How Brat Summer Cured** My OCD
I open my front door at 3 AM. Like a tornado is tearing through my house, and it’s me, I’m the tornado, I drop things haphazardly along my way. Keys and shoes in front of the doorway, my phone too, not quite making it to the charger. Then I climb upstairs to my bedroom, tear off my bralette and the pants holding my tummy imprisoned, and roll into bed. My smoky eye is more charred than smoked, and I undoubtedly have the sticky residue of Mom’s Basement on me. My feet are dirty from doing yoga in the park barefoot before dinner, my teeth are wine-stained, and my body is sweaty from yoga and dancing.
The next morning, I stir at 9 and hear the birds bumbling around my window as I take my first breaths of the day. Eventually, my mind wakes up too, and I stretch in bed. I get up and make it to the bathroom before I notice the grime layer on my skin and hop into the shower. When I make it downstairs, I see my phone on the floor, laugh, and place it on the charger. I put my keys on the hook and my shoes on the shelf. And then I’m on with my day, journaling about the night’s shenanigans, logging into work, making my coffee.
But things weren’t always this easy. It wasn’t even 3 years ago when I wouldn’t allow myself to sleep unless I had showered since I had last left the house. It wasn’t even 2 years ago when I had amended the rule to allow myself to sleep unshowered as long as I washed the sheets the next day. It wasn’t even 18 months ago when I amended the rule to allow myself to sleep unshowered as long as I wiped down with body wipes and washed my face. And it wasn’t even 6 months ago until I slept in the grime of a neighborhood bar without waking up in an absolute day-stopping and plan-altering panic.
Some rules are reasonable. I don’t think it’s insane to want to shower after a night on the town, and some may think it’s a little gross that I no longer do so. Of course, depending on the specifics of the evening, I still often do. But it’s how the rules, the obsessions, and the resulting compulsions interfered with my life. I would be so exhausted I could barely stand but would force myself to shower anyway. I would have a ton of tasks the next day, but if I had slept “dirty” the night prior, I would completely amend my to-do list to prioritize washing the sheets, even if it meant canceling plans. Most harmfully, I found that isolation was the easiest way to maintain my OCD. Of course, living alone so that my home could remain in its perfect state, but also, not having people over, and making sure I spent enough time home alone to complete my rigor of cleaning tasks on the regular basis that I needed to satisfy the urges, the cravings, the inalterable pressure of the compulsive standards I held myself to.
When I tell people I’ve come a long way with my OCD, it’s hard to explain exactly how deep I was. In high school, I was featured in the student newspaper for my school planner. Instead of being made fun of for how I made lists that included everything and how I fully marked out the completed items in pen until they were covered so I couldn’t see them, I was praised. I associated my obsessions and compulsions with academic and career success, which made the illness more difficult to identify and untether. It wasn’t until I picked up an OCD workbook years later at a bookstore and read a section about how people with OCD may shower in the same order every time, that I started to get it. At first, I scoffed about how insane it would be for someone to shower in any sort of different order than the one that I held myself to. Then I realized the intensity with which I held this belief. I thought about my showers and realized that any change would result in me going back to the last step and restarting from there, else feeling unshowered and disgusting until I was able to shower again. In that bookstore, I admitted to myself that I might have a problem.
As I started to meditate, do yoga, and journal daily, my OCD began to alleviate. Lotion didn’t have to be kept in the cabinet, but could be left out on the bedside table as long as it was kept in the upper left quadrant, leaving room for my meds and alarm clock. Clothes that didn’t smell bad could be left on the floor next to my bed as long as they were folded and stacked in size order. My therapist advised me to set some time to relax upon returning home from a trip before unpacking my bags. Though I practically shook in fear the first time I did it, it soon became a ritual in itself, at least for 1 hour after returning. When Anna moved in with me, she liked keeping her slippers under the coffee table, and as long as she could keep them aligned with the table’s edge, I realized they didn’t have to be kept on the shoe shelf by the door. When I got Maxie, I started to love the sweet smell of earthy paws. The rules started to bend, but definitely not break.
After months of trying my best, I still felt deeply broken, and finally made the decision to start medication for the first time in over a decade. About a year after starting my medication came Brat summer. The release of Brat coincided with the photo “dump” where women posted 10 photos of randomness: an unflattering photo, a photo of the innards of a purse spilled onto a table, a meme, a photo from above a coffee table with half-empty wine glasses stained with lipstick, a pic of them in a swimsuit showing ass, their friends and them in a cuddle puddle with smeared makeup mismatched socks, a crushed cigarette box. Brat summer arrived with its all lower caps MS paint album cover, Charli XCX arrived in pajamas to her Boiler Room set, and women made romantically messy compilation videos of their European summers to her songs.
I started to get it. Messiness could be creative. Messiness could serve a purpose. Like mixed patterns in fashion, burnt orange and sage green going well together in home furnishings, an egg on a pizza… Sometimes delightful combinations could be made without exact precision and care. Leaving a bedroom with strewn clothes from the tornado of a pre-going-out try-on could be sexier, inspiring more creative thought upon returning home than replacing the clothes on the hanger. The messiness could be more purposeful. The slippers could be left where they were most often put on. The bag could remained unpacked for an extra day after the trip to give time for rest. A responsible, healthy woman could occasionally have a late night out and leave her keys on the floor when she gets home. And maybe, just maybe, the sheets could get a little dive bar residue on them.
Between Charli XCX’s careless eyeliner wings, her earnest song questioning of the value of motherhood next to a song about doing drugs until the next morning, her unplucked unibrow, and almost making out with Billie Eilish on top of a pile of dirty clothes, I started to romanticize (everything is… OH) the messiness of the clothes on the floor next to the bed, the messiness of the bar bathroom’s stickers and grime, the messiness of dirt-covered bare feet, the messiness being in my 30’s, and the delicious, sexy, delightful messiness of life.
Upcoming Events
Saturdays - 9:30AM - Y Yoga - @ YMCA Shades Valley - Free for YMCA Members
Tuesdays - 4:30PM - Y Yoga - @ YMCA Shades Valley - Free for YMCA Members
Wednesdays - 7PM - Restorative Yoga - @ Yoga Lab - $18/Drop-in or New Student 3-Week Unlimited $30
Friday, October 11 - 6-9P Ecstatic Dance Bham with DJ Xenon, sponsored by Trunk Tea at Bhamboo Bowl: 909 79th Pl S
Thursday, November 14 - 6-9P Ecstatic Dance Bham with 8BitPixie sponsored by Wyl Juice at Unity Bham
Sunday, December TBD - 4-7P Ecstatic Dance Bham with DJ Frazer sponsored by Wyl Juice at Clubhouse on Highland
Learn more about Ecstatic Dance Bham.
**My OCD is definitely not “cured.” I will live with OCD for the rest of my life. Though I feel my OCD is managed better than it ever has been, I still have a very long way to go, especially considering how OCD still impacts my social interactions, relationships, etc., which is another blog post for another time.
I wanted a catchy title and writing has to sum up a moment in time, even if it may be completely negated or altered by the next moment in time that occurs after I click “Publish.” (Thank you / Written in Brooklyn for that lesson.)
For those that are struggling with OCD, I highly recommend that you reach out for help. Therapy was the first step for me, then creating rituals and a toolbox to strengthen the work that started there. Eventually, prescription medication was needed as well. Please get the help you need. Life is so much more beautiful than you can even imagine. I promise. <3
inspiring as always! and i appreciate the insight into both brat summer and ocd