Therapy: Be (a) Patient

When I began going to therapy for my OCD, I never really felt that it was much of a choice. For one thing, I was just an 8-year-old kid who had learned that he had a mental health issue, and my parents did what they felt was best for me. It just seemed like the logical thing to do, and so while I don’t really feel that I fully processed what was happening at the time (it was a whirlwind), to this day I don’t think I would have questioned that decision.

I have experienced many highs and lows throughout the last 22 years. I’ve been in and out of therapy, and have had mixed feelings about it from time to time. Looking back, I do wonder about certain things as far as my experience with therapy goes.

When I left therapy just before my 18th birthday, I felt that I was in a good place, with both my OCD and my life in general. I was heading off to college, had just lost 50 pounds and come out of my awkward shell. I had started dating and was enjoying a robust social life with my friends. I had also been gradually easing off of my medication and had just finished my final doses. I felt that I could manage my OCD symptoms just fine on my own. Things were going well for me, and my confidence was at an all-time high.

I had been in therapy for 10 years, and I knew the strategies for how to handle my anxiety. I no longer wanted to feel as though I needed the help that therapy provided. I also no longer wanted to make the time commitment to going to therapy, as I feared it would cut into my newfound social life.

As I began to form deeper relationships, I began to open up about my OCD to those who were closest to me. I still acknowledged it as a thing of the present (“I have OCD”), but because I stopped going to therapy and taking medication, I also spoke of it as something I had conquered. I would share this story with a select few, speaking of my OCD as if it were a dormant monster within me that I had slain.

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