Mums with a mental illness

My struggles with OCD began in childhood, but it wasn’t until after giving birth to my first child at 30 that I finally received a diagnosis. For years, I suffered in silence with intense anxiety, insomnia, and intrusive thoughts, but because my compulsions were mostly mental—constant rumination, reassurance-seeking, and avoidance—I didn’t realize I had OCD. I experienced Pure O, where my mind would latch onto terrifying thoughts, convincing me something was deeply wrong with me. After my son was born, I was consumed by intrusive fears of harming him, even though I loved him more than anything. Seven weeks into postpartum, I hit a breaking point and ended up in the emergency room, where I was finally diagnosed. For the first time, everything made sense. I didn’t discover exposure and response prevention (ERP) until years later when my son developed Germ OCD during COVID. I went through the program myself first, and it completely changed my life. ERP helped me sit with my intrusive thoughts instead of reacting to them, breaking the cycle that had controlled me for so long. Life isn’t perfect, but it’s so much better than before. I can finally be present instead of trapped in my head. Now, I’m working on trusting myself more and handling challenges without fear of “losing control.” As I prepare to help my daughter start therapy, I feel empowered knowing I’m giving my children the support I never had. If you know you have OCD but haven’t started therapy yet, what’s holding you back?

Listen, I totally get it. It’s hard to hear a loved one obsessing over small, insignificant things. My mom tries to be supportive, but she gets so mad when I tell her what’s on my mind, and she just yells at me and says I’m crazy for thinking like this. So, I just sent her this, and I hope it helps: Mom, I know it’s really hard, but when I’m suffering with OCD thoughts, all I need is sympathy. Getting mad at someone for having OCD is like getting mad at someone for having a head injury. Please understand that I can’t help it, or else I would stop it. I need someone to say, “I’m so sorry that’s bothering you this much. It must be so overwhelming. It must be so hard to cope with this.” You could even ask me questions, like “What does it feel like? How much are you thinking about this? What helps you feel better?” I just need someone to validate my experience and sympathize, not tell me that I’m crazy or say my problems aren’t real. I’m aware these thoughts are crazy — that’s why I feel so alone and sad and scared. When you tell me my thoughts are crazy, it makes me feel even more like a freak. Sometimes, I just need someone to hold my hand and tell me I’m not alone.

She laughed and said that everyone has these thoughts "i didn't tell her about the REALLY fucked up thoughts i experience cuz i was kinda scared" and then she said it's the demon just say ur prayers and they'll go away Even though i kept on trying and trying to convince her that they're clearly not normal but she kept on refusing and it kinda sounded like she didn't want to admit and believe that her daughter has a mental illness which sucks