I think for a lot of people this can feel very confusing because society teaches us that, when we have a scary thought, feeling or experience, we need to get rid of it, fix it, solve it. We need to be “responsible” with it because anxiety is “bad.” We are told that our nervous systems are dysregulated and need to be fixed. That we need to optimize our health, our surroundings, our bodies, to be better, feel better, get rid of anxiety or OCD. And, while I’m all for feeling good, taking good care of yourself, and living a joyful life, I think that all of these “fixes” just actually tend to keep us stuck.

Now, here’s how I conceptualize and explain what keeps someone stuck in their OCD or anxiety. When you have an anxious or obsessive thought, most people experience an accompanying feeling of discomfort. And, as humans, we don’t want to experience that feeling of discomfort (in addition to the fact that society constantly tells us we shouldn’t feel this way for a multitude of reasons: “a dysregulated nervous system is bad”, “high cortisol is destroying you life”, “you need to heal your gut”). So, we then engage in behaviors to try and get rid or ease this discomfort. This is what I like to call The Three F’s. The Three F’s are essentially a framework for understanding the three types of behaviors we engage in in order to feel better (but— shocker!!!— that just keep us stuck).

The Three F’s are as follows:

1. Fixing: trying to “fix” the thought, sensation or experience you have. This could be replacing a thought with a more positive one, working tirelessly to ground yourself or minimize the anxiety, etc

2. Fighting: trying to get rid of the thought, feeling or sensation all together. This could be shoving a thought out, avoiding things or distracting yourself from triggers in order to avoid experiencing anxiety.

3. Figuring out: working to understand why you have a certain thought, feeling sensation. What does it mean? Why did you have it? Is it likely going to happen? This is essentially just working to answer an unanswerable question.

While in theory these are all “helpful” coping skills, they actually just keep you stuck. When you engage in these behaviors (either mentally or physically) you do two things: 1. you communicate to your brain that anxiety is bad and that you need to do something about it and 2. you actually just inadvertently cause more anxiety for yourself because your body and brain now have labeled this thing as bad (like a bear running towards you), so your nervous system is activated even more.

So, you might be thinking… Well, what the f*ck do I do instead? The TL;DR is that I want you to do nothing… or rather, I want you to do whatever else you would be doing if the thought, fear or doubt didn’t show up in the first place. Of course the long answer is a little bit more complex, but how I generally explain this to clients is that I want you to acknowledge the thought (maybe even label it), recognize the discomfort (maybe even acknowledge where you experience it in your body), accept the uncertainty (maybe even call attention to the suckiness of being uncertain), and redirect your attention back to what you were previously doing. We are not trying to shove the thought or feeling out (that would be fighting it). We are simply allowing it to coexist with us. And, yes, your brain may pull you back to that thought and again, you acknowledge it, accept it and redirect it.

Simple, right?!… I’m kidding. It’s complex and difficult, especially when your brain has been used to “helping” you in a certain way for so long. Also, not to mention sitting with uncertainty and discomfort is so so hard. This practice may take time and continued effort. It will likely be difficult to retrain your brain, but difficult isn’t impossible.

And if you want support learning how to do less, that's exactly what I’m here for.

Follow along for more helpful tips, tricks and humor about OCD and anxiety.

For as long as I can remember I’ve wanted to be a mom. I spent most of my young adulthood babysitting and nannying and the idea of becoming a mother was nothing but exciting. I expected the transition into motherhood to feel natural. I expected to slip into it with ease. To adopt my new name of “mom” seamlessly. But, that wasn’t the case. For me, becoming a mom was much more complex than I had ever anticipated and, in some ways, made me feel like a child again.

I had never heard the term Matrescence until I was about 5 months postpartum. It’s the process of becoming a mother. It’s the identity shift, the brain restructuring and the deep emotional change that women go through when they take on the role of mother. Each mother’s experience with matrescence can vary drastically. Some find a profound sense of peace with it and others feel confused, conflicted, grief-stricken. My experience was a bit of both.

The first few weeks of motherhood were some of the hardest of my life. On one hand, I was so incredibly happy that she was here safely and that she was mine. On the other hand, the hormonal shifts took me by complete surprise (despite being told they were likely going to happen). I remember feeling an intense sense of existential dread. I had longed to become a mother and then, all of a sudden, I was one. I was no longer just someone’s child, I had a child. And through that realization, I felt an overwhelming sense of sadness— my youth had evaporated in an instant. And that felt scary and unfair.

In so many moments throughout those first few weeks and even months, there was a littler and younger me kicking and screaming internally. While playing with toys and reading books I experienced flashes of my own childhood— feelings of nostalgia that would wash over me and leave feelings of longing in their wake. How did this all happen so quickly? I saw my daughter interacting with her dad, my husband, and felt incredible grief and anger remembering the death of my own dad at eleven. Why did that have to happen? I would sometimes find myself sitting in the boredom that occasionally accompanied the nursing, the diaper changes, the bath times and feel frustrated that I wouldn’t ever feel the freedom of being the child ever again. Again, How did this all happen so quickly?

And then, when little me settled inside, the guilt and shame would take the wheel. What type of mother feels this way? How is everyone doing this so effortlessly? Am I a even a good mom for having those thoughts. I couldn't make sense of how both things could be true at the same time. How I could look at her and feel the most profound love I had ever experienced, and also the weight of everything I had lost, everything I was grieving, everything I was leaving behind. But they were both true and they were both real. And I'm not sure anyone had ever told me that they could be. Or maybe they were just too ashamed to acknowledge or admit out loud that those feelings existed for them too.

And then, slowly, I experienced a softening. It wasn’t a resolution and the grief and longing didn’t disappear. And, to be honest, I don’t think I want them to. But something started to shift underneath.

I started to see the world through my daughter’s eyes. When she would discover something seemingly ordinary (a flower, our cat, a toy) for the first time, I found myself re-discovering it too. She was giving me something I didn’t know I needed— a second chance to notice things that I had long stopped seeing through adulthood. A reason to slow down and be in the smallness of a moment without needing it to be anything more than it was. It allowed me to practice something I so often discuss with my clients in session— mindfulness.

Grief and love are not opposites. And motherhood, more than anything else in my life, has taught me that the two can exist in the same breath, in the same moment, sometimes even in the same look at your child’s face. I have cried out of love and out of loss in the exact same instant. I have felt overwhelming gratitude for her existence while also deeply mourning a version of myself that I will never get back. Both of those things are allowed.

Matrescence, for me, has been messy and chaotic and totally unlike anything I anticipated. I am still in it and, in some ways, I expect I ma

y always be. And I’m okay with that.

Maybe it happened the first time you gave your newborn a bath and your brain suddenly flashed an image of dropping them. Maybe it was while you were standing at the top of the stairs, or holding them near a window, or carrying them past the kitchen counter. A thought appeared out of nowhere that horrified you. And instead of being able to shake it off and move on, it stuck.

If you’ve been carrying that in silence, too scared to tell your partner, your doctor, or anyone else, I want you to hear this first: having these thoughts does not make you a bad parent. It does not mean you want to harm your baby. And you are not alone.

What Postpartum OCD Actually Looks Like

Postpartum OCD is OCD that develops or intensifies during pregnancy or after childbirth. It’s part of the broader category of perinatal mental health, and it’s more common than most people realize. Research suggests it affects somewhere between 2 and 9 percent of new mothers, and it’s also seen in fathers and non-birthing parents, though it’s less talked about in those populations.

The obsessions in postpartum OCD almost always center on the baby. They’re intrusive, unwanted, and deeply distressing. Common ones include:

• Sudden images of accidentally dropping, shaking, or harming the baby

• Fears of suffocating the baby while co-sleeping or during feeding

• Intrusive thoughts about doing something intentionally harmful, even though the idea is horrifying

• Fear of contaminating the baby with germs or illness

• Fears that you will somehow cause your baby to die

• Questioning whether you are safe to be alone with your child

The distress these thoughts cause is significant and the shame that comes with them is often even heavier, because these are thoughts about your baby, the thing you love most in the world. Which is, not coincidentally, exactly why OCD has latched onto them.

This Is Not Postpartum Depression or Anxiety And It’s Not Postpartum Psychosis

These four things get confused a lot, and the distinction matters for treatment.

Postpartum depression primarily involves persistent sadness, emotional numbness, difficulty bonding, and a loss of interest in things that used to matter. It’s about low mood and withdrawal more than intrusive, fear-driven thoughts.

Postpartum anxiety is persistent, excessive worry about the baby’s safety or health without the intrusive, ego-dystonic thoughts that characterize OCD (these are worries that are moreso rooted in reality)

Postpartum psychosis is a rare and serious condition that involves a break from reality: hallucinations, delusions, disorganized thinking, and sometimes commands to harm the baby. It requires immediate medical attention.

Postpartum OCD is different from all three. The thoughts in postpartum OCD are intrusive and ego-dystonic, meaning they feel completely against who you are. The person is not experiencing a break from reality. They know the thoughts are wrong. They are horrified by them. And that horror, that desperate wish for the thoughts to stop, is actually one of the clearest indicators that this is OCD and not something to be feared in the same way as psychosis.

If you’re having intrusive thoughts about your baby and you feel deeply distressed by them, that distress matters. It’s meaningful information about what’s actually happening.

What the Compulsions Look Like

Like all OCD, postpartum OCD is maintained by compulsions (mental or physical behaviors someone engages in in order to ease the discomfort associated with the intrusive/obsessive thoughts). And in this context, many of the compulsions can look like good parenting from the outside, which makes them especially hard to identify.

Common compulsions in postpartum OCD include:

• Avoiding being alone with the baby out of fear of what you might do

• Refusing to hold the baby near windows, stairs, or ledges

• Hiding knives or sharp objects throughout the house

• Constantly checking on the baby to make sure they’re okay

• Seeking reassurance from your partner, family, or pediatrician that the baby is safe

• Googling your thoughts late at night to figure out if you’re dangerous

• Mentally reviewing your feelings toward your baby to check if you “really” love them

• Confessing your thoughts to your partner over and over hoping to feel settled

These behaviors make complete sense as a response to something that feels terrifying. But they reinforce the OCD cycle and, over time, they tend to grow. Avoidance in particular can become significantly limiting and some parents end up unable to be alone with their child at all, which impacts the whole family.

Why It Goes Unrecognized for So Long

There are a few reasons postpartum OCD slips through the cracks as often as it does.

The first is shame. The content of these thoughts is so distressing that most parents won’t tell anyone. They’re terrified of being seen as dangerous, of having their baby taken away, of being judged as a bad parent. So they suffer quietly and manage as best they can.

The second is that the standard postpartum screening tools don’t always catch it. The Edinburgh Postnatal Depression Scale, which is commonly used in postpartum care, is designed to screen for depression. It doesn’t always identify OCD-specific presentations. Parents can have significant postpartum OCD and screen “fine” on standard measures.

The third is that even when people do seek help, they don’t always find a provider who recognizes what’s happening. Postpartum OCD requires specific knowledge of both perinatal mental health and OCD. Without that, it can be misidentified as depression, anxiety, or in some cases, something more alarming than it actually is.

If you’ve tried to get help before and it didn’t quite fit, or if you’ve been too afraid to say anything at all, please know that the right support exists and that this is something we know how to help with.

What Actually Helps

Postpartum OCD responds very well to ERP (Exposure and Response Prevention) when it’s done with a therapist who understands both OCD and the perinatal period. ERP works by gradually reducing the compulsions that are keeping the cycle going. That includes the avoidance, the reassurance-seeking, the checking, and the mental reviewing. It means learning to sit with the uncertainty and discomfort without trying to resolve it through compulsions. That sounds like a lot to ask of a sleep-deprived new parent, and it is hard. But it’s also remarkably effective, and people often begin to notice meaningful relief much sooner than they expect.

ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) is also really useful here (often in combination with ERP). It helps parents reconnect with their values, including the love and care they have for their child, and act from that place rather than from fear.

One thing I want to say clearly: getting treatment for postpartum OCD does not mean you are a danger to your child. Seeking help is the most responsible thing you can do, for yourself and for your family.

You Don’t Have to Be Alone With You’re Thoughts

If you’ve been suffering through this alone, or if you’ve been reorganizing your entire life to avoid your own thoughts, please know that this is treatable. People recover from postpartum OCD. They go on to feel safe with their babies, to trust themselves again, and to actually experience the connection with their child that the OCD has been getting in the way of.

Frequently Asked Questions About Postpartum OCD

What is postpartum OCD? Postpartum OCD is OCD that develops or intensifies after having a baby. It typically involves intrusive, unwanted thoughts about harm coming to the baby, intense anxiety, and compulsive behaviors designed to reduce that anxiety. Like all OCD, it’s driven by a cycle of obsessions and compulsions rather than any genuine intent to cause harm.

Is it normal to have intrusive thoughts about your baby? Intrusive thoughts are a normal feature of human cognition and many new parents experience them. What distinguishes postpartum OCD is the intensity of the anxiety, the stickiness of the thoughts, and the compulsive behaviors that develop in response. If intrusive thoughts are significantly impacting your daily life, it’s worth speaking with a professional.

Does having intrusive thoughts about my baby mean I’m dangerous? No. People with postpartum OCD are horrified by their thoughts and go to significant lengths to protect their baby. This distress is the opposite of what we see in people who actually intend to cause harm. The presence of the thought is not evidence of intent.

How is postpartum OCD different from postpartum psychosis? Postpartum psychosis involves a break from reality, including hallucinations, delusions, and sometimes commands to harm the baby. It requires immediate medical attention. Postpartum OCD involves intrusive, unwanted thoughts that the person knows are wrong and is deeply distressed by. The two are very different, though both deserve serious support.

Can postpartum OCD affect fathers and non-birthing parents? Yes. While postpartum OCD is most commonly discussed in birthing parents, it can affect any new parent. It’s less frequently identified in fathers and non-birthing parents partly because they’re less likely to be screened and partly because there’s less awareness that it can happen to them.

What is the best treatment for postpartum OCD? ERP (Exposure and Response Prevention) is the gold standard, ideally provided by a therapist with training in both OCD and perinatal mental health. ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) is also very effective. At The Human Collective, we offer both for clients in California, Michigan, and Louisiana.

Will I be reported to CPS if I tell my therapist about these thoughts? This is one of the most common fears that keeps people from seeking help. Intrusive, unwanted thoughts about harm that are distressing to the person having them are not grounds for a mandated report. Mandated reporting applies to situations where a child is actually being harmed or is in imminent danger. A therapist trained in OCD will understand the difference. We encourage you to ask any provider you’re considering about this directly.

I’m traveling to Ireland this week with my nine-month-old baby (I know, it’s ambitious), and I want to be honest with you about something: things are going to go wrong.

I’ve planned everything I can possibly plan. The hotel is booked. The rental car is confirmed. The dinner reservations are made. I’ve packed everything the baby could conceivably need: a white noise machine, new books to keep her entertained on the plane, snacks for every possible scenario, a bathing suit for reasons I genuinely cannot explain. I’ve thought of everything.

And still, things will go wrong.

I’m not saying this to be a pessimist or to talk myself out of being excited. I am genuinely excited. I’m saying it because acknowledging the inevitable is one of the most underrated things you can do for your own peace of mind.

Here’s what I know is coming: we will be tired and cranky in a way that only international travel with an infant can produce. We will be out of our routines and slightly dehydrated at all times. We will forget things, lose things and likely break things along the way. There will be at least one moment where we’re standing on a cobblestone street at 11pm, baby screaming, jet-lagged beyond recognition, asking ourselves what we were thinking.

And that’s okay.

Because all of those things, the exhaustion, the forgotten broken whatever, the meltdowns, are going to coexist with something else. With the first time she sees the ocean. With a pint of Guinness in a cozy pub while listening to trad music I’ve been thinking about for months. With cobblestone streets that the stroller will struggle over, green hills, and baby lambs we can cuddle. With whatever unexpected, unplanned, unphotographable moment becomes the one we talk about for years.

The trip isn’t going to be perfect. It’s going to be real. And real, in my experience, is almost always better anyway.

I talk a lot about uncertainty tolerance in my work—about how we work so so hard to plan and prepare for every single thing to minimize any sense of discomfort. About how the anxious brain’s relentless pursuit of certainty is often the very thing that keeps us stuck. And, while I’ve worked tirelessly to think of and prepare for every possible inconvenience, I also acknowledge and accept whatever discomfort can (and likely will) come our way.

Traveling to Ireland is my own kind of exposure therapy this week. And, when I’m in a pub feeling anxious and dehydrated, I’ll also be enjoying a toastie and baby snuggles questioning why the hell I packed a bathing suit.

So that’s where I’ll be this week. Packed, prepared, and fully expecting things to go sideways in ways I can’t anticipate. Choosing to go anyway.

I’ll report back from the other side.

One of the most common things I hear from people who eventually get diagnosed with Relationship OCD is some version of this: “I thought I just wasn’t sure about my relationship (or my partner or myself within the relationship). I had no idea it was OCD.” And that makes complete sense because ROCD doesn’t look like what most people picture when they think of OCD. There’s no checking, no cleaning, no obvious rituals. It looks like someone who loves their partner but can’t stop questioning whether they really do. Or like spending hours analyzing the relationship, looking for reassurance that everything is okay, and never quite finding it.

If that sounds familiar, this post is for you.

What Is Relationship OCD (ROCD)?

ROCD is a subtype of OCD where the obsessions center on romantic relationships. Like all OCD, it follows the same cycle: an intrusive or obsessive thought shows up, it generates an uncomfortable emotion (shame, guilt, anxiety, etc) and the person engages in compulsions (mental or physical) to try to make that anxiety go away. The relief is temporary, and the doubt comes back stronger.

The obsessions in ROCD can be partner-focused or relationship-focused. They can sound like:

• Do I love them enough?

• Are they attractive enough?

• Could I be happier with someone else?

• What if I’m settling?

• Did I cheat on my partner?

• Did my partner cheat on me?

• I had a thought about my ex, does that mean I am meant to be with my ex?

• Do I actually love them or am I just comfortable?

• What if I’m not in love anymore?

• What if I never really was?

• Intrusive thoughts, feelings, sensations, dreams that cause you to doubt your relationship or partner

These obsessive/intrusive thoughts feel real and urgent, and the harder you try to answer them, the more the doubt grows.

Why ROCD Is So Easy to Miss

ROCD gets missed so often because the doubts themselves sound reasonable. Most people have some uncertainty in relationships. Most people have wondered, at some point, whether they’re with the right person. So when someone with ROCD describes what they’re experiencing, it can easily be dismissed as normal relationship anxiety or commitment issues.

But there’s a difference between occasional doubt and the kind of relentless, intrusive questioning that ROCD produces. With ROCD, the doubt isn’t occasional. It’s consuming. It’s not coming from a calm place of reflection; it’s coming with uncertainty, discomfort or doubt that demands to be resolved. But no amount of reassurance, analysis, or “figuring it out” actually makes it go away for very long.

Another reason ROCD gets missed is that people often blame the relationship itself. If you’re in constant doubt about your partner, it’s easy to assume the problem is the relationship. Many people with ROCD end relationships looking for relief, only to find the same doubt following them into the next relationship.

What ROCD Compulsions Actually Look Like

Compulsions within ROCD (like all subtypes of OCD) can be mental or physical.

Some common ones within ROCD include:

• Mentally reviewing your feelings for your partner to check if they’re “real”

• Comparing your relationship to other couples or to an idealized version of what love should feel like

• Seeking reassurance from your partner, friends, or family that the relationship is okay

• Googling “how do you know if you’re in the right relationship” or similar (late-night rabbit holes, anyone?)

• Avoiding situations that might trigger doubt (like seeing an attractive person or watching a romantic movie)

• Confessing your doubts to your partner repeatedly in hopes of feeling settled

• Analyzing your physical and emotional reactions to your partner to test your feelings (including body checking)

These behaviors all make sense in the moment. They feel like responsible, thoughtful things to do when you believe what you’re struggling with is normal relationship doubts. But the reality is that these function as compulsions, meaning they provide brief relief and then make the obsession louder over time.

What’s the Difference Between ROCD vs. Genuine Relationship Problems

This is a question that comes up a lot, and it deserves a real answer. OCD and genuine relationship dissatisfaction can look similar on the surface, but they feel different from the inside.

With genuine relationship concerns, doubts tend to be more grounded in specific behaviors or patterns. My partner doesn’t communicate well. We want different things. I don’t feel respected.They cheated on me in the past and I’m having a hard time trusting them. The anxiety tends to be lower and the concerns more consistent over time.

With ROCD, the doubts tend to be more abstract and existential. But do I REALLY love them? How can I be sure? Or, they are not so much rooted in reality I looked at someone in a flirty way, does that mean I cheated on my partner? I had a nightmare about my partner, does that mean they aren’t the ONE?

Also, within ROCD, the anxiety is often high and very sudden. And importantly, the doubt is often accompanied by a desperate need for certainty, rather than a calm evaluation of the relationship.

It’s also worth noting that having ROCD does not mean your relationship is perfect or that you should stay in it no matter what. It means that the doubt you’re experiencing is being driven by OCD, not by a clear-headed assessment of your actual relationship. An OCD specialized therapist can help you sort through this.

What Actually Helps Relationship OCD (ROCD)

ROCD responds well to the same evidence-based treatments that work for OCD more broadly, which is ERP. ERP (Exposure and Response Prevention) is the gold standard. In the context of ROCD, this means learning to sit with doubt and uncertainty about your relationship without performing compulsions to resolve it. That sounds simple and it’s also genuinely hard, because the doubts feel so important and so urgent. But over time, ERP teaches your brain that it can tolerate uncertainty without needing to resolve every question before you can move on.

ACT (Acceptance and Commitment Therapy) also pairs really well with ERP. It helps people clarify what actually matters to them in a relationship and learn to act from their values rather than from the anxiety or fear that OCD creates.

Medication can also be extremely helpful, especially when paired with therapy treatment.

One of the most powerful things that happens in treatment is when people start to realize that the doubt itself is not evidence. The presence of the question “do I really love this person?” is not the same as not loving them. It’s OCD doing what OCD does: finding the thing you care about most and making you question it relentlessly.

How do you know if you’re making the right decision?

You don’t.

Did that hurt to read? Because it hurt to write.

For the longest time I fought against this so aggressively. Every decision that came up became a battle with fate. What is the “right” decision. The one that gets me closer to the life that I actually want. The one that, if I’m laying on my death bed I’m proud of. I’d hem and haw, ask everyone around what their opinions were, lie awake running through each scenario. And, each time I thought I had an answer, one I had arrived to myself or one someone gave me, I felt better… until I didn’t. And then I’d go back out searching, ruminating, googling, seeking reassurance. “What is the right decision?”

Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying you shouldn’t write a con/pro list or bounce of ideas with a loved one. Both of those things have their place. But, when no amount of thinking or talking or researching is actually moving you closer to aa decision, it may be time to recognize the reality: there is no “right” answer. There's just the decision you make based on the awareness, values, and goals you have right now, and finding acceptance that the outcome is, to some degree, out of your hands.

Here's the thing though. Not knowing the "right" answer doesn't mean all decisions are equal or that you're helpless. It just means that certainty was never the goal— alignment is. The question isn't what's the right choice? It's what's the choice that's most true to who I am and where I want to go?

Those are different questions. And the second one is actually answerable.

So, here are some helpful tips to make a decision that does feel in alignment.

1. Get clear on your values, not just your goals.

Goals are destinations: the job title, the city, the book deal. Values are the kind of person you want to be while you’re getting there. And here’s the thing: goals can lead you in the wrong direction if they’re disconnected from what actually matters to you. So before you make a big decision, ask yourself not just what do I want but who do I want to be? A decision that moves you toward your values will almost always feel more right than one that just checks a box even if it’s harder in the short term.

2. Notice whether fear or anxiety is driving.

There’s a difference between a decision that’s hard because it requires courage and a decision that’s hard because something about it genuinely doesn’t align with who you are. Fear and anxiety can show up in both, but it means something different each time. Ask yourself honestly: am I avoiding this option because it scares me, or because it’s actually wrong for me? Am I choosing this option because I want it, or because I’m afraid of what happens if I don’t? Fear isn’t always a stop sign. Sometimes it’s pointing directly at the thing you need to walk toward.

3. Stop asking “what’s the right decision” and start asking “what decision can I commit to?”

The right decision isn’t the one with the best outcome because you can’t know that in advance. The right decision is the one you can fully commit to, show up for, and own regardless of what happens next. Stop looking for certainty and start looking for clarity. Those are different things.

4. Check in with your body before your brain talks you out of it.

Before you run the analysis, before you make the list, before you call your mom, pause and notice what your body is already telling you. Where do you feel the decision? Is there a tightness, a loosening, a sense of dread or quiet relief? Our bodies often know before our brains catch up. This isn’t about ignoring logic it’s about including the full picture. The anxious brain is very good at creating convincing arguments for every possible option.

5. Make the decision and then let it be made and trust yourself.

This is the hardest part… You’ve gathered the information. You’ve sat with it. You’ve talked through it. At some point the next right move is just to decide and then stop returning to the question. Not because the decision is perfect, but because the energy you’re spending second-guessing it and re-analyzing it is energy you could be spending living it. Every decision feels different once you’ve committed to it and you’ve let it play out. Some turn out better than you expect and others not so much. And, there’s no way to know for certain how things will actually turn out. So, make the choice and then trust yourself enough to find out.

6. Just because a decision doesn’t turn out the way you want doesn’t make it “wrong”

The last thing I want to leave you with is this: just because a decision doesn’t turn out the exact how you wanted doesn’t mean it’s the “wrong” decision. For one, we don’t know what the alternative would have looked like and two, sometimes the most wonderful things can come out of seemingly “wrong” decisions.

So, while I can’t sit here and tell you the secret to choosing the “right” decision, I can sit here with you in the uncertainty of making whatever decision it is you ultimately choose— trusting that you’ll be able to

handle whatever comes next.

And if you’re navigating high anxiety and/or OCD and are located in Michigan or California, you’re always welcome to reach out to explore therapy support.

“So, random question…” I say hesitantly. “What do you think happens when we die?”

There’s a pause. Then a giggle. “Like… philosophically?”

“Yeah, like what do you think?”

She gives me a thoughtful answer. I don’t remember exactly what it was because if I’m being honest, I was barely listening. In that moment part of my brain recognized that it didn’t matter what she said. Even if she did have a feeling of certainty about what happens when we die, it wouldn’t be enough to satisfy my brain.

I had asked that question to eleven people by that point. Including my husband, my mom, my best friend from college, the hospice chaplain, an old colleague that I was catching up with over coffee. Some people loved talking about their theories regarding the afterlife, while others were triggered by the mere mention of it (likely struggling with their own mortality and uncertainty). I went down quite a few Reddit rabbit holes and repeatedly searched for the answer on Tiktok. I read a book about quantum physics, most of which went right over my head, and none of it helped. Because none of it could give me what I actually wanted, which was a guarantee that death wasn’t the end or that if it was the end, that the end was okay.

Ash finished her answer and then we moved back to more lighthearted topics– Where are you traveling to next? Did you watch the new season of Love Is Blind? What are you making for dinner? After the call, I sat for a while in silence feeling exactly as uncertain as I had before I called.

And then I called someone else.

“What do you think happens when we die?”

Weeks later, I’m sitting across from my therapist staring up at the mass-produced flower art hanging on the wall behind her. Pale watercolor lilies in a white frame, slightly crooked. I could paint them from memory.

“Kaylee…” she says kindly, “I don’t have the answer that you’re searching for,” she kindly repeats. She’s referring to my obsession with death. About what happens next. About whether consciousness continues or simply stops, whether the people we love are somewhere or nowhere, whether any of it means anything in the end. She often brings up my dad. The suddenness of his death when I was eleven and how that shaped me. For so long, I would dismiss her. Tell her it was long ago, it’s not that deep, it’s not about that. But, of course, as a therapist, I know that she’s right. My dad’s death was the first moment in life when I realized how fragile things are. How quickly they can change.

“I know,” I say. Because I do know. I know she doesn’t have the answer. I knew when I came in today that she didn’t have the answer. I know that no one has the answer.

“What would it mean,” she asks gently, “if you never found out?”

I sit with that for a few moments. The flowers are slightly crooked. I’ve never mentioned it.

What would it mean? If I arrived at the end of my life still not knowing? Still uncertain? Still carrying these questions that I’ve carried since I was eleven years old.

I think about the priest, who came to the house. The house was so quiet. And so cold in a way that it had never been before. I remember being so angry that this priest was in my home. That’s not where a priest belonged. I remember him saying something about “a better place” and “God’s plan.” What does that even mean? None of it touched the terror and confusion that I felt. My dad gone? Gone where? How? I think about all of the years holding those questions quietly, alone, so as not to add to anyone else’s pain. I think about how the quietness became its own kind of suffering.

“I guess,” I say slowly, “I’d just have to be okay with that.”

She nods and doesn’t say anything else. We let the sentence sit there heavy between us. We let the sadness, the fear, the confusion all sit there.

And then, something in me just lets go. Not all the way, not forever and not perfectly. Not of the questions, because the questions will always be there, but of the urgency to answer the questions. I start to drop the rope of tug of war that I’ve been playing with a monster that I could never beat. The emptiness and longing that has been vibrating through me starts to subside. The tightness in my chest begins to loosen. I start to feel a small sense of peace. Not because I found what I was looking for, but because I gave myself permission to stop looking for it and discovered that the ground was still beneath me.

That’s what recovery from high anxiety actually looks like. Not the absence of the question. Not finally finding certainty. But a different relationship with not knowing. A greater capacity to carry the uncertainty without being crushed by its weight.

What intrusive thoughts actually are

Intrusive thoughts are unwanted, often distressing thoughts that pop into your mind out of nowhere. They can be violent, taboo, irrational, or completely out of character. That’s usually the part that scares people the most. Not just the thought itself, but what it might mean about them. But here’s the piece that often gets missed: intrusive thoughts are incredibly common. The majority of people experience intrusive thoughts, but the difference with OCD isn’t the presence of the thought. It’s what happens next.

Why trying to stop the thought makes it worse

Your brain is wired to protect you. So when a thought feels threatening, your brain flags it as important. And once something is labeled important, your mind starts monitoring for it. Which means the more you try not to think about it, the more your brain keeps checking to make sure it’s gone. And ironically, that checking is what keeps it alive.

It becomes a loop:

• Thought—>Anxiety —>Attempt to get rid of the thought (compulsion)—> Temporary relief—>Thought comes back stronger (and the process begins again)

Not because the thought matters. But because your brain has learned that it does.

The cycle that keeps you stuck

Most people don’t realize they’re doing compulsions because they don’t always look obvious.

They can be things like:

• mentally reviewing what happened

• trying to “figure it out”

• seeking reassurance

• avoiding certain situations

• replacing the thought with a “better” one

All of these make sense. They’re attempts to feel better. But they also quietly reinforce the idea that the thought is dangerous and needs to be solved and that’s what keeps the cycle going.

What actually helps

This is the part that can feel counterintuitive. Relief doesn’t come from getting rid of the thought. It comes from changing your relationship to it.

A few ways to start doing that:

1. Let the thought be there: Instead of pushing it away, practice allowing it to exist without engaging with it. Not agreeing with it. Not arguing with it. Just noticing it and letting it pass through.

2. Notice compulsions in real time: Start paying attention to the subtle ways you might be trying to neutralize the thought. Awareness alone can begin to loosen the cycle.

3. Stop trying to figure it out: Intrusive thoughts thrive on analysis. The more you try to get certainty, the more uncertain you feel (this is the paradox of trying to “figure it out”). Gently acknowledge your urge to solve it and redirect your attention to something else.

4. Expect discomfort: This work isn’t about feeling instantly better. It’s about building tolerance to the discomfort without needing to escape it. So, the more we can expect to feel uncomfortable (and start to see it as our means to lasting change) the more prepared we can be.

Over time, your brain learns something new: the thought isn’t actually a threat. And when that happens, it starts to quiet on its own.

You’re not alone

You’re not alone in this. Intrusive thoughts can feel isolating, especially when they don’t match who you are or what you value. But that disconnect is actually part of the pattern, not proof of anything about you. This is also something that is very treatable with the right support. If you’re finding yourself stuck in this cycle, therapy can help you learn how to respond differently to your thoughts so they stop having so much power over you. You don’t need to keep fighting your mind to feel better.