Label Maker
Being diagnosed with OCD was one of the best days of my life. I know that sounds odd, but it was freeing to finally have an explanation for why I was struggling with irrational fears and thoughts. I was nineteen at the time of my diagnosis, dating the most wonderfully kind young man who would later become my husband. I was desperate to figure out why I struggled more than the carefree peers around me so I could maybe be stable enough to get married someday. From diagnosis day forward I had a point of explanation; a way to make all the weird thoughts and worries make sense. I clung to that label whenever I’d have an intrusive thought that made me stop in my tracks or whenever I’d feel tempted to perform a compulsion. Remembering my diagnosis was one of my favorite strategies.
As I’ve entered into my fortieth decade (bleh…that tastes like vinegar to say out loud), I still turn to my original diagnosis for comfort at times of stress and worry. After writing my first book, I felt it was even more important to cling to the label that relieved me. I’d often get annoyed with my counselor if she would compare me to “regular” women my age or reference my “stage of life” to explain a mental challenge I was facing. I wanted to filter adversity through my OCD diagnosis first and sometimes that wasn’t necessary or even worse, the diagnosis didn’t apply to what we were discussing. I’d immediately feel like an imposter who didn’t even really have OCD. If I struggle with stuff that’s not OCD, then how can I be qualified to speak about it??
This past week I had my first counseling session without being on medication. I figured we’d have all kinds of OCD material to cover and strategies to implement given I didn’t have my regular serotonin boost. I had my list of bullet point questions I wanted to discuss and my therapist heard everything I had to say about my “new normal” sans meds. At the end of the session, she shared some observations she’d noticed during our time together, and not one of her observations had anything directly to do with my OCD. At first, I felt the familiar irritation that once again my issues couldn’t be fully blamed on my diagnosis. Then, she said something that I predict will stick with me forever. She said something like, “If you look at the whole picture of who you are,” then listed my struggles and gifts in varying categories. She said, “You are all of these things at once.” Wait, what???? I left her office gobsmacked. Is my OCD diagnosis just one of many valuable components that make up who I am?
With further reflection, I now feel even more freedom than I did when I was first diagnosed. Sure, there is great relief in being diagnosed as more understanding can come from the label, but what if even that became an idol in my heart? I should find great joy in the reality that OCD is no longer at the top of my list of stressors. Sure, I’ll likely always bend in the anxious direction with tendencies to obsess, but how amazing that I can put that small portion of who I am in the same head space as all the other parts of who I am, equally. God made me and all of us intricate pieces of art created in His image. Why then would I believe I’m reduced to one diagnosis first and foremost?
Surprisingly, such a simple message has struck my soul deeply. I no longer feel a need to explain every struggle in my life through the lens of OCD only. Yes, it’s an ever-changing part of who I am, but it is not all I am. If you also have a diagnosis, I challenge you to think about all the facets of who you are that include and are unrelated to the diagnosis. Remember who God created you to resemble and as you feel gratitude for the label as it guides some of your responses, do not let it become how you define yourself. God has made all of us fascinating and intricate image-bearers who are becoming more like Him if we put our faith in Jesus. Golly, that’s an exciting thought.
It only took me forty-one years to figure this out; don’t let it take you so long!
