From Shame to Storytelling: My Journey Living with OCD

09.02.2025

From Shame to Storytelling: My Journey Living with OCD

by Kyle Elliott, EdD

I sat across from the psychiatrist at my university health center, explaining how chronic migraines had taken over my life. I expected relaxation tips or maybe a prescription.

She unexpectedly asked, “Have you ever been diagnosed with anxiety or OCD?”

I sat there confused. “What? No, I just have chronic migraines from stress,” I said confidently.

But as she asked me more questions about my thought patterns and behaviors, especially from childhood, things started to click. Her subsequent diagnoses of generalized anxiety disorder (GAD) and OCD made sense.

Looking back, I was an incredibly anxious child. I had behaviors adults called “quirks,” like hoarding dozens of ChapSticks in a Ziploc, asking the same questions over and over, and struggling to make friends. Some adults laughed, while others scolded me.

One vivid memory stands out: my family and I were eating at Hometown Buffet when I suddenly felt like I was choking (I think it was mashed potatoes). For many kids, that moment would have passed in minutes. For me, it turned into months of obsessing over whether I would choke and die every time I tried to eat. I stuck with what I considered “safe” options like scrambled eggs, Hot Pockets, and chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.

Most of my early OCD symptoms were internal and invisible. I chased perfection and control. I couldn’t relax until my picture frames were perfectly aligned or my hangers evenly spaced. I had rituals like tapping a specific brick on the wall, circling the table in the living room both clockwise and counterclockwise, and flipping light switches exactly five times to make sure they were off. These were all attempts to quiet the intrusive thoughts looping in my brain. While the behaviors brought temporary peace, the anxiety always returned.

In middle school, high school, and then college, those obsessive thoughts followed me. I became known as “Mr. Perfect.” I was a resident assistant, juggled multiple jobs and internships, and maintained a near-perfect GPA. On the outside, I looked polished and high-achieving. On the inside, I was exhausted. I often slept more than 10 hours a night just to function. My compulsive habits aimed at maintaining a sense of control, like constantly updating my calendar and tracking tasks, both calmed and fueled my intrusive thoughts. It was a trap I couldn’t escape.

One moment in college started to shift the way I thought about my OCD.

After a therapy session, I met a friend for lunch. When she asked where I’d been, I casually mentioned therapy. Her face changed. “Are you crazy? Am I safe being around you?” she blurted. I didn’t correct her; I just shut down.

I wasn’t brave enough to correct her then, but her words stayed with me. They weren’t just ignorant, but truly cut deep, and I never wanted anyone to feel the pain and shame I felt in that moment. That comment became a turning point for me and ignited my advocacy journey. Years later, I wrote my doctoral dissertation on the mental health journeys of college students and how the power of storytelling can dismantle stigma.

Since receiving my OCD diagnosis, I’ve done deep healing and learning. I’ve researched mental health. I’ve worked to unlearn misconceptions and relearn what OCD truly is, not just for others, but for myself.

I also speak out because OCD is so deeply misunderstood. Yes, I still have habits that some might call quirks, but most of my experience isn’t about cleanliness or organization. It’s about intrusive thoughts that are painful, unwanted, and persistent and the mental rituals I use to manage the anxiety they trigger.

When we understand the full scope of OCD, we can approach each other with more empathy and compassion. And that empathy can change lives.

Importantly, dismantling stigma begins internally. I had to challenge the ideas I carried about mental health, including where they came from, who taught them to me, and whether they were ever true. OCD is complex, and it looks different for everyone.

I still live with OCD, but it no longer defines or controls me. I know now that I’m not broken, I’m not crazy, and I’m not dangerous. I’m a human being living with mental health conditions, and I’m thriving.

I share my story to remind others who may be struggling that they are not alone. Help is available, and healing is possible. If you’re struggling, please reach out. There are people who want to support you.