About Orchard OCD

Personal OCD Story from Mourice Schuurmans For as long as I can remember, I dealt with everything on my own. Emotions, stress, fear, problems. I always found a way to push through. At primary school, I was bullied for years. At first it was verbal. Later, it became physical. At home, emotions were not really something we talked about, so I learned to carry my fear in silence. Over time, the stress, anxiety, and unresolved emotions built up. When I turned 16, the bullying stopped, and for a while it felt like my life was finally moving in the right direction. I thought that meant my fears would disappear too. They did not. After years of living with an underlying anxiety disorder, OCD hit me suddenly at 27. Almost overnight, my mind became a nightmare. I was flooded with violent, deeply distressing intrusive thoughts about the people I loved most. My brain moved from one terrifying fear to the next. To be completely honest, I felt like a monster. It was relentless. Fear, panic, guilt, and terror, every day. I would not wish it on anyone. The diagnosis and the wait that nearly broke me When I finally went to my GP, I was referred to mental health services quite quickly. The diagnosis was OCD. For the first time, I felt relief. There was a name for what was happening. I was not going crazy. I was not alone. That day, I felt a kind of calm I had not felt in a long time. Then I found out I would have to wait eight months for therapy. Eight months. I could barely keep my head above water. I genuinely did not know how I was supposed to get through it. Every day became about survival. No treatment yet. No real support. Just me, trapped in an endless stream of intrusive thoughts. I felt completely powerless. So I started searching for answers myself. I read every book on OCD I could find. I listened to podcasts. I watched countless videos. I was desperate for anything that could give me even a little relief from the fear I was living with. It was not a perfect way to recover. It was chaotic, exhausting, and lonely. But it gave me enough to keep going. The hardest fight of my life When therapy finally started, things began to change. For the first time, I learned that avoiding fear was not the answer. The only way out was through. ERP therapy, exposure and response prevention, taught me that I could allow even my most terrifying thoughts to be there without reacting to them. No reassurance. No checking. No trying to force certainty. Just letting the thoughts exist without giving them power. I will not pretend it was easy. It was the hardest thing I have ever done. Everything in me wanted to run away from the fear. But with the help of my therapist, I slowly learned to face it. Step by step, I confronted the thoughts I had spent so long trying to escape. And slowly, something shifted. The fear became less intense. The thoughts started to lose their grip. For the first time in a long time, I felt calm in my body again. I still remember one particular day when I felt something I had almost forgotten existed: peace. And even joy. Where I am now Today, OCD no longer controls me. I have learned how to respond to fear differently. I understand how OCD works, and I know how to keep it from taking over my life. In my day-to-day life, it barely affects me anymore. But that period changed me. OCD can tear apart your sense of reality. It can destroy your self-image, your confidence, and your ability to trust yourself. Nobody should have to go through that alone. To anyone reading this who is struggling with OCD: you are not alone. There are so many people who have stood where you are standing now. I was one of them. Many of us have come out the other side and now live without OCD controlling our day-to-day lives. OCD is horrific. You did not deserve this. But please remember: OCD does not have to be a life sentence. There is life after OCD. Note on the author: Mourice is an International OCD Foundation (IOCDF) Advocate from the Netherlands, and is the Co-founder of ObsessLess

Andrew GottWorth (he/any) joined the Orchard Team and serves as the Communication & Community Coordinator. Here is Andrew's OCD story: Shooo…. I collect diagnoses like Pokémon. Over the years, I have been diagnosed with Generalized Anxiety Disorder, Depression, ADHD, BFRBs, and OCD. I certainly consider myself a mental health advocate overall, but why focus on OCD? Why become an IOCDF Advocate, organize OCD walks, write OCD blogs, promote OCD documentaries, and work for Orchard OCD?  I think Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is the most misunderstood of my diagnoses, was the most debilitating for me, and seems to have the least resources, representation, and general support.  That being said, the communities and organizations I have found in the OCD space are incredible! Growing up, I heard about depression, anxiety, and ADHD in school, in films, saw support lines on posters, saw t-shirts, awareness walks, etc. But it was only after my OCD diagnosis, and when I started seeking out resources, that I found wonderful OCD advocates, charities, non-profits and more.  I was diagnosed with depression and anxiety at age 19 in my freshman year of college. They both still kick my tail sometimes, but they come and go. OCD started for me probably at age 8 or 9, and grew and grew in its list of rules, demands, and weight/heaviness over the next 20 years. In my early 20s I was hospitalized 3 times with suicidal ideation. I dropped out of university, later dropped out of AmeriCorps, then “dropped out” as a summer camp counselor, and struggled immensely with everyday life.  For 10 years, I tried many different therapy models, saw many different therapists and psychiatrists, tried many different medications, diets, wellness tips and more. I was able to have some stability, finish college, get a job, get married, and go to grad school. But I still felt like I was barely holding on. I felt I was drowning in the ocean, would manage to kick to the surface, submit a paper, be a friend and partner, do a few chores, then go back to drowning.  I somehow survived grad school and got a job working for the state AmeriCorps Program, (now called Serve KY). I had a wonderfully supportive atmosphere, meaningful work, a therapist I liked, medication, loving family, loving wife, and stability, but I was still barely holding on. After a year or so, I voluntarily went from full time to part time. After a few months of part time, I was still so miserable every day that I resigned.  Then, luckily, I finally got my OCD diagnosis. How did so many therapists, psychiatrists, and in-patient clinics miss it? How did I miss it?  I think one, I didn’t have the language for what I was experiencing. Two, there was so much shame and stigma in the intrusive thoughts, that I was maybe not fully honest. And three, even wonderful therapists might not have had the nuanced training for OCD that is needed.  Until my late 20s, my understanding of OCD was that people were afraid of germs and liked things super organized. I, however, am frequently dirty and messy, so I didn’t think it applied to me. The ‘dark thoughts” I had, we assumed were depression. The “rules” I had to follow were just “quirks” or “idiosyncracies”. Only after diagnosis did I realize so many of my struggles fit into the framework of either intrusive thoughts and obsessions or things I felt I had to do (compulsions).  For the shame/stigma obstacle, I was too embarrassed for so long to talk about intrusive thoughts. Eventually when I was able to, I talked about my suicidal ideation. This was still hard, but maybe less shameful. I was struggling and still embarrassed by that, but not a “bad person”. I didn’t want to share that when I was younger and in church, that I had sexual intrusive thoughts. Or that when driving, I had flashes of running people over on the sidewalk. Or when I got older and married, that I had intrusive thoughts of cheating. Or when being a kids’ sports trainer, that I had thoughts of “oh no, what if I become like Larry Nassar, that gymnastics coach sex offender!”. Or after reading “You’ll be Gone in the Dark”, that I worried I’d become a serial killer!All of that seemed too terrible to say out loud. Even now, over 7 years into therapy, it’s still difficult to type out. I just didn’t know that these thoughts are part of a known and treatable condition.  Which leads to the third reason for missing the diagnosis for 20 years. I am so so thankful for anyone who gets into the mental health profession to help people. Unfortunately, the preparation and training for some professionals seems inadequate. OCD is not just about being clean and tidy. It is so much more nuanced and complex. I wish everyone was better trained to spot the signs. Then, after being able to recognize that it is OCD, I wish everyone was better able to treat it.  Even after I was diagnosed with OCD, I still came across therapists that encouraged snapping a rubber band on my wrist when I had a bad thought, or imagining a stop sign. These are big red flags in seeking treatment! They only reinforce the OCD cycle - that these thoughts are bad, and if I have them, I should have a big anxious reaction to them.  It was only when I got proper Exposure and Response Prevention therapy (another blog about this soon!), with a supplement of mindfulness and acceptance, that I finally made progress. I am so thankful to organizations like Orchard and IOCDF, and the many incredible OCD advocates I have met, that are working to make the mental health landscape a better place, in order to: Help the public and clinicians better understand OCD Help people get earlier diagnoses Reduce stigma and shame Advance new research Build community and support each other I am hoping to play my small part in that too!

In this week's blog, Josh shares his OCD story:Did I leave the tap on? I did check it before I left, but what if I made a mistake? What if it’s still running and flooding the kitchen? I listen closely from my bed…nothing I can hear. It must be off. But I should make sure. Electricity builds up in my legs. The urge is too much, like an orchestra reaching a crescendo. I won't be able to sleep if I don't check. I spring out of bed and make my way into the kitchen. Of course, it has been off all along. The frightening images of a flood of my doing fade away instantaneously. I still feel nervous energy in my body. But what if something else is on… I need to check again. This was my daily routine, night after night. Constantly checking taps, hobs and doors unlocked. I knew something was off about being this careful, and I was spiralling into a loop, becoming more entrenched with each compulsion. Ordinary tasks such as leaving my flat gradually over the years became gargantuan with multiple increasing mental checklists, having to video/take photos of each household hazard and extra concluding last-minute rechecks. Logically, I knew everything was switched off and safe, but everything boiled down to my OCD was never truly satisfied without absolute certainty. The anxiety I felt was not solely mental. It manifested itself physically and was exhausting, causing my heart to race and a constant buzzing, nervous energy, which eased only briefly with my submission to the checking loops.  Over time, I discovered  ways to respond differently to these urges. Seeking support from my family and a therapist specialising in OCD allowed me the support system to lay the foundations for recovery. Practice with mindfulness taught me to notice thoughts without immediately acting on them, which made them feel less ‘sticky’. Daily meditation allowed me precious moments without rumination and practice letting go of control of my thoughts.   Eventually, by fully immersing myself in challenging experiences and experimenting with different approaches, I was able to break the loops that once felt impossible to escape. Combining reflection, guided interventions, and deliberate exposure to triggers with ERP helped me reclaim control over my daily life.  In daily life, I’m still confronted with occasional intrusive thoughts, but I’ve learned to notice the urge to check without feeling compelled by it, which took lots of practice. That I have a choice in what to believe, and that I can live with some uncertainty. That the catastrophes my OCD imagines never actually happen, despite how real the consequences seem. These insights did not make OCD disappear overnight, but they have strengthened my ability to trust myself. They have reminded me of the control I have of my body and actions, regardless of intrusive thoughts.