Living in Loops: Understanding My Life With OCD

by Nawshin Saiyara

Listen to Executive Director Gabriel Nathan read this post aloud:

As early as I can remember, I had a mind that looped like a scratched CD—repeating, obsessing, checking, and doubting. At the time, I didn’t know what to call it. I just knew that I didn’t feel safe unless I did certain things over and over again. For instance, as a child, I spent a long time washing my hands, and my parents often scolded me for wasting water. Sometimes, I’d even worry that they hadn’t washed their hands properly, and pointing it out only made them more frustrated.

By the time I turned eleven, my world shrank to rituals. I had to do things a certain way, or else I felt like something terrible would happen. I remember struggling to simply write because my brain pestered me to rewrite certain words again and again until they “felt right.” If the last letter of a word didn’t end with the “right” stroke, I’d scratch out the whole thing and start over. Homework took hours. My fingers ached, and I was in tears, but I couldn’t stop.

It wasn’t just writing. I’d walk in and out of a room repeatedly. I’d touch objects a certain number of times. I’d check the doors again and again to make sure they were locked, even though I had just checked seconds before. I asked my friends for validation—I urged them to check my notebook for mistakes after I’d already checked it myself. I only recently explained to one of my close friends that it was because of my OCD—it took a lot to open up, and thankfully, she was kind and supportive. Back then, I tried to hide it all effortlessly, terrified someone would notice and call me “crazy.” But inside, I was exhausted. I didn’t understand what was happening to me—why my mind wouldn’t let me rest. I felt like my life was full of rules I had to follow.

School was especially hard. I was a good student, but OCD made everything ten times more complicated. I’d get stuck on a question because the way I circled to an answer didn’t “feel right.” I’d scratch out and rewrite something even when I was running out of time. I had to read every paragraph a certain number of times. I remember once finishing a test early but staying in my seat, furiously checking and rechecking my answers. A teacher walked by and flippantly said, “If you’re done, stop wasting time,” but I couldn’t explain to her that I wasn’t trying to waste time at all. I was struggling. Classwork and memorization took me much longer than it did for other students, so teachers sometimes called me “lazy” or assumed I wasn’t trying hard enough. But this wasn’t about being lazy—it was about needing to relieve the unbearable tension in my chest. It was about fear.

I didn’t have a name for what I was going through until I was a teenager and stumbled upon a YouTube video where someone described their OCD symptoms. The person was talking about washing their hands repeatedly and walking in and out of rooms—things I had done too. My heart pounded as I watched. For the first time, I realized I wasn’t alone. Other people had this, too. There was finally a name for the monster in my head.

Getting a name for it helped, but of course, it didn’t magically fix everything. I still carried shame. I still tried to mask my compulsions around others. But little by little, I began opening up to the people I trusted. I read books to educate myself. I followed mental health advocates on social media to find community. I learned that OCD is not just about cleanliness or order—it really has to do with intrusive thoughts and compulsions we develop to soothe the anxiety those thoughts create.

One of the biggest shifts in my recovery has been learning to be kinder to myself. For a long time, I hated being me—I was frustrated by the rigidity and repetitiveness of my thoughts, and how hard it was to keep up with everyday tasks that seemed so easy for others. But now I know, OCD is a disorder, not a character flaw, and I don’t have to be ashamed of it. Finding this will and courage to show up for myself has not only enabled me to help myself but also made me realize how much I want to help others like me. That’s why I chose to major in Psychology. Currently, I’m in the third year of an Honours program. I want to be someone who helps others feel seen, understood, and supported. I want to provide others with the help and understanding that I have longed for in my OCD journey.

Living with OCD has given me a unique window into how isolating and painful mental illness can be. Today, I feel ready to use this insight not just to heal myself, but also to help others heal. I believe no one should have to suffer in silence, especially when support is available.

OCD is tiring, treacherous, and recovery isn’t linear. But I’ve made it this far, and that counts for something. If you’re reading this and you’re still in the middle of it, I want you to know two things: you’re not alone, and things can get better.

As someone who has spent a long time wrestling with OCD, I can assure you that you are not weak for struggling. You are not a failure for finding it hard. This is excruciating work. And you are absolutely not beyond help. You are a whole, complex person doing your best to manage something extremely challenging—and that’s brave. If my story can remind even one person of that, then I’ll be grateful.

​EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR: Gabriel Nathan | EDITOR: Kavita Sarmah | DESIGN: Leah Alexandra Goldstein | SITE ORIGINATOR: Bud Clayman

See Related Recovery Stories: Anxiety, Mental Health First Person Essays, OCD