. One of the reasons that my brain goes into fight-or-flight is that I have often taken steps to soothe my brain and address the threat, which strengthens the perceived reality of the threat. I am learning to notice the pulsing of the arc reactor, and instead of firing up my hand cannons, just breathe and acknowledge it.

Essentially, I am seeking to downgrade the model. I want a less powerful arc reactor. I do not think that I will ever be completely without one. But I am hopeful that I will learn to live with it more peacefully and calmly.

A series with an inside look at the effects of mental illness and the way that I have made sense of it in my life.

Introduction/disclaimers

For a couple months, I have wanted to write about my mental health, and the different disorders or symptoms that I have faced. I continue to improve, and am currently working in an intensive outpatient program for my OCD. In a glorious cycle, as I become better at facing my mental illness, I am able to be more objective and detached about my experience, which helps me face and handle it better. So, while I do hope that sharing my experience can be helpful for others to recognize what they may be facing, this is primarily a selfish series in which I want to better understand myself and what I’m going through.

This is further a selfish series because I want to capture the current state of my thoughts around mental health. I can already feel myself bending and changing in my treatment. I know that I will progress and see things, including myself, differently as I move forward. Writing my experiences now preserves this fragile part of my mind, just like a before picture. I do not know if this is a series I will revisit in the future, but I already want to read it again in six months when I am a different person.

My mind requires me to issue a few disclaimers. I am not a mental health care professional. Essentially, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I may mix up terminology. I will almost certainly speak about disorders and symptoms incorrectly. I come to this as a fellow traveler on the road to discovery, seeking merely to share my observations of the journey, not as a sage atop the mountain of mastery and understanding. I do not speak definitively on any of these topics. Instead, I speak highly subjectively of my experience with them. If this is triggering for you, leave it. If it is offensive to you because of how wrong I am, I apologize. Try your best to let it go. If it is helpful to you, find a way to pay it forward and extend care and compassion to people in your life. I take no responsibility for what you will do with what I say. I simply seek to share my story.

Articles

• What anxiety feels like
• What depression feels like
• What physical panic attacks feel like
• What mental panic attacks feel like
• What OCD feels like
• What intrusive thoughts feel like

Conclusion

Writing this series has been a wonderful experience for me. I have found the process to be therapeutic as I confront different dark realities of my mind and shine light on them. It has also been helpful to get concrete examples to better understand what I am experiencing. When I notice certain feelings in my body, I can now recognize them more easliy. As they have become more familiar, they have lost some of their danger and mystique.

I mentioned in my microblog post that this has been my best writing. As I alluded to, I mean that in a couple senses of the word. First, I feel the most proud at having written this series. It was deep and meaningful to me, and I felt vulnerable in sharing these private thoughts and experiences, and I celebrate that. This is the kind of writing I want to do more of. Second, this was immensely helpful to me to process and concretize my perceptions. I understand myself better, and feel a little more self-compassion.

Everyone has been or will be touched by mental illness. My hope is that we can have a more open and honest conversation about our experiences. Only in this way can we encourage the people we love (including ourselves!) to get the help that we so desperately need. I am so grateful for the support structure I am blessed to enjoy, particularly for my wife. And I hope that I can help others and pay forward some of what I have received.

After coming to grips with the fact that I have a mental illness, I realized that I am part of the secret society of mental health sufferers.

It is sad and ironic that one of the pernicious lies of mental illness is that you are alone and different from everyone else. While there is some truth to being different than most (or maybe just some!) people, you are far from alone. There are so many other people that grapple with the same kinds of issues.

I have been humbled and touched by the response to my post a few weeks ago announcing my own struggles with mental health, Coming out. So many people reached out with kind words and compassion. But even more than that, many people responded by sharing some of their own struggles with mental health.

I think it is fair to say at this point that everyone has been touched by mental health issues, either directly or through a loved one.

At times, I almost wish we wore a special emblem like the Freemasons to be able to easily identify each other. I understand that this is a deeply private part of people’s lives, and many are not willing to share it openly. From my own experience, I have found so much healing in acknowledging my struggle and openly sharing with others. I think we often fear stigma or backlash—I certainly did for a long time myself. But I have been met with compassion and love instead, and I relish the chance to extend that to others.

I want to pause and acknowledge the privilege I enjoy. As a straight white man, I have all of society behind me to fall back on. There are so many people who suffer with mental health struggles that do not have the same resources and privileges. I can only imagine what they go through.

Whether you belong to this secret society of sufferers or not, we all need understanding and compassion. I hope that we can be more comfortable sharing our struggles with each other, and when someone is vulnerable that we respond with validation and encouragement.

💮 🎧 Just finished season 3 of The Hilarious World of Depression. I hope to write more about my thoughts and feelings on it soon. I am profoundly grateful for such a wonderful resource. It has been a huge help to not feel so alone as I learn to cope with mental illness.

💮 Started my first real day of exposure and response prevention (ERP) treatment today. Wow. It’s rough. 😖 But it was so powerful and hopeful to feel the change that came to me by the end. It’s going to be a hard road, but there is finally a light at the end of the tunnel.

The oft-lauded sports cliché to play through injuries can apply to life more generally with a broader view of “injuries.”

I was listening to my new favorite podcast, The Hilarious World of Depression, while driving the other day and had a realization. There is a strong myth of the tortured creative. People believe that those who are creative do better when they are depressed or anxious. This is a seductive myth, because those who do not consider themselves creative can dismiss it by saying they don’t want all the baggage that comes with it. However, there is a big problem with this myth.

It is asinine.

Believing that creative people do their best when depressed or anxious is like believing that athletes perform their best when seriously injured. No one expects a basketball star to excel after he breaks his leg. They expect him to rest, get medical attention, and take the time needed to recuperate before returning to full activity. People who have mental health struggles deserve the same kind of space for recovery, as well as recognition that their condition is just as serious as physical injury.

Beyond the space for recovery, mental health sufferers deserve compassion and an acknowledgment of the monumental effort involved in confronting daily life. It is easy for us to recognize the effort required for someone to play through a sports injury. But mental wounds are harder to see, both the injury and its effects, and this can make them even more painful. In addition, the playing field for someone struggling with mental health is their every day life. That is the arena in which they are expected to perform, even when they should be on injured reserve.

When I started going to therapy, I told my therapist once about how cranky I am when I am woken up, especially in the middle of the night. To me, that meant that I was a mean and selfish and cranky person at my core. Getting woken up was essentially bypassing all of my defenses and showing my inner personality. Her response was so validating and healing. She encouraged me to consider instead how much work is required of me to interact with people throughout every single day. The fact that I can generally be a kind and patient person in spite of my brain’s instincts to snap and be irritable should inspire compassion for myself.

The next time someone is short with you, or seems to overact to something you might say, pause for a second. Before responding with anger, consider whether that person might be playing through injuries. Maybe she is doing the best job she can today. Maybe he really should be on the bench getting looked at by the trainer. And when you are tempted to beat yourself up because you treated people more poorly than you wanted, practice compassion for any mental injuries you might be carrying. This world can be a rough place. It is ok to admit that you are not at 100%, and make some adjustments.

We would all be better served by approaching our experience with curiosity instead of expectations. And when change is needed, practice compassion instead of judgment.

We often embark on a journey in life expecting to do or find something specific, and come back having discovered the unexpected.

I went alone to see Ralph Breaks the Internet recently. I enjoy the digs on Disney princesses just needing a random man to save them, the portrayal of Twitter as a tree where birds chirp the same cat picture at each other, and highlighting the toxicity of Internet comments. I especially love Ralph’s journey of self-discovery that allows him to become a better friend. One of my favorite lines comes near the end as Ralph comes to grips with Vanellope’s decision to stay in Slaughter Race.

I get it. You’ve found your dream game. That’s awesome.

(Quote may be a rough approximation as it is based solely on my memory of the line.)

That jumped out at me because it was definitely not what they were seeking. Sure, there was some heavy foreshadowing, but ostensibly they were looking for the means to restore her ability to perform her original game.

The parallels with my own current situation struck me.

A couple weeks ago, at the suggestion of my boss as well as my HR leader, I decided to take an extended leave from work. In working with my therapist, I decided to go further and get an Airbnb for a few weeks. The goal is to turn this time into a healing retreat, calm the panic attacks, and hopefully help my nervous system start to stabilize. In many ways, it feels like the goal is to help restore my ability to perform my original job—programmer and manager.

As I have been taking a break from life responsibilities, I have found that writing and podcasting, have been incredibly therapeutic for me. It is helpful when I am feeling agitated to channel that energy into something productive. Through doing this, I have discovered that I really love writing. I have only recorded a few podcast episodes, but I have enjoyed that tremendously as well.

I am not necessarily feeling like I have found my dream job and that I want to change careers. But I have felt that I came intending one thing, and have discovered something else. I have long wanted to be a blogger, but have felt that I was not a good enough writer to do it seriously. As I have been writing more, almost out of necessity, I have found that I do not need to wait until I am a good writer. I can just get started. I know that that I will get better over time. And along the way, I hope that I can inspire others who have felt like they have a desire to do something more than what they are currently doing, but have held themselves back.

So my advice, both to my future self, and to anyone who might be reading, is to just move forward. Be willing to accidentally discover your dream game. Do not be so rigid in your plans that there is no room for serendipity. And, for goodness sakes, stop listening to the voices inside your head that claim you are not good enough. Just start.

The tale of an epic battle between the incumbent champion and the untested underdog. Good versus evil. Right versus wrong left.

Actually, the story is not nearly as exciting as I made it out to be. I went to the rec center again on Saturday and played racquetball by myself. Years ago, I played in college enough to get pretty good. But, like I said, that was years ago. I played a bit on Monday, and my right arm was so sore (I am right-handed) that I thought I would try using my left arm a bit on Wednesday. I discovered I was almost just as good with my left as I was with my right. Neither was very impressive.

While there on Saturday, I asked a couple college-aged kids waiting outside the next court if one wanted to join me while they waited for their friends. They replied that they were about to start doubles, but they did have a question about the rules for me. As one asked the question, the other started arguing with him, and after standing there for a couple minutes while they argued, I turned and went back into my court alone.

After warming up a bit, I did some drills and then decided to play something of a game to make me run around more. I thought I would just include my text chain with my wife to give you the raw emotion of the situation.

Me: My right hand just beat my left hand in racquetball 11-7. It was a pretty good game though.

Wife: Hahaha! How does it feel to be the best?

Me: Pretty sweet. Also, it was an epic comeback. Left hand was up 7-0, before right hand came back to win.

Wife: [Gif of Gru shouting, “That’s right!]

10 minutes later

Me: Wow, another close one. Right hand 12-10.

Wife: Is the left-hand going to just lay down and take it?

Me: Good question. It came back and was up 10-8, but choked on the serve and right hand came back to win.

Me: The match is over now. The court was reserved at noon, so with two games to zero, right hand wins.

So, yeah. Pretty intense.

There was a funny thing that happened while I was playing. I was in the end court, so there was no one around me, and I felt quite safe in my solitude. I began calling things out, like I might if I was really playing with someone. It started with simple things, such as, “Side out” or “Long!” on the serve. But after a bit, I got more into it. A few times, following a particularly nice serve, I exclaimed, “Whoa! Buried it!”

I found that I was complimenting the play of the other player. I knew that was the case, because one time I did not speak to the other player. Instead, it was a bit of trash talk: “Ha! Take that!” For the most part though, I was able to separate myself enough that I could give myself encouragement and compliments. That is not my typical self-talk.

When I was younger, one of my favorite Pixar shorts was “Geri’s game.” I could not wait until I became an old man and could go to the park and play chess against myself. I am not quite sure if my experience means that I am an old man, or that I did not have to become an old man in order to play against myself. Either way, it felt good to get some sincere compliments for my playing.

This game made me realize how much self-talk matters. Positive self-talk is a skill, and a crucial one to maintain good mental health. I want to work toward the day when I don’t have to compliment the other player to say nice things to myself.

Update: I had a rematch

I have come to hate this phrase as a greeting. 😡

As I wrote about recently, I have been struggling lately with mental health challenges. This has made me more aware than ever of how often people ask a deep and probing personal question as a greeting with no thought or consideration behind it. It is an easy question to throw out, and at times an impossible one to answer.

Here are some examples of these deeply intimate and personal questions masquerading as greetings:

• How are you?
• How’s it going?
• How have you been?
• How you doing?

Even if the person you are greeting is not suffering in some way, although nearly everyone is, asking a personal question as a greeting is uncouth. Our socially-acceptable response is a lie, followed by an equally thoughtless question.

How’s it going?

Fine. How are you?

Good.

Good.

If someone ever stops and truly answers the greeting question, you are taken aback. Even more so if the answer is not shallow and positive.

One major problem I have with these greetings is the implied level of intimacy. Who are you to ask me how I’m doing? I don’t care about you enough to give you those details! I don’t want to tell you what my life is like right now. And I sure as heckfire don’t want to have to lie to you and tell you that I’m doing well, or even fine. I am not fine! And it’s none of your business!

In my more calm moments, I have come up with a solution that I find elegant and simple. I merely sidestep the question.

How are you?

Hey, it’s good to see you!

This has many benefits. First off, I don’t have to confront the dilemma of divulging too many personal details or telling an outright lie. Secondly, I am more direct and honest. In nearly all cases, I really am glad to see the person, I just don’t want to have an intimate conversation. Finally, it’s an extremely low-effort sifting process. Those who actually care how I’m doing will appreciate my sincere words, and will return to the question they consciously intended to ask. Those who don’t care won’t even notice. To them, I exchanged one socially-acceptable greeting for another.

Eventually, this question won’t bother me so much. When that day comes, I pray that I will remember how much it did bother me so I can be compassionate to others who are suffering. Until then, I will continue my sidestep enough that it will come with practiced ease.

tl;dr Hi, I’m Ben, and I have OCD. 👋

I am not gay. I am happily married to the woman of my dreams, and we have six wonderful children. My coming out is of an entirely different nature. Hopefully no one who is gay is offended at my co-opting the phrase “coming out”—it felt the most appropriate for the emotional struggle I have found in coming to terms with this huge part of my life and my identity.

There is no one label that defines who I am. But I have realized that having OCD has defined a great deal of my life to this point. It feels like a big step to be able to finally acknowledge that, both to myself and to others. So, today I am announcing that I have obsessive-compulsive disorder, along with generalized anxiety disorder and panic disorder.

Having vs. being

When I first starting writing this post, I wrote that I am OCD, but as I kept writing, it felt better to change it to say I have OCD. That minor change in language represents a major change in my mindset, and one that I hope to preserve, or at least to come back to again and again. This issue (or any other!) does not define me, but it is something that I carry and has shaped my experience.

Some background

I grew up a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, and that continues to be an integral part of my life. Like in many Christian faiths, we were taught about faith and works. “Faith without works is dead” (James 2:26). Unfortunately, our culture, both in my church and in my family, was one of absolutes as well as black and white thinking. Every choice was righteous or evil. Every decision brought me closer to Satan or the Savior. There was no room for gray.

In this world, I thrived. I embraced black and white and one of my favorite scriptures was Revelation 3:16, “So then because thou art lukewarm, and neither cold nor hot, I will spue thee out of my mouth.” By no means was I perfect. But I sure tried. And when I failed, I made sure that I knew it loud and clear. In many ways, I was not alone in ensuring this. When I brought a report card home with six A’s, and an A-, I knew the reception would be, “What’s wrong? Why did you get an A-?” That became the voice inside my head.

Unwittingly, I pushed myself harder and harder, and further and further into a dark place. Part of the problem was that not only was my behavior not seen and understood as unhealthy, but it was rewarded and reinforced. Years passed and I met an amazing woman, and somehow she agreed to marry me, and we started a family. I worked hard to be a good husband and father. More accurately put, I berated myself for every shortcoming when I was not a perfect husband or father.

My journey

Last April, I had the good fortune to attend the Peers Conference in Austin, Texas. On the first day, we participated in breakouts that were like group therapy sessions. I shared some of my thoughts and feelings about work, and the dissatisfaction I was feeling, and the facilitator suggested that my concerns had nothing to do with work. He suggested that I find a counselor, particularly one who shared my faith and understood that part of my life. I was taken aback—counseling was not something I had ever considered before.

Over the summer, I began to see a chiropractor for the first time. I then experienced my first panic attack, and was referred to a fantastic therapist by my chiropractor. After the first visit, I told my wife, “It’s like speaking with a skilled friend.” My therapist saw through me and could identify so many of my smokescreens and crutches. As we ended the first session, she said (I’m paraphrasing a bit because I don’t remember her exact words), “You do not have perfectionistic tendencies as you suggested. You are a violent perfectionist and it is damaging you and your relationships.”

Part of the challenge for me was in accepting that my OCD is different than what I expected. I don’t have to turn the lights off twenty times. I don’t have to wash my hands endlessly (unless, of course, I get something on them!). One of my favorite TV shows is Monk. I identified with so much of what he feels and says. But at the same time, I found my own situation to be so different than his that I felt sure that this is not what I have.

As an aside, my wife and I were in the middle of rewatching all eight seasons of Monk when I experienced my first panic attack and started seeking help, and we decided that I had better take a break until I feel less suggestible. 😂

As I met with a psychiatrist and started medication, I experienced the onset of panic disorder. We experimented with medication, and I am on my fourth try and finally starting to feel some relief. As my therapist has helped me see, part of the challenge with OCD is that it works…until it doesn’t. I have developed compulsions and coping mechanisms that are so ingrained that I don’t even recognize them as such yet. But the journey has begun.

My current state

I would like to think that I hit rock bottom a couple weeks ago. After a day with three panic attacks, and some unsafe thoughts, I admitted myself to a crisis center for a night to make sure that I was stable and safe. Since that point, I have continued to improve. I am surrounded by loving and caring people who have given me unconditional support.

Some days, all that support makes it worse. I told a support group this week that each new relationship feels like another chance to let someone down. But I have come to accept that.

The truth is that I will let people down. I am not enough. The beauty is that I don’t have to be. The Gospel of Jesus Christ is so much more important and impactful than the culture in which I grew up. I don’t have to be enough because I have a Savior who is enough. That teaching got lost for me somewhere along the way, and I still struggle to hold on to it. But I have hope.

Looking forward

Some of my fantastic support comes from people at work. My boss and HR leader suggested that I consider taking some time off to heal, which I have done. So I am on extended leave from work. I have stepped back from my volunteer church assignment. I am getting more counseling and starting to take steps toward healing.

I am a long way from better. But I finally realize and accept that. It took me a while to get to this point, but I am now fine telling anyone about my situation. It is no longer a badge of shame. And it is certainly not a failure.

I am Ben, and I have OCD.

And that’s ok.

P.S. I have tagged this post with an emoji: 💮. I plan to post occasionally about my state or my progress and will use this emoji to identify mental-health related posts. This should make it easy to find the ones that you might want to read (or skip!).

I really liked this note on Emojipedia, which is why I chose it:

The Apple artwork contains Japanese text on the inside that translates to mean “Well Done” or “You did very well”.

It might not be the perfect emoji for this purpose, but that is beautiful in its own way. I need to embrace a little imperfection in my life.