Motherhood, OCD, and the Illusion of Control

How anxiety and societal pressure trap women in cycles of fear while they try to keep their children safe.

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My mental spice rack includes a heavy pinch of OCD. I probably picked it up as a sidequest while battling ADHD for the first three and a half decades of my life – without even knowing it. Maybe a little genetics plays into it too. I’m sure scholars have plenty to say on the subject, but that doesn’t matter much for this story.

Here’s the thing about OCD: it’s often painted as this quirky little trait that makes you color-code your bookshelves or alphabetize your pantry. And sure, it can be that. But for most people, the diagnosis comes because OCD turned their life into a living hell. It’s not all cute quirks; it’s chaos.

For me, OCD has always been tangled up with anxiety. Most of the compulsions I’ve developed started out as fears, and from those fears, I built avoidance mechanisms. It’s the classic example: you’re terrified of burning down your house, so you check the oven before you leave. And the coffee machine. And the toaster. And the lights. And, eventually, you’re checking everything on repeat – again and again – until your brain decides the faucets should be on the list too. Because flooding your house is just as bad, right? And…