Reassurance: when it’s not a good thing

I think of my father almost every day, if not every day. But this time of year, the months that coincide with his last illness and his death 16 years ago, I think of him very often.

So if I write some posts that include stories about my father, you’ll understand why.

My father, circa 1994.

It was late June or early July 1997. I was hunched down over the phone in my cubicle at work, talking with my sister-in-law.

“Do you think Daddy’s going to get better?” I asked her.

“No,” she said.

Her answer shocked me. All I could say in response was something like, “Oh.”

But I knew she had told me the truth.

I had sought reassurance from my sister-in-law, but in truth, I’d been seeking reassurance from everyone around me for weeks. I wanted someone—my mother, one of my brothers, the doctors—to tell me that my father was going to be all right.

I wasn’t interested in the truth as much as I was in being soothed and comforted so I wouldn’t have to feel the worry and anxiety that beat at me all day long into the night.

I recognize now that it was OCD making me search frantically for reassurance, making me ask question after question of the doctors or family members who had spoken with the doctors.

One of my chief forms of OCD is harm OCD, where I obsess over harm that might come to my loved ones.

I used to perform compulsions like hand washing; prayers that turned into continuous, silent chants in my thoughts; and checking to try to get rid of the anxiety about someone getting sick or dying.

I also sought reassurance from others. If others could tell me that everything was going to be all right, then I could relax. I could let go of the anxiety, even if for a while.

Besides questioning others about their health, I also sometimes depended on others to tell me that the light switch was off; the stove was turned off; there was a stick in the path, not a nail.

Seeking reassurance was a compulsion for me.

Those of us with OCD have to learn that we can’t depend on the reassurance of others to make it through anxiety.

We have to learn to be honest with ourselves: We can never be certain of everything.

Whatever drives our OCD—concerns about harm, contamination, completeness, perfection—cannot be permanently sent packing because someone else tells us it’s going to be OK.

We have to stop doing the rituals that are supposed to get rid of the anxiety.

We have to learn to deal with the anxiety. We have to learn to accept uncertainty.

It’s hard. It’s an ongoing process for me. I still prefer someone telling me that everything’s going to be all right. But I know that’s not the way to get past the grip of OCD.

On that summer day in 1997, my demand for reassurance didn’t work. My sister-in-law was a nurse aide and worked in the nursing home where my father was a patient. She had seen others in the nursing home who had grown sicker, who had died. She knew things that I didn’t, recognized things that I didn’t. I knew she was right.

My father was not going to get better.

And I had to accept that. No one could reassure me out of that.

Checking OCD and not waiting for the reassuring click

Let me explain what the reassuring click is.

When I take a shower, I use liquid soap and shampoo, both in bottles that make a snapping sound when the top is pushed back to the closed position.

I depend on that snapping sound to tell me that the bottle is properly closed.

Because if it’s not properly closed, then one of the cats might be able to open the soap or shampoo bottle and lick the soap or shampoo.

Never mind the fact that neither cat has ever shown an interest in doing such a thing. Never mind the fact that Sam doesn’t get in the shower. Never mind that Chase doesn’t have free rein of the house unless he’s supervised.

The OCD mind just cares that it could happen.

Different bottles make different sounds when they’re being closed. Some snaps are a loud clunk. Some are more of a faint tap.

The OCD mind particularly doesn’t like the faint taps. The loud clunks are more reassuring. But even the loud clunks have their problems. Because the OCD mind can find reasons to doubt even those.

The result is that I spend time in the shower opening and closing each bottle I use several times until the resulting snapping sound is “right.” That elusive “rightness” that only the OCD mind can recognize.

I’ve described my shower routine before in a post about OCD and slowness. I have gotten a little faster in my routine since I started focusing more on exposure and response prevention, but I still had rituals, including the bottle-closing ritual.

So I decided that I was going to address that particular ritual.

I decided that I was going to have to live with closing each bottle just once, no matter what sound was made when I closed the bottles.

“I’m just going to have to live with it” would become my mantra in the shower.

So I tried it. And it worked.

I liked having the decision already made that I would close each bottle one time only. I would not allow myself to open and close it repeatedly until I liked the sound it made.

Of course, that means that I have to tolerate the anxiety of not knowing for sure if the bottles are properly closed.

But I am finding that the anxiety actually fades pretty quickly as I focus on finishing my shower, drying my hair, getting dressed, etc.

Now I’m wondering if it would be helpful to apply this “I’m just going to have to live with it” mantra to other OCD rituals.

What are some of the things you tell yourself as you strive to make changes in your life?

Tell me everything is going to be all right

It’s easier to give reassurance than to be the one who needs reassurance.

My husband is something of a checker. It happens mostly when he’s getting ready to leave the house. Even though he’s very careful and responsible, he sometimes has the need to recheck that he turned off the ceiling fan, the lights or the dryer. Even if he’s running late, he will take the time to check one more time, even unlocking the door he just locked to go back inside.

I’m glad he’s careful. I’m glad he cares enough about our home and family to check again.

But I still get impatient with him sometimes for the amount of time he takes to double check. You turned off the fan, I say. I know you turned off everything.

I can say those things because I don’t doubt that he did what he was supposed to do.

It’s easy for me to reassure him.

And yet I understand his doubts. I have doubts like that. I doubt myself very often and to an intense degree. I doubt that I turned off the stove. I doubt that I turned off the lights in the bathroom. I doubt that I heard the dryer shut off.

I cannot offer myself the same reassurance that I give my husband. I tell myself over and over that the light fixture is dark, there’s no light shining. But that doesn’t reassure me. Rather, the frenzy of my thoughts and the repetitiveness of my words make me anxious.

I can reassure others, but not myself. How can I learn to do for myself what I can do for others?

A couple of notes:

In my first post, I said I planned to post on Monday, Wednesday and Friday. That’s three times a week. This week I posted Monday, Wednesday and late Thursday. I think I’ll be writing every other day.

Also, please comment on the blog. I really want to hear from you. Thank you!

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