When I was 29, I babysat for a friend’s toddler. I accidentally took my eyes off him for a second and found him with my beloved, but filthy, Tory Burch ballet flat in his mouth.
After I put him to bed, I noticed the flats were in such bad shape—there were holes in the bottom of them. My chest started to feel heavy. What was on that flat? Dirt? Urine? Drugs? Poison? Anthrax? What if he dies in his sleep from licking the flat?
I checked on him numerous times while he was sleeping until I thought of a perfect solution: I’ll lick the flats myself. That way, if I wake up tomorrow feeling fine, I’ll know he did too and if I don’t…well, we’re both doomed.
So, I sat down and licked a pair of old, dirty ballet flats. I knew on some level that this entire scenario unfolding in my brain was likely my OCD.
I was diagnosed in college but had done very little to manage my OCD.
When I was first diagnosed back in 2001, my initial reaction was, “This is awesome. Monica on Friends has OCD, and she’s so pretty.” But then I realized I wasn’t anything like Monica—physically or behaviorally. I didn’t have a type A personality. I wasn’t a “neat freak” or a germaphobe, or any of the other stereotypical qualities you see portrayed by characters with obsessive compulsive disorder (OCD), which, put very generally, is a mental health condition that causes you to have unwanted thoughts and repetitive behaviors. I was actually kind of messy. I never once color-coordinated my closet and I sat on toilet seats.
I quickly pointed all this out to the therapist, but she explained that my obsessive compulsive disorder was characterized by “intrusive thoughts with harm.” These types of unwanted thoughts can range from fearing you did something violent in nature to worrying you won’t be able to control yourself from committing some horrible act. That wasn’t the mental illness I had envisioned for myself, I thought.
She gave me a book called The OCD Workbook. I resonated with the examples shared in the book, but I never saw her again. I didn’t want to deal with therapy. I thought reading the workbook was enough.
As my 20s progressed, I finally began to understand the power intrusive thoughts with harm had over me.
Another instance I’ll never forget was when my friends and I debriefed about a weekend out, and one close friend expressed worry because she had drunk-dialed the guy she was dating.
“What if I told Pete I love him?” she joked.
What if I killed Pete? I thought.
My mind took off. Why would I kill Pete? I like Pete. But I was drunk too. We saw Pete. We hung out with Pete. What if I don’t remember? What if he came back to my apartment? I must have killed him.
Sick to my stomach, I ran back to my apartment and checked every inch of my 500-square-foot apartment for Pete. Nothing. Perhaps I got rid of the body, I thought. I lived on the seventh floor and ran down the stairwell to check for Pete. Nothing. I went outside the building and checked through the garbage dumpsters for signs of Pete. Nothing. I then went to the laundry room and checked all 42 washers and dryers for Pete. Nothing. I’m not sure what I was expecting to find in a washer or dryer. Pete himself? Pete’s dirty laundry?
As I re-entered my apartment, scared and defeated, my phone rang. It was my friend. “Pete just called—we’re going out Wednesday!” I was relieved to hear Pete was alive … but I knew that my OCD was very much alive too.
Gradually, I came face to face with the fact that OCD impacted just about every facet of my life.
Taking pictures of my appliances turned off and unplugged was a part of my daily life. Checking and rechecking to make sure the car was in park, the doors were locked, and the candles were blown out was routine. Getting regular STD tests and taking unnecessary Plan B out of irrational, intrusive thoughts coded in health anxiety (yes, health anxiety is another common manifestation of the disorder) were monthly occurrences. Seeking reassurance on a loop from boyfriends ruined my relationships.
The thoughts could be all-consuming; it was often hard to be present. When you have OCD, you’re constantly questioning your choices and curating fictional stories that harp on your values. It’s hard to know what’s real or not.
Fast-forward to my 30s, after one particularly bad breakup, I took a class at the famous improv theater program The Second City called “Writing the Humorous Memoir.” It was there that I got bit by the comedy bug and started performing storytelling and stand-up all over Chicago.
It took me some time to realize it, but comedy was saving me.
When I was about to go on stage and perform, I didn’t have time for ruminations. I was faced with a real-life scenario and had one job to do: make people laugh.
The more I focused on getting better at stand-up and my writing craft, my intrusive thoughts would often die off. I was busy meeting new comics, listening to their sets, and legitimately laughing all the time. It slowly occurred to me that I was spending less mental energy day to day on my OCD.
I started to talk about my OCD on stage. When I’d say my worries out loud, they seemed even more irrational—and actually hilarious. Whenever I performed, I got out of my head. I was living life in real time.
Despite the literal comic relief, OCD still lurked around corners ready to attack at points, and I knew I had to make other changes too.
I finally took the steps of finding a therapist and seeking treatment.
In the winter of 2020, I lied to my gynecologist to get HIV medication that I didn’t need in an unfounded panic that I could have somehow contracted it. It was then that I surrendered and decided to take action.
I started working with a therapist that specialized in OCD, who suggested outpatient treatment, which quickly changed my life. The program was four days a week, for three hours a day. I attended for one month and, during that time, I worked with different therapists, participated in both group and individual therapy and practiced exposure response prevention (ERP) therapy. In short, ERP is exposing yourself to your fears and learning to not react or act on them (that is, becoming comfortable with not checking stairwells for Pete’s body).
Since completing the program, I’ve developed so many helpful coping skills and gotten far better at cutting off intrusive thoughts before acting on them. Now, I only see my therapist every other week.
Today, I have a better grasp on my OCD than ever.
In 2023, I moved from Chicago to New York, where uncertainty seems to be the norm. I also started writing a one-woman show about my OCD after taking a workshop at The Barrow Group. (The currently nameless show should be ready in the winter of 2025.)
I know that not everyone has OCD, but I do know that most people have experienced anxiety at some point. Maybe anxiety has given them an unsettling feeling or kept them up at night. My hope is that my show will quiet the anxiousness for at least an hour by making people laugh, and help teach them that there are ways to manage—as well as find humor in—the uncertainty of life.
And maybe, just maybe, I can help someone else avoid ballet flats for dinner.
