About Orchard OCD

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.  

In this week's blog, Hussain shares his OCD story:For years, I didn’t know I had OCD.I just thought something was deeply wrong with me.My mind produced thoughts I was terrified of—violent, disturbing, blasphemous thoughts that went completely against who I was. They felt intrusive, unwanted, and cruel. The worst part wasn’t the thoughts themselves, but what OCD told me those thoughts meant.It said they revealed my true character.It said I was dangerous.It said I was one mistake away from ruining everything.So I tried to control my mind.I monitored every thought.I checked my intentions constantly.I replayed moments in my head, searching for certainty that I hadn’t done something wrong.I didn’t realize I was feeding OCD the entire time.When Fear Followed Me Everywhere One of the most exhausting themes OCD attached itself to was the fear of harming someone.If I drove over a bump in the road, my heart would drop. My mind instantly told me I had hit someone. I would replay the drive over and over, scan my memory, check my emotions, even look for reassurance in my surroundings. No amount of logic helped. OCD always found another “what if.”There were days I felt trapped inside my own head, unable to trust my senses, my memory, or myself.At other times, OCD targeted my faith.I experienced religious scrupulosity that made me afraid of my own thoughts during prayer. I felt intense guilt for things I never chose to think. I tried to suppress thoughts, neutralize them, or punish myself mentally for having them.It was exhausting. And incredibly lonely.From the outside, I looked normal.Inside, I was constantly at war.The Shift That Changed EverythingThings didn’t change because I found the “right” reassurance or finally proved my fears wrong.They changed when I began to understand OCD.I learned that intrusive thoughts are not intentions.That anxiety is not evidence.That OCD survives on checking, reassurance, and mental rituals.The hardest lesson was this: I didn’t need certainty to move forward.I slowly learned to stop engaging with the thoughts. To let them exist without arguing, analyzing, or fixing them. At first, this felt terrifying—like giving up control. But over time, something surprising happened.The thoughts lost their power.Not because they disappeared, but because I stopped treating them as meaningful.Why I Share My Story I share my story because I know how convincing OCD can be when you’re in it.I know how real the fear feels.I know how much shame can come with thoughts you’d never choose.And I know how hard it is to explain OCD to someone who hasn’t lived it.That’s why I created The Struggling Warrior — a space where OCD is talked about honestly, without sugarcoating or stereotypes. On my website, I share personal stories, educational articles, and recovery-focused tools built from both lived experience and evidence-based therapy approaches.Writing became a way for me to make sense of what I went through—and to help others feel less alone. You can find more of my work, resources, and ongoing projects at https://thestrugglingwarrior.com/ If You’re Reading This and Struggling If OCD has convinced you that your thoughts define you, please hear this:They don’t.OCD attacks what you care about most.It thrives on doubt, guilt, and fear.And it can make even the strongest person feel broken.You are not broken.Recovery isn’t about becoming your old self again. It’s about learning how to live fully—even with uncertainty—and realizing you were never the problem in the first place.If my story helps even one person feel understood, then sharing it is worth it.