Being diagnosed, and coming to terms, with OCD has been a strange journey. In some ways, it’s been a relief. Looking back through all my experiences, it explained a lot. I wasn’t weird, I wasn’t weak — I had a condition, with a name, and a treatment, and a community. I wasn’t alone. This was liberating. I started to change the story I was telling myself about myself. I began to accept myself just as I am, and started trying to figure out what I need, instead of how I should change.
After I began knocking down the walls I had built, love flooded in. Then I realised that the love had been there all along, I just hadn’t believed myself worthy of it. I hadn’t understood how to connect to it, how to avail myself of it, but now I did. And I began to rely on it.