False Attractions are something that I deal with mostly, that and just scared I’m in denial. Every single girl I see I get scared that I like her or I get intrusive thoughts about being with her (ahhh makes me feel so uncomfortable). It gets confusing when the backdoor spike hits and there is no anxiety. I get anxious and spiral wondering if I “felt anything” or wonder if I liked it. I really want to start a blog about SOOCD and dealing with OCD in general (or just from my experience) so people who go through the same thing as me don’t feel as alone. Reading other peoples experiences make me feel less alone, and I don’t know if it has something to do with reassurance seeking, which it might, I don’t know, but OCD in general is so debilitating and can leave someone feeling so isolated. I want to help people feel validated, no matter how scary or intrusive their thoughts are. Anyways, I’m really struggling nowadays. I do feel hope, even though sometimes it feels like it’s clouded over by some sort of darkness and makes me feel like everything is hopeless. But in 2022 I hope to lean into the uncertainty. I hope to accept my OCD diagnosis. I hope to get whatever help that I need, and same to all of you. I hope you can get the help you need, or desire.

Looking back, I realize I’ve had OCD since I was 7. though I wasn’t diagnosed until I was 30. As a kid, I was consumed by fears I couldn’t explain: "What if God isn’t real? What happens when we die? How do I know I’m real?" These existential thoughts terrified me, and while everyone has them from time to time, I felt like they were consuming my life. By 12, I was having daily panic attacks about death and war, feeling untethered from reality as depersonalization and derealization set in. At 15, I turned to drinking, spending the next 15 years drunk, trying to escape my mind. I hated myself, struggled with my body, and my intrusive thoughts. Sobriety forced me to face it all head-on. In May 2022, I finally learned I had OCD. I remember the exact date: May 10th. Reading about it, I thought, "Oh my God, this is it. This explains everything." My main themes were existential OCD and self-harm intrusive thoughts. The self-harm fears were the hardest: "What if I kill myself? What if I lose control?" These thoughts terrified me because I didn’t want to die. ERP changed everything. At first, I thought, "You want me to confront my worst fears? Are you kidding me?" But ERP is gradual and done at your pace. My therapist taught me to lean into uncertainty instead of fighting it. She’d say, "Maybe you’ll kill yourself—who knows?" At first, it felt scary, but for OCD, it was freeing. Slowly, I realized my thoughts were just thoughts. ERP gave me my life back. I’m working again, I’m sober, and for the first time, I can imagine a future. If you’re scared to try ERP, I get it. But if you’re already living in fear, why not try a set of tools that can give you hope?

Looking back, my introverted nature and struggles to find belonging in high school may have set the stage for how OCD would later impact my relationships. I had my first relationship in high school, but OCD wasn’t a major factor then. It wasn’t until my longest relationship—six years from age 18 to 24—that OCD really took hold. The relationship itself wasn’t the issue; it was what happened after. When it ended, I became obsessed with confessing past mistakes, convinced I had to be completely transparent. Even when my partner was willing to work past them, I couldn’t let go of the intrusive thoughts, and that obsession landed me in the hospital. From there, my struggle with ROCD (Relationship OCD) fully emerged. For years, every time I tried to move forward in dating, doubts consumed me. I would start seeing someone and feel fine, but then the questions would creep in: Do I really like her? Do I find her attractive? Is she getting on my nerves? What if I’m with the wrong person? I’d break things off, thinking I was following my true feelings. But then I’d question: Was that really how I felt, or was it just OCD? I tried again and again, each time hoping I could “withstand it this time,” only to fall back into the same cycle. The back and forth hurt both me and the person I was with. By the time I realized it was ROCD, the damage had been done, and I still hadn’t built the tools to manage it. Now, at 28, I know I need to approach dating differently. I recently talked to someone from a dating app, and my OCD still showed up—questioning my every move, making me doubt my own decisions. I haven’t yet done ERP specifically for ROCD, but I know that’s my next step. Just like I’ve learned tools for managing my other OCD subtypes, I need a set of strategies for when intrusive doubts hit in relationships. My goal this year is to stop letting uncertainty control me—to learn how to sit with doubt instead of trying to “figure it out.” I want to break the cycle and be able to build something healthy without my OCD sabotaging it. I know I’m not alone in this, and I know healing is possible. I’m hopeful that working with a therapist will help me develop exposures and thought loops to practice. I don’t expect to eliminate doubt entirely—after all, doubt is a part of every relationship—but I want to reach a place where it doesn’t paralyze me. Where I can move forward without constantly questioning whether I should. And where I can be in a relationship without feeling like OCD is pulling the strings. I would appreciate hearing about your experiences with ROCD. Please share your thoughts or any questions in the comments below. I’d love to connect and offer my perspective. Thanks!

As a lesbian with SO-OCD, I feel so helpless. It's truly exhausting because no one I know understands what I'm going through. The first response is always, "You're just confused" or "You don't have to know yet." But that's not the issue, I do know. I just never see any lesbians with SO-OCD so I feel so invalidated. These thoughts flood my brain constantly, forcing me to analyze my reactions to every man I see. I feel trapped in an endless cycle of "testing" myself, trying to prove that I don't like them. But my brain fights back, telling me I do want to love a man, making it feel real even though don't want it. It's terrifying. At this point, it's hard to even hold onto my identity as a lesbian because I'm so overwhelmed. I don't know if this is what real attraction is supposed to feel like, and that fear eats away at me. The truth is, when I think about being with a man, all I feel is disgust and fear-but my brain twists that into doubt. I hate it. I'm at the point where I'm scared I'm going to have to accept something I don't want because I don't know if this will ever go away. I miss who I was before all this.