His mind…had a leak in it somewhere, some little hole through which now and again would pour the whole darkness of the darkest night.”
-Wendell Berry, That Distant Land1
I met an agent at the first writing conference I ever attended who encouraged me to name my newsletter “Single and Anxious” because those were the topics that got the most “traffic” (as if you, reading this right now, are mechanical, nothing more than metal and data points).
She wanted singleness and anxiousness—two things I hoped to not define my life—to become my shtick, the shiny fruit on the side of the road that gets cars to stop, that creates some sexy “traffic.”
For a while I wrote a lot about my singleness and my anxiousness to court your eyeballs. But, finally, I decided I was worth more than those two addendums. I decided I could write about other things, screw “traffic.”
So I did. And I have. I’m pretty proud of that—if that’s okay to admit.
But the truth is that I have OCD, and it is a big part of my life. I don’t want to make it my thing; I don’t want to build a platform on top of it; but it’s a big part of my life.
And for the last five months, it has left me, at times, incapacitated—if that’s okay to admit.
“There’s a kind of unspoken conspiracy to ignore how difficult life is.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed2
I do not have physical OCD. I do not need things to be perfectly aligned. I do not compulsively wash my hands or check the door locks or make sure the stove is turned off. There are people who deal with that sort of thing, and it is its own kind of nightmare, I am sure.
I have what they call mental OCD, and it’s primarily wrapped around my religious beliefs. It’s something called scrupulosity—the desire to be irrationally perfect in my faith and be absolutely sure of my beliefs.
I was diagnosed with OCD at twenty-three by a kind psychiatrist who also happened to be a Christian. He explained the difference between what was my faith and what was OCD. The reading my Bible and praying and going to church and trusting God—that was faith. The obsessive and near-constant fears about doing something wrong and the irrational need to be absolutely sure of what I believed—that was OCD.
He wrote me a very helpful prescription and recommended a very helpful therapist, and ever since then—seven years—I have been taking that medication and faithfully going to therapy. They have both helped immensely.
But I have not been cured.
“The experience of mental suffering is always incommunicable—except to God.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed3
It’s hard to describe what the last five months have felt like because it’s really tough to put into words the feelings, the fears, and the reality of OCD. When it hits—and some days it feels as if it hits all day long—it is as if my mind has wrapped around a singular fear and cannot think or perceive or dream of anything else. It is like trying to beat back fog with a tennis racket. Eventually your arms grow so tired and your attempts so futile, you just kind of give up.
Then, the very next day, I might have a good day and have a difficult time even understanding why I was so fearful the day before. With the sun shining on my mind, I struggle to put myself back in that headspace, I can’t conceive of that “little hole through which now and again would pour the whole darkness of the darkest night.”
Which is partly why I’m writing this now, when things are still hard. I believe there are others experiencing this, and they deserve to know they are not alone.
“To live with a chronic mental illness is to always be on edge. Some days your illness will fade into the background and you’ll feel ‘normal’ for a minute, but then you’ll remember how bad things can get. You’ll hear something or see something and the specter of your disease will reappear and you’ll realize that you might relapse, that tomorrow you may be stuck in bed or otherwise incapacitated. There’s the added anxiety of watching it unfold, feeling the beginnings of a familiar descent, anticipating the decline, rehearsing the same reassurances from your loved ones, wondering how long it will last. And behind all this anxiety is the fear that maybe this time you won’t make it out, that you’ll finally get lost in your own mind.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed4
I have nothing more to add to this. This is me. This is the past five months.
“In my experience, the only way to move forward is to dedicate yourself to doing the next thing.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed5
There have been days over the past five months when my brain pulses with crushing anxiety, when I worry I have reached the limits of my adulthood, that I am doomed to always having a woozy mind.
But I get out of bed and stretch and walk out of my room. Even when I feel like I’ve just stepped off a boat and my legs haven’t found the ground. Even when the high tide of anxiety continues to lap onto my shore.
I do the next thing. And then the next. And then the thing after that.
Sometimes my anxiety continues, but frequently I begin to get a head of steam and feel somewhat better. Just doing the next thing, one thing at a time. No matter how small.
Some days these feel like little miracles, little mercies from God.
“To live with a mental illness is to live in two different realities: the reality of your mental state and the reality of your embodiment in a community.”
“So never, ever feel guilty for seeking help. If your existence is a good creation of a loving God, then you honor God by caring for that creation.”
“It may look like trusting your doctor and family members who assure you that your prescribed medications are both necessary and good for you.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed6
I am incredibly lucky for two huge reasons:
I have a community surrounding me that loves Jesus and believes in therapy / medication.
Socio-economically I am able to afford the treatment I need.
I don’t want to take either of these for granted. I don’t want to take for granted my access to a psychiatrist and therapist who value my faith and understand the machinations of religious OCD, or having a spiritual mentor who values medication and therapy, or having a family who helps me integrate everything.
Further, I cannot forget that I belong to a community; I do not just belong to my mind. American Idol still comes on each Sunday and Monday, and my mom and I will watch it together. Some days watching that and not talking about how difficult my day was might be the best I can do, but I believe that is enough.
God is with me in the dailiness of life, and I need to show up for others to the best of my ability.
“It is undeniably true that day-to-day life demands a great deal of courage. And that courage speaks loudly. It shouts. It confesses the nature of creation and of God. It is our burden and our gift. It is our spiritual act of worship, presenting our body as a living sacrifice.”
-Alan Noble, On Getting Out of Bed7
On my hard days, I give my anxiety and fear to God over and over and over again, but I often do not feel any relief, apart from the vague knowledge that Christ is with me, somehow, someway.
But I am reminded of the prayer Jesus prayed in the garden: “My Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me; nevertheless, not as I will, but as you will.”8
He prayed for the cup to pass. He wanted his suffering to end. So do I.
But he also prayed that God’s will would happen. I’m trying to do the same, even if it means continuing to trudge through OCD days.
Living in this tension—pursuing health but accepting suffering—is awkward and difficult, but I am grateful we have Christ as a model; his “courage speaks loudly. It shouts.” And it is through his courage that I hope to show some of my own.
A postscript:
If you can’t tell, I am in love with Alan Noble’s new book On Getting Out of Bed. I have never read something that integrates Christianity and mental illness so well.
Finally, a quote:
I wasn’t sure where to put this in the text itself, but Alan Noble quotes 17th Century theologian Richard Baxter, and his words have ministered SO MUCH to me since I read them:
“Do not trust your own judgment in your depressed and anxious condition, as to either the state of your soul or the choice and conduct of your thoughts or ways. Commit yourself to the judgment and direction of some experienced, faithful guide. In this dark, disordered condition, you are unfit to judge your own condition or the way to approach your duty….A wise person, when sick, will entrust himself, under God, to the direction of his physician and the help of his friends, and not resist their help and advice or willfully refuse it just because it doesn’t please him. DO the same, if you are wise. Trust yourself to some appropriate advice. Don’t despise the giver’s judgment about either your condition or your duty. You think that you are lost and that there is no hope. Listen to someone in a better position to judge.”9
Berry, Wendell. That Distant Land: The Collected Stories. Counterpoint, 2004. 88.
Noble, Alan. On Getting Out of Bed: The Burden & Gift of Living. InterVarsity Press, 2023. 7.
Ibid., 50.
Ibid., 63.
Ibid., 43.
Ibid., 66, 68, 84.
Ibid., 103.
Matthew 26:39, ESV.
Noble, Alan. On Getting Out of Bed: The Burden & Gift of Living. InterVarsity Press, 2023. 85-86.