I Have OCD

How motherhood led to my diagnosis

(In ASL) “Mama, sit, mama, sit, mama, play.”

“Orita, papi”.

Dishes, clean spill, ‘why didn’t I put my gloves on? Agh the feeling of water on my hands’.

“Mama, sit, mama, sit, mama, play.”

Dishes, clean spill, that stain on the wall, damnit.

“Let me just do this last dish y ay voy, mi amor”.

Number one - dishes, 2 - clean spill, 3 - clean stain.

*Less insistent now - (In ASL) Mama, sit…

“Esperáte, love.”

Lightbulb moment.

*Unreliable* “I have a problem.”

Was I becoming that unreliable, untrustworthy, always put the process before my kids, mom?

I saw Amado talking to his friends as a teenager - “ my mom will always say one thing but then find the next thing of importance - more important than me…”

In high school, in college, in any school or work circumstance, you’d find me with a binder for each class, often color coded.

If you’re my friend, you know that I don’t live without my calendar - one for work and family and friends and Amado and mom’s appointments and, now, Carmelita.

If you’ve worked with me, you know the notorious post-it to-do lists - sometimes 4 at a time because I physically NEED to scratch that thing off.

And, recently I learned, that why I’m so forgetful. If it’s not a list thing, it’s not a thing at all.

New processes. New train of thought. Ones more “important” than the ones before. Better put it on the list, in the calendar, in the binder before it doesn’t exist anymore.

My life as a first time mother was paired with incessant thinking, worrying, planning, doing and doing and doing.

I gave birth to a beautiful honey with medical complexities - this fact threw me into a spiral of creating and working through robot-like processes. The NICU? Policies, procedures. The machines? What does EACH number mean? EACH color? What does each beep mean? EACH wire? Insurance - what’s the program’s name? Is it the best one for him? Is there another one? Do we qualify? Which 800 number? Tracheostomy? “Hey, Google, wtf is a tracheostomy?” “What other options exist?” “How many years…” “How many kids…” “How many survive…” “Average NICU stay length…” “Missouri laws surrounding NICU stays” “Hey, Google, what is leaving against medical advice?” Nursing coverage - “Hey, Google, show me a spreadsheet for nursing coverage.”

I could go on and on and on and ON.

I am an expert in the above - an expert in the process.

I now credit my OCD for my diplomas and degrees. It is because of the way my brain works that I can compartmentalize my goals and see to it that I achieve it and more.

Motherhood, though.

Motherhood can’t be ‘bindered’.

Motherhood can’t be color coded.

It can’t be scheduled or ‘scratched off’.

We finished the Tracheostomy training before Amado was even ready to leave.

I called every program. Signed up for every benefit. Hired 12 nurses to his case myself.

Had I loved?

Had I felt?

As Amado got better and better, came home and thrived, then came the true challenge - to love, to foster, to be affectionate, to do beyond the programs and to do lists. To snuggle, to CHERISH the skin and body and smell of the honey that fought so hard to be ours and to stay with us.

When I told some family members that I was diagnosed with OCD - “I could’ve told you that” - whew! Affirmation (something I, unfortunately, still seek from family).

Then, the gaslighting - “bro, we’re all a little OCD”.

“Aren’t we all a little OCD?”

Maybe - do you remember that chore that you’ve been putting off for months and now it’s a mental priority until you do it - though you have a birthday party to go to and a kid to play with and diapers to change and baths to give and art to frame or SLEEP to be had?

Maybe - do you feel a PHYSICAL cringe in your body when you talk yourself out of that next step in order to prioritize that hug with your son? Do you feel a magnet in your stomach that feels like it pulls you toward the chore and it makes you nauseous, you just halfway play with your son because it was supposed to be “dishes, clean spill, stain on the wall”?!

Maybe - have you been on antidepressants for anxiety for years thinking that your anxiety was only informed by childhood traumas and “perfectionism”? By hyper-vigilance? By your “type-A personality”? By your phobias? By your past? By guilt? By obsessing over that one comment at that one party with that one person years ago?

Maybe - do you practice conversations days, weeks, months before they happen in order to ensure you do it “correctly” and you don’t embarrass yourself?

Maybe - is every single hug, kiss from your spouse coupled with your anxiety about how you look, the outfit you’re wearing, the makeup you didn’t put on? Every single hug coupled with the angst about the 15 things you’re NOT doing BECAUSE of this 5 second hug??

Not all people need an answer or a diagnosis.

I knew that my anxiety went beyond my traumas and my need for perfection.

I NEED a process to go the way that I plan or my whole day, my whole plan, my whole life at times feels like a failure.

“Mama, sit.”

I finally admitted during my second pregnancy that I could no longer just accept that it’s “just how I am”.

Being a toddler mom pair with pregnancy hormones along with my anxiety became debilitating. I didn’t know it at the time - I have OCD.

One of Amado’s favorite activities is to seek liquids and spill them. Coffee on the table.

My OCD = Get him out of the area, scold him maybe, dry cloth, spray, dry cloth, wet cloth, dry cloth.

The mother I want to be knows that what’s best for him is for him to see that cleaning it up will be his responsibility.

Do you know how HARD it is to watch a 3 year old spread coffee all over the coffee table at an attempt to clean it up? How HARD it is to watch him get coffee also on his hands and his clothes?

WHEW - each step, I take him through.

It’s the mother I want to be.

“Mistakes happen, let’s clean it up”.

Every day is a struggle. Many moments in a day are like pulling teeth for me to look beyond a process in order to be patient with my kids. Honestly, to be patient with life.

Allowing my kids to make a mess and make mistakes and take the long way and dance on the way. To want to wear the shoes that don’t match and to read the book they want to read again even though there’s a new one and that one’s “supposed to” be read next.

It’s a struggle. It’s difficult. Every moment has to be done with intentionality.

Being the mother I want to be had led me to my diagnosis of Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.

It’s a hard pill to swallow but one that is leading me to the help I need to learn the tools and resources to make it less painful that the world is so very imperfect.

That my kiddos and our life is so very imperfect.

For now, it takes for me to breathe through every moment. It takes for me to stop and see through to my kiddos’ spirits to know that together, us 4, will live such a beautifully imperfect life and that, maybe, one day, I’ll love that. :)

P.S. I had this written for a long time and had to talk myself into believing that it’s okay to post this though my website isn’t up to day, I don’t have any pictures to go with it, etc. Pushing beyond what my brain says is “acceptable” is a daily struggle. Enjoy!