Movement rituals: OCD embedded in the normal

I turn on the shower but don’t get in yet. While the water is getting warm, I squeeze face soap on my hand. I get in the shower.

I wet my face with my right hand. I scrub my face with the soap. Round and round on my cheeks. Over and around my nose. Skim the forehead.

I splash water on my face and start rubbing my eyes. With the tip of my fingers of both hands, I rub each eye inward. I don’t count the number of times I rub them, but I know when it feels right.

I pick up the bottle of liquid bath soap. I squeeze soap into my left hand. With my right arm, I hold the bottle against me and wipe the opening with my right hand. Then I hold my right hand under the water to wash off any soap residue.

I close the bottle top with my right hand, making sure I hear the click of it closing. If the click is too soft, I open the top again, wipe the top, rinse my hand and close the top.

Then I hold the bottle under the water and rinse the whole thing before setting it down.

I wash in the same order using the same motions as always.

After rinsing, I wet my hair. Then I rub my eyes again until it feels right.

I pick up the shampoo bottle, squeeze a dollop into my left hand, hold the bottle against me, wipe the opening with my right hand, close the top and listen for the click, then rinse the whole bottle under the water.

I scrub my hair and then rinse it. Then I rub my eyes until it feels right.

When I’m done, I gather water into my hands from the spray and splash it on the shower floor, trying to get rid of any leftover soap.

I squeeze the excess water out of my hair and splash the floor some more.

I turn off the shower. I push the off lever at least once more to make sure it’s off.

I get out of the shower.

  That’s my shower routine. It’s probably apparent why I don’t take quick showers, why my husband sometimes asks me after I get out of the shower, “Did you fall asleep in there?”

It’s only fairly recently that I realized all my little movements and rituals I do when taking a shower were symptoms of my obsessive-compulsive disorder.

Two weeks ago, I wrote about some of my touching compulsions. Apparently, touching and movement compulsions are similar.

In “A Touching Story,” an article on the Beyond OCD website, Fred Penzel Ph.D. writes that touching and movement compulsions can include a variety of behaviors, including two ways that affect me: moving in symmetrical or special ways and moving in special ways while carrying out certain activities.

Penzel writes that there are subgroups of this type of compulsion, including performing the compulsion as a magical or superstitious ritual to keep something bad from happening; performing them to have a sense of completion; and performing them to satisfy an urge.

I fall within the first subgroup. I perform the rituals because not doing so would make me feel like something bad was going to happen.

  I want to take quicker showers, and I don’t want to be driven by OCD, so I’ve been tackling the problem.

Opportunities for exposure come often because I shower every day.

I’ve been trying to stop the movement rituals as soon as I realize I’m doing them. I am refusing to reopen and then re-close bottles of soap and shampoo. I am trying to stop rubbing my eyes beyond getting any water out of them. I am trying to push the off lever of the shower just once. I am trying to refocus my attention and move on.

Some showers are easier than others. I can feel the anxiety when I am not sure if I washed off the shampoo bottle or closed it properly, even though part of me knows I did.

My goal is to not do any of the rituals because I know doing rituals encourages me to do rituals.

I just have to keep working at it.

Do you have movement rituals? If so, how do you manage them?

Learning: The role of ritual

The word ritual can have terrifying connotations for people with obsessive-compulsive disorder.

The compulsive rituals we perform to try to alleviate the anxiety caused by obsessions result in even more anxiety. They become the source of much pain and much waste.

Religious rituals are especially difficult for me. I’ve written about my scrupulosity and my particular problems with praying.

Lately, however, I’ve been thinking about religious rituals in a more positive light.

In the years after I left religion behind in my 20s, I made brief forays back into spiritual practice, but I continued to eschew what I considered to be meaningless rituals.

During church services, I wondered what was accomplished by response readings, recited prayers and ceremony. What did those rituals have to do with finding God, with learning to live a good life?

I came back to formal religion over seven years ago, for various reasons. One was that I wanted to have a home for my spiritual questions.

I have been happy with my decision overall. I must admit, though, that the rituals in my United Methodist tradition at one time did not mean a lot to me. They were exercises to participate in until we reached my favorite part of the service, the sermon.

I think differently now.

What I have been learning is that rituals have a way of bringing me to a place where I am ready to seek God’s presence.

The book “The Case for God,” by Karen Armstrong, helped to launch my meditation on ritual.

In the book, Armstrong traces the ways that God has been perceived and practiced since man had the first inklings that there was perhaps more to the world and to life than what he could see or experience with his other senses.

Armstrong writes that before the matter of belief became so important, ritual was deemed the way to make myths come alive and become meaningful. She places a great deal of importance on the role of ritual:

“Religion is a practical discipline that teaches us to discover new capacities of mind and heart. . . . It is no use magisterially weighing up the teachings of religion to judge their truth or falsehood before embarking on a religious way of life. You will discover their truth—or lack of it—only if you translate these doctrines into ritual or ethical action.” (The Case for God, page 10, e-version)

She writes further about the role of ritual:

“Many thousands of people find that the symbolism of the modern God works well for them: backed up by inspiring rituals and the discipline of living in a vibrant community, it has given them a sense of transcendent meaning. All the world faiths insist that true spirituality must be expressed consistently in practical compassion, the ability to feel with the other.” (The Case for God, page 14, e-version)

I am learning that one way I can prepare myself to practice compassion is to attend my church’s services and participate in the rituals. Doing so helps to prepare me to listen more intently to the scriptures, to the sermon and to the quiet voice within.

During the service, we listen to the reading of the scriptures based on the lectionary. After the reading of each selection, the leader holds up the Bible and says, “The Word of God for the people of God.” The congregation responds, “Thanks be to God.”

We sing hymns. We sing the Gloria Patri.

We listen to the minister’s sermon, based on the scriptures that we have heard.

We read as a congregation an affirmation of faith, usually the Apostle’s Creed or the Nicene Creed.

All of this gives me much to ponder, including the unity of us all.

During communion, we first pray for forgiveness. We then greet each other in peace before taking part symbolically in Christ’s Last Supper.

There would normally be all kinds of red flags flying around me with any talk of forgiveness and prayer.

And to be honest, I have yet to begin a personal prayer practice.

But in a group setting, I can follow along with the words that were written long ago. I don’t have to make up the words and worry that I haven’t said the right ones.

Being with others also helps. It’s not a ritual that I’m doing alone. I don’t feel alone.

What do you think of rituals? Do you participate in any rituals that are comforting, that go beyond the rote to become meaningful? Or does the thought of participating in any rituals make you uncomfortable?