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I get asked about the name NOCD a lot. People might want to know how it’s pronounced, and they’re curious about our story. Every time, I’m excited to share a bit about what the name means—in fact, it’s an opportunity for me to talk about something everyone should know about OCD. First things first: it’s pronounced “No-CD.” And it actually means a couple things, both central to our mission: To restore hope for people with OCD through better awareness and treatment. The first meaning of our name is about awareness: Know OCD. Though we’ve come a long way, not enough people truly know what OCD is or what it’s like. How many times have you heard someone say “Don’t be so OCD about that,” or “I wish I had a little OCD. My car is a mess!” Things like that may seem innocent, but they trivialize the condition and keep most people with OCD—around 8 million in the US alone—from getting the help they need. The second meaning of NOCD is about treatment: No-CD. To go a bit deeper: Say “No” to the compulsive disorder. On one level, this is also related to knowing OCD—noto means “to know” in Latin. This inspired the name NOTO, the operations and technology infrastructure that powers NOCD the way an engine powers a vehicle. But this meaning goes even further. It has to do with how you can manage OCD symptoms—learning to resist compulsions. This is the foundation of exposure and response prevention (ERP) therapy, the most effective, evidence-based form of treatment for OCD. Learning how to resist compulsions with ERP changed my life, and it taught me how important it is to get treatment from a specialty-trained therapist who truly understands how OCD works. I’ll give you an example. When I was 20, my life was going according to plan. I was thriving on the field as a college quarterback, doing well in school, even winning awards—until OCD struck out of nowhere. I started having taboo intrusive thoughts, things that horrified me and went against my core values and beliefs. Desperate for help, I saw several different therapists—but no one diagnosed me with OCD. At one point, I was instructed to snap a rubber band against my wrist whenever I had an intrusive thought. It was supposed to stop the thoughts, but it only made my symptoms worse. Driven into severe depression, I had to put my entire life on pause. Once I started ERP with a therapist who understood OCD, I learned why: you can’t stop intrusive thoughts from occurring. Everyone has them—and the more you try to get rid of them, the worse they get. Anything you do to suppress them is actually a compulsion, whether it’s counting in your head, snapping a rubber band against your wrist, or using substances to drown the thoughts out. To get better, you have to learn to resist compulsions and accept uncertainty. OCD doesn’t get to decide how you live your life. How do you educate the people in your life about OCD? Whether friends, family, or strangers, I’d love to hear how you share your understanding and raise awareness about OCD.

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!