Three months ago, I could barely leave my house. Even at home, the anxiety and panic would overwhelm me at times, leaving me feeling pretty worthless, irritable, and probably not that much fun to be around. 

As I write this, my brain wants to just skip to the good part, but the messy middle is always where the gems lie. You have to root around in the muck to find the diamonds and pearls.

It was a long, slow descent and not wholly unexpected as we globally became more aware of words like "viral load" and ideas of contamination. For someone like me, diagnosed with OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder) more than ten years ago, the pandemic was both a blessing and a curse. Isolation brought me relief and control over my environment (it also brought its own brand of loneliness, new anxieties, a whole lot of reckoning, and some really, really good stuff, too).

When the world started opening up and I was feeling forced to adapt to life outside the confines of my bubble is when things...

So, a couple weeks ago I started with a new therapist.

Dr. T, who was the amazing psychologist I worked with on and off for more than 10 years, retired at the end of 2021. Dr. T referred me to this new guy because he helped mentor him and knew it would be a good fit.

Dr. T was right, and even though it took 6 months to get an appointment with Mr. New Guy (post about our healthcare system needing funding and support another time...), I'm glad I got in to see him ...and whoa, is it intense--in the best of ways.

Some of you know me pretty well and have seen my stories and struggles over the years with OCD and anxiety. I talk openly about the importance of mental health and finding ways to cope and heal that work for each individual. There are always peaks and valleys with this work, like life itself, it ebbs and flows.

Mr. New Guy has an in depth approach to diagnosis and treatment--which, if I'm consistent, will lead to quick transformation (especially since I've been down this road...

It’s not gone. It’s just quieter, I think as I take a second bite of the salmon. I’m still often weighing the effects of different foods on my body. I am still often reminding myself with first or third bites that what I’m ingesting is not going to have adverse affects. Sometimes I know it will and am willing to take the risks (sugar) and other times it’s enough to stop me mid-bite and reassess the whole situation. I’ll eat around the offending piece. I’ll slyly slip the dog some morsels so it isn’t wasted. 

OCD isn’t gone. It’s managed and settled. It’s livable.

I don’t really want to go anywhere.

Not sure how much covid is a reason or an excuse.

I am taking many good, long, hard looks in the mirror--especially after disagreements about exposures and decisions. 

The dark night of the soul, they call it. But I had that years ago. I only get glimpses now and am able to acknowledge and work with what...

I’m continually referring back to my teachers--the ones I want to be like, emulate their ability to stay centered amid chaos. I’m better at it myself these days, one of the benefits I guess of a world wide pandemic is that on the other side of sheer panic is a choice to surrender.

I take mindfulness classes. And remember to look in front of me and around me and see the beauty. The stubble of my teenage son’s face reminding me of the passage of time, and the sound of laughter as he and his sisters play another round of rummikub. 

I have all that I need. I am lucky. There is food, shelter, and love. What else on earth do I need?

Suddenly, I feel stripped of the need to strive for something grand. I have always wanted to do big things, and at the root never understood that it was because I wanted to feel important. Like I meant something to the world around me.

 July 19, 2020

But I’m learning, too, that that is a given. I AM enough. I am already...

I’ve written a lot about how it all started--the foods slowly removed, one by one, as my belly ached or the news report of another e.coli or salmonella outbreak. Red meat. Lettuce. My beloved ranch dressing. 

I’ve written about how, over the span of a few months, my weight dropped and my handwashing went up exponentially. Hotter water. More soap. Do it again.

What I haven’t written about is the lingering anxiety that rears its head in certain situations, generally social, when there is less knowledge about ingredients and more probability of cross contamination with others’ hands or breath.

OCD isn’t gone. It’s settled and re-related to. Exposures help, as does a really good support system.

And now, 13 years since severe onset, 10 years since official diagnosis, and 8 years since beginning Cognitive Behavior Therapy and winning a bunch of anxiety wins, we are living in a new era where a lot of people around me are carrying hand sanitizer,...

It's getting closer. I am doing and saying all the things I know need to be done and said, but I am scared. Petrified, actually. 

I know I am so damn lucky to live in a place and be in a profession that has covid vaccines available. My partner just got his second one this week, and my dad got his first. Oh goodness, to be able to be with my parents again. It will be a sweet dream come true. 

But I don't want it. 

No, I'm not an anti-vaxxer. My kids are all up to date and I got a tetanus shot two years ago (you can find that fun video story in my FB history). I believe in the miracles of modern science (in addition to the spiritual science of all things!). 

But I just don't want it in me. No shots. No medicines. 

I get migraines that last three days and I'm only willing to take Tylenol.

I barely take my multivitamin, not because I don't remember, but because I pretend to forget.

Phobias, OCD, anxiety--whatever you want to call it. My mind swirls with refusals...

If you're looking for Part I before you read this, don't bother. I'm starting here at Part II because the before existed in another space and time. Literally. A different internet space and nearly ten years ago.

I've been hoping to write a book for quite some time. "About what?" you may ask. Which is a relatively bright question. But the answer is muddy.

You see, I've always felt like I had a message to share with others. I don't know why, and I'm learning that the why may not really matter so much any more. But the vision pulls me, and I'm allowing it to do so more fully these days.

Surrendering to what is and following my heart.

Every Day, I'm Brave is just a piece of the journey. The piece that has taken my anxious brain on a circus ride of healing and learning and practice. LOTS of practice.

So I've learned a few things along the way about showing up, even when it feels like the last thing you want--or can--do. And I've learned a few things about what showing up for yourself...